I’m a dreamer. Always have been. Sometimes my dreams are wild and unlikely, some are grand but doable, some are quaint and likely but must be saved for later. Often I dream out loud and scare my family (haha), though I think they often take those more seriously than I intend.
But there is this one dream I have…call it a recurring daydream. It sneaks up on me when I’m watching a sun-shower, finds me when I’m photographing flowers or ducks, wraps me in warmth on chilly winter nights.
In this dream I am living in the country on a small acreage or hobby farm. Sometimes we keep chickens, usually there is a large vegetable garden and a dog trotting at my heels. Add a horse or two, a small (but well-planned and comfortable) house, a little barn, and a play house for the kids, and you have a little picture of the life I’ve dreamed up for my family.
And I think we can make it happen. I would love to say “in a year,” but I’m thinking more likely two to four (though as an aside, I must say that those who support me in this are sadly few, and that makes it hard…so hard). In any case, we’ll say “when it’s God’s will.”
Above all, I must remember that the thing most present in those little dreams is love. The dream exists for the love of my family, for the memories we can make…and I remind myself as I wake from my daydreams how that part starts now. So I rise from my reveries and, giving each of my children a kiss, pick up a book or a crayon, to help them become dreamers too (and silently resolve that their little dreams will also be mine).