We walk in the woods, quiet, with the shine of sun overhead and the roar of water all around but my mind; it is not quiet. Not still. It races
I sweep the floor, quick and wash dishes tirelessly and my mind whirs on.
I ready the children for bed and I slip into the quiet hour before sleep and I hardly know what to choose from in the startling array of options on my bedside table. Books on China and adoption, urban homesteading, understanding the abundance of heaven, gratitude, and a few fluff items by Nicholas Sparks. I pick the Nicholas Sparks but still my mind races.
I sit in church and while all around me people abandon themselves to worship through singing, dance, kneeling . . . me? I journal. I write hard and fast then slow and meditative. Must get these endless brain bursts onto pages. Must release the ever-dreams. Must still the mind racing as I confide my heart to Him.
This is my walk right now. An endless series of brain bursts that I sometimes manage to capture on paper, glowing there, like the tie die spirals Naomi and her friends make with oil pastels. I dream and I dream and I dream. And God, He is silent. No, not silent. Just quiet. I think He is giving me space to dream. I think He is saying that it is okay to live with unlimited options. That it does not have to be scary not to narrow them down. I think He is saying, dream on.
And I do. I dream in colors and layers and textures and in different realities and I am tired, often, even when I wake. And yet I feel more peace than I have in ages. He calls me Dreamer . . . and so I have become.