Tuesday, April 5, 2016

Believing His Promises & Waking Up Dreams

The rhythm of my life has the sweet scent of ordinary days.




Most days, I rise to the gentle strum of a guitar –on my alarm.

I wander into the kitchen in my favorite cotton hoodie and yoga pants to make one large coffee.

Cupping that motivation, I descend to my office and settle into the reclaimed, repurposed chair that's covered with  sea blue faux velvet fabric. For almost a decade I've thought about getting a fancy, neutral, photograph worthy chair.

But no. This one is like a friend who has walked many miles of life.

Here I read.



My life is good. I'm glad for the lack of uncommon.

It all feels cozy and known and held.

In my neighborhood, I know what time it is by which neighbor is driving by.

All of this is beautiful. All of this is a gift.

Until twelve days ago.

That morning? I did all the things I usually do.

The sky laid out with soft blue streamers of slender cirrus clouds overhead and green tufts of grass poking through the winter ground outside my office window.

The weathermen had been squawking for days about snow. I was made aware of this when the checker looked over the top of her trifocals, surveying my half a gallon of milk and the single dozen of brown eggs. "Not sure you have enough for the weather we're expecting," she warned.

Before I could even respond, she went into the three-day forecast, which around here involves some wind. I resisted the urge to go back and pick-up a bag of licorice and thanked her for the information.

I book my hair appointments months in advance. Hair is that important. I realize the vanity of it all. Still, few things could warrant canceling, including the grocery-store-lady forecast.

By now the sky had turned to low yellow-grey clouds.

The wind rocked my midsized SUV and the flag at the bank leaned into the southwest.

Two hours later things had definitely changed. Piercing wind delivered snow and reduced visibility to the hood of my car. The streets were layered with ice and a milky blanket of snow.

This is when light split the sky and the deep boom of  thunder shook the atmosphere.

Blizzard + thunderstorm.

I'm almost six decades old and have never experienced the wonder of it!

They call it, "an abrupt and radical meteorological change." A collision of cold air clashing with warm, moist air.

It's rare and frightening and unsafe.


In the middle of this new-to-me phenomenon, I had one last stop.

Only a few minutes and I would be able to head home.

There, in a small office with someone I only casually know, a conversation arose.

It was an unexpected conversation. It led to an uninvited observation. I left the office half annoyed and half wondering why it felt like a holy moment.

I'm sure they had no idea of the odd weight of their words.

For five miles, visibility was limited to the sharp drop-off that leads to the canyon on the right side of the highway. The snow blew and the thunder crashed and things inside me shook.

Finally, I pulled into the garage at home and closed the door. But I could not shut out the encounter.

Thunder vibrating the chambers of my  mind and lightning struck some fire in this soul.

And a dream awakened.

The wind howled and the dream yawned and stretched as it rose from its deep slumber. A dream that quite frankly I didn't know was inside of me.

I've believed in the promises of God, but lately I've been undone by the dreams He plants in our DNA.

Dreams that would take God Himself to accomplish.

Dreams that aren't safe or tidy or comfortable.

But we are walking forward and the doors have been opening.

So we are going to keep walking forward until we see how far this sleeping giant will take us.

This feels like a thundersnow-dream.

Surreal. Near zero visibility, crashing thunder and streaks of lightning.

Abrupt and radical. Doubt clashing with faith.

It feels like God has jolted me/us out of our beautiful ordinary life and revealed a glimmer of His glory and His desire to bless us.

And I believe it's a dream that God has been weaving the intricate plans for all along.

Out of the storehouses of the heavens, He awakens dreams in the heart of a dreamer –when the time is right.

He stirs up the atmosphere of a soul and starts writing a new chapter to the story. And the wind of the Spirit is flipping the pages.

The world says we make our own dreams happen, but that is not what I'm living right now.

God woke up the dream and it's wild and not one that I could manufacture.

For us, it's hard to believe and impossible to accomplish –apart from Him.

We want to live this for His glory. We want to seek our happiness in the Lord alone, but tucked away in this verse is a promise. When we desire to know God, He knows the dreams planted deep in our hearts and He is apparently willing to wake them up, stir them up and then fulfill them.

I feel uncomfortable and known and held.

Stay tuned for the unfolding.


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© Rhonda Quaney