Some dreams are meant to fade. Others are meant to unfold in seasons. I found the latter true on Thursday when I began vocal lessons with a new instructor. Finding her was all God-ordained. In fact, I had given up on my dream of music.
Leafing through old songbooks caused the memories to return. Time stood still I as recalled my years of practice and rehearsals. I smiled at the thought of my lessons, livened by misplayed notes and playful pups; and marveled at the patience of my instructor as she prepared me to step on stage. Music was an integral part of who I was, but I had left that behind years ago.
As is often the case, the dreams we take the most care to bury seem to resurface and become a symbol of what we’ve lost. But maybe that doesn’t have to be. Maybe we are not meant to bury our dreams.
After my lesson on Thursday, rather than burying the memories, I let myself remember, and I held those moments close. In the remembering, the thought dawned on me: my dreams had a season. For a season, I sang and performed, and danced. Even if that dream had not been redeemed, it had still been lived.
Some dreams can not be revived. Some are simply meant to fade. But the memory of them can never be stolen; rather, the memory should fuel hope for the new—new God-breathed dreams that are beyond our own.
They may be yet to unfold, but they are coming. The season upon us reflects that truth. Maybe we should look at our old dreams as we do the turning leaves.
Maybe we were never meant to bury what we’ve lost, but to behold what we’ve held–and let old dreams become symbols of what the Lord has brought and what He now prepares.