Quiet Heart Inventory of Dreams

This morning I wake up with the sun. Not even my husband’s loud and shrill alarm has gone off yet, with the beep beep sound of, “Wake. Up. Wake. Up.” every 10 minutes until he arises, so I lay quietly in the bed. I don’t lull myself back to sleep, but think of God, and my heart begins to quicken like a woman who has spotted her lover across a room. I am alive. Together, we take a quiet, heart inventory of dreams.

I dream of words. These words. I think of how if I want to write again, I will probably need to start waking up this early every day, as one of our two laptops is on its deathbed, and I am hoping it will hold out long enough for me to get something to transfer the files it holds. During the waking hours, my children consume either me or the remaining computer – what with Minecraft videos to watch and blogs (my nine year old started one) to write, and so, I rarely even use a computer these summer days, which is at times quite nice.

I think about how I am thankful for the summer of quiet away from social media. It is as if I can hear again – my thoughts, my words, and my God. Sure, I love to see and catch up with people, but if I sacrifice my listening ears, is it really worth it? When I go back to social media, it will be very cautiously. I am not made to be everyone’s social media best friend. My soul is starting to settle. I realize that I feel happiest when I feel deeply connected to the people close to me, both in proximity and in soul depth, and I am learning that social media is not what deeply connects me to them.

My dreams are simple, I suppose. I dream of falling in love deeper with my husband. I want to feel electricity when his hand touches mine again (I read Eleanor and Park this summer and it made me remember), and I want my heart to beat faster when I see him enter a room.

I dream of mothering more gently. Currently, I am a mom who yells, not all the time, but enough to cause pause. I dream of how I can help my kids truly respect me and Daniel.

My five-year old girl, Lisabeth, still sleeps in her crib turned toddler bed. The girls share a room, and I’ve dreamed of a home where bunk beds were unnecessary (though there is nothing wrong with them). It seems like we are going to buy the house I mentioned last time, and as I lay here, I think about how, when I would let my mind dream, it is like my house of dreams, meeting the things we have plus what we need, with one more bedroom and a flat, mostly treeless backyard, though I know a house does not make a home. I will miss the trees here if indeed we move.

My son, Elijah, is eight. His birthday was Monday. I dream of a day when he would know deep in his heart that he is loved. He is probably my most sensitive child, and as such, I think he regularly just feels left out – being in the middle and the only boy. I dream about being the mother who hopefully helps her son feel more loved and leads him to Jesus more often.

I dream of grace. The grace I’ve known and know. The grace that removes chains, even when I so often slip them back on, and I feel lighter this summer. I’ve read The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up: The Japanese Art of Decluttering and Organizing by Marie Kondo, and I am shedding my skin and finally letting go of things I’ve held tightly too. I am truly lighter in a physical home sense – a post for another day perhaps. Too, I am reading Anything by Jennie Allen, wherein I am shedding things spiritually as well. Even though, I keep falling short with mess ups and mishaps and yelling and not completely showing up for this wonderful life I’ve been given, I dream of change, of letting go, of listening to the God-man named Jesus more fully, of dancing in the library room as I declutter books, twirling around, lifting my hands high singing my praise. I am alive, and this grace is making me new.