A year ago, I picked up the frayed thread of a dream and walked with it a bit. It kept me company on lonely days when the roads were quiet and the friends were scarce. It grew in midnight conversations steeped in possibility, in history, in story. It was just a dream… an idea… a ‘what if?’
Six months ago, I stood in a field long-abandoned and saw my future meld with its past… and it was seamless.
Give me this, I said, and watch what I can do. Let me in. Let me carry your torch. Let me give this new life. Let me fill these fields with children and animals and hope again. Let me rebuild on the hilltop and set the wheat to seed below.
And they said, “Tell us more.”
And the thread grew into a patchwork of combined wants and needs and beauty… possibility and ministry and winding streams and old, vintage Americana. Bonfires and cabins and community gardens and barns. And we weaved that thread into a letter and signed it and stamped it and sent it on its way. And we waited.
This weekend, after so many meetings and phone calls and walks, emails and questions and ideas… they said no. They said, “It’s not right for all of us. Most of us, but not all of us.”
And I stood there in my kitchen and wondered how it was, exactly, that my dream could not be their dream? Couldn’t they see what I saw? And, how long had I been holding my breath?
Sometimes, God says no to good things.
It is hard to stop the thread.. to pick out stitches… to make the canvas blank again. Technically, I have lost nothing. It was a dream and, by definition, not certain… hazy… a ‘maybe.’ That property? Not even for sale, officially. It was a dream.
But the dream was so pretty. So easy. I had begun to plant where there was not solid ground. And now I have all these shallow roots and knots and colors and feelings tied up in an imaginary story for a real place that will not be mine.
So, I will lay it down.
I will lay it down because I do not have room in this heart for ‘what might have been.’
I will lay it down because how can I pick up new thread if my hands are full?
I will lay it down because there may be something just over that next hill…