Dale Evans and Miss Pearl Todd... my dream team

My friend Sandra and I are both entering the HGTV contest every day for the dream vacation house in Key West. So are a few million others. That doesn’t slow our dreaming down. Dreams are heady intoxicating visions of the might be, Iwannabe, itoughtabe life as we imagine it could be. As a child my dreams were complex and simple at the same time. I dreamed of a horse and I wanted to be able to ride like Dale Evans. I dreamed of being first in my class academically and being everybody’s best friend. I dreamed of being a missionary in far off lands like Miss Pearl Todd, our own South Georgia missionary to China. When she was on furlough, she would come visit us at the local Baptist camp named for her and bring all her Chinese things.
Every night when I went to bed, I lay awake for a long time savoring instant replays of my favorite dreams, making stories up in my head. I could see, hear and feel them come alive. For years this alternate reality of night time awake dreaming helped me bridge the gap between consciousness and sleep. My active imagination created a safe place to be in that in-between land where I starred in my dreamland movies. On the surface I was an outgoing, smart, happy little girl. Underneath the outer skin lived an introverted, sensitive, scared of her own shadow little girl who never felt like she measured up. In my dreams I always triumphed, kissed the horse and the cowboy, rode off into a blazing sunset full of promise of new adventures to come.
As I grew older, my dreams changed. I dreamed of meeting my first love. That was hard to do when your daddy stood on the stoop waiting for you every time you and your date drove up. I dreamed of being a good Christian. That was and is still the most challenging dream of my life. I dreamed of marriage and family and a home of my own. All those dreams and more came to be. I found good work to do, began to experience life and death, robbing Peter to pay Paul all the while wishing there were another disciple to rob, saw children grow and begin the cycle all over again. There were global dreams of peace and prosperity for all and hope for a green revolution if I could just switch to cloth napkins instead of paper ones. In many ways all my dreams came true but somewhere my dreaming changed.
My dreamer began to fray around the edges. Years of praying and hoping and working for dreams to come true took a toll on my soul. Some dreams never saw the light of day. Some dreams, like the seed scattered on rocky ground, sprouted, grew then withered and died. And some dreams did come true. Sabbath Rest Farm is a dream realized, a place of true rest and comfort not just for us but for others also.
Junie B revitalized my dreamer. One long held tender dream of a horse who could be my friend has come true. Michael and Vince and Gary and Tim are building her stable. As I look out my kitchen window, I see the posts in the ground and the trusses waiting to be raised up. The hillside is reshaped with a gentler slope so the rain won’t puddle in front of the stalls. By spring the stable will be complete and I will be able to step out my back porch door and call her up. She is a sucker for carrots and peppermint candy. Sometimes the dream deferred is all the more valuable for the wait.
Tonight I will close my eyes and as I wait for sleep to blot out the cares of the day, I will dust off my dreamer to see if it might help me catch a vision of life with God. This dark valley of Lent is fertile ground for dreaming as I walk through the shadows of death hanging over Jesus, and me. I pray my dreams will be the beginning of new resurrection life not just for me but for others too... and maybe my dreams are a gift to God who first dreamed of creating us. I wouldn’t mind being able to ride like Dale Evans, God. I’ll practice in my dreams first.
Peggy Hester