The Dream that had to Die
The death of a
dream.
I remember the
night that Hubs and I packed up my 4th grade classroom like it was
just a few days ago, and yet we are nearing a decade since that late night in
July. I never actually got to teach a
day in that classroom, but I sure poured a lot of love and time into making it
lovely. It was my dream classroom at my dream school teaching my dream
grade. It was all I had ever hoped for
since I was only 5 years old.
And yet there I
was packing all of it back up into boxes with the man that would soon be my
husband because instead of starting the school year in a few weeks, I would be
moving back to Guatemala with him to begin our new life together.
The truth was I
didn’t feel near as calm as I looked on the outside. I was one of those mixtures of hot and cold,
sad and excited, calm but fearful. But,
for the most part my soon to be hubby and I worked in silence.
When we arrived
back to my parents’ house, it was already quite late and my parents were
already in bed but not yet asleep. I
peaked in to let them know we were back, and as I turned to walk back out of
the door, my dad quietly asked in the darkness, “How did it feel to pack up all your dreams tonight?”
It’s amazing how
even now, all these years later that question still brings tears to my
eyes.
My daddy knew me
well. He knew that no matter how strong
of a façade I was wearing, deep inside, I was mourning this loss. I just was too prideful to let anyone see it.
He knew how I had
lined up my Barbie dolls at the bottom of the stairs to “teach them.” He saw me clapping around my grandma’s house
in her hot pink high-heeled shoes pretending to be my most favorite teacher
Mrs. Schmutzler. He overheard the times
I made my sister “do homework” and listen to my lessons as I stood in front of
my green chalkboard. My daddy knew all
of these things. So he knew that turning
in those keys and locking up that classroom was no easy task.
As I look back
there are a thousand things that I wish I could go back and do different. In my immaturity, I didn’t always handle
things correctly. I didn’t speak when I
should I have. I spoke sometimes when I
should have remained quiet. I just
lacked so much of the foresight that age gives you.
That night still
often stings. I still get choked up
about it occasionally when someone reminds me of that season.
Deep down I think
a part of me is still mourning the death of that dream.
And sometimes
that is still really hard.
I think back to
that picture of how my life was supposed to look right now, and more times than
I would like to admit, I still feel a pang of sadness about it. There are still moments in time when I will
catch a picture on a friend’s Facebook wall, and I will think, “Oh what a beautiful life they live. I wonder what it would be like to live it
too?” Driving through the glorious
Rocky Mountains back in October with my family in tow, I often stared up at
those lovely cabins in the woods and wondered to myself, “Maybe someday we could live in one of those too…”
Even in the 10
years since I packed my teaching things into the boxes, there has never been an
August that I don’t struggle through the grief of wishing I was starting a new
school year again with my students. I
still remember the smells and the sounds and the wonderful sights of new
classroom supplies, new leather shoes, and the laughter of the kids excited
from a wonderful summer and filled with expectation of a new school year with
their friends.
The thing about
death and grief is that it never quite goes away. The pain may fade in time but the sting of
death and the grief that comes from it is always a bit near.
Nevertheless the
death of a dream is more manipulative and much less cut and dry. We struggle with the “What if’s” and the
“What could have been’s?” We never
actually got to experience it in its fullness so we are left to paint the
picture in a way that is often over-exaggerated and far from the depiction of
the real thing. And this will damage us
if we aren’t careful. It will enslave
us. It will ask us to choose over and
over again between what we think we could have had and the beauty and pain of
what stands in front of us.
One of the most
impacting moments in the newest version of “Beauty and the Beast” is the famous
dance scene towards the middle/end of the movie. Belle and the Beast clearly have feelings for
each other. He invited her to a lovely
dinner and then they are dancing away in the stately ballroom, he in his best
“suit” and she in her legendary yellow ball gown. It’s nothing short of breathtaking. Truly one of the most spectacular scenes in
cinema I have seen in a very long time.
After they
finishing dancing, they step out onto the balcony and the Beast asks Belle if
she thinks that she could truly be happy there with him. Its obvious she believes she maybe could, but
instead she says, “Can anyone truly be happy if she isn’t free?” I may have changed the wording just a tad
because it’s been a couple of weeks since I saw it, but the idea has stuck with
me since.
Can anyone really
be happy if he or she isn’t free?
I don’t have to
hesitate to answer because I know that happiness without freedom is only a
mirage. Chains and captivity and walls
and borders can often disguise themselves and give very lovely and impeccable illusions
of freedom and happiness, but they can never master the real thing. We can never truly experience all the beauty
and joy and happiness of this life if we are living in chains.
And those chains
will look different for everyone. For so
many years my chains were my lost dreams.
I could never truly embrace this life because I was too busy mourning
the one I never had but always believed I had wanted.
Later in the
movie Belle of course does get to leave the castle so she can go and rescue her
father. Once she does that, she tells
him that she must now return to the castle to rescue the Beast (and I would add
to “free him” although that was only implied never said aloud). Her father
looks incredibly scared and pleads “but
it will be dangerous.”
“Yes Papa, it will be dangerous. It will be very very dangerous,” she
replies.
Sometimes
breaking free from our chains will come with a cost. There will be a price to pay. There may even be some sadness and grief that
come with it.
But isn’t freedom
worth that price? Isn’t the danger worth
facing if it means walls and chains and fences and borders no longer bind
us?
Why do we choose
captivity when we could have freedom?
Why do we hold onto things that are meant to die so that we can go on living?
It took me a very
long time but I finally decided to just let those dreams of mine die. I didn’t let them die because they no longer
mattered, though. I let them die so I
could live. I chose to believe that God
knows better. I started to ask Him to
give me new dreams and the strength to finally embrace this beautiful, lovely,
hard, scary, crazy, rich life that He so graciously gave me.
“No one puts a piece of unshrunk cloth on an old garment, for the patch
tears away from the garment, and a worse tear is made. Neither is new wine put into old
wineskins. If it is, the skins burst and
the wine is spilled and the skins are destroyed. But new wine is put into fresh wineskins, and
so both are preserved.”
Matthew
9:16-17
What old things
do you keep trying to stuff into new wineskins?
What is keeping you in captivity instead enabling you to face the perils
and wonders of a life in freedom? Don’t
choose the safety of what is known just because you know it. Choose to let die what needs to die. Choose to bury what kept you in chains. Choose to risk but to trust and believe that
what God has for you is ten thousand times richer and fuller and just better
than anything you could dream up for yourselves.
Dreams are
good. They are good and lovely and
wonderful. But, not all dreams are
supposed to be realities, just as not all realities are as beautiful as a
dream. But if we have the courage to
keep dreaming while still living in our reality, I believe that we can find the
freedom to trust God with both.
