Dreams

She's got a heart full of dreams....
And sometimes they overflow and splash out of her mouth...
And I hear them dripping in sweet girlish hope...
And I shudder and look away,
Afraid to taint the purity of the spring with cynicism.
I know what she doesn't,
That dreams are dangerous things.
That dreams in the hands of God, are lethal.

I stroke her hair and watch her eyes afire and wonder if I looked like that,
because she is truly her mother's daughter and was birthed into a heritage of dreams.
I listen to her, engaged in who she is right now, because she is a dream of mine, alive.
I want good things for this daughter of mine, but I don't want all of her dreams to come true.

I want her to listen for the whisper of God in her dreams,
I want her greatest dream to be for a life with/for Him.
I want to watch her let go of the dreams closest to her heart, if they are not His will.
Because in the letting go, in the laying down, in the very graveyard of dreams, is where Christ dwells.
Waiting
For the open handed life.
Waiting
to give us eternal dreams,
dreams that carry a cross.

Dreams in the hands of God are lethal, lethal to self, lethal to our perfect plans, lethal to a safe comfortable life.
I want her to know that.
And I want her to dream anyway.

"When a man dreams his own dream, he is the sport of his dream.

When Another gives it to him, that Other is able to fulfil it."

George MacDonald