(I’m joining the Lisa-Jo and her Five Minute Fridays. Rules are: for only five short, bold, beautiful minutes. Unscripted and unedited. We just write without worrying if it’s just right or not. Won’t you join us?)
I sit quiet.
After blogging every day in October, I sit still in November. So still that I can feel the quiet and in the deep recess I listen, contemplating real God-sized dreams that are laid out before me like expensive china in an overcrowded shop.
Do I dare to pick one up? Aren’t these just for display? Where are the “Do not touch” signs? The “Unsupervised Children are Not Welcome” signs? – aren’t we all warned of how fragile these precious dreams are? How they can break at the slightest touch – how they can break us?
And yet, in the still quiet I feel drawn to a particularly rough looking dream.
One crafted by the hands of children who have nothing but their words to give.
One that calls out to me, pleading love from me, begging hope, and promising a great brokenness.
Yes, this is the dream for me. The dream laid out in the quiet.
My friends, I dream of a far-off trip – a trip to the south, and really, to the center. To the center of the world – to the Equator, to see the Creator’s great work in the lives of two very special children.
As the day of registration approaches, I revel in the quiet – finding assurance that yes, this God-sized dream is really mine, given to me by the One who saw fit to cross my life with theirs.
And that leaves me quiet.
Oh the things God does in the quiet – they far surpass the works done out loud. For in the quiet, hearts are changed.