I really didn’t want to tell you this part. I wanted to keep this dreaming conversation all about hard work and vision, discipline and putting our big kid pants on. The stuff that makes you think I’m really tough.

But I need to tell you the one thing I’ve been holding back. The part that means I’m not tough at all.

It’s about my dream. My dream is making me cry.  

It’s true. Over the past few months, I’ve been crying a disproportionate amount. In awkward places like the booth at Q’Doba or in the doctor’s office. And in predictable places like the shower or the car. 

This is the little-discussed side effect of dreaming: the ache. The part where you launch yourself into the air on hope and hard work, and pray to God something, someone, will catch you on the other side. 

I am mid-air over here. Flying and crying.

This is NOT a portrait of me while waiting. Goodness, it would take hours to pull this off. [Click photo for credit.]
Maybe you read my vision statement from a year ago. This is the life I seek to build with my words and prayers and the people slowly gathering around me, all seeking dreams and vision of their own. 

I own this dream. It’s my responsibility to see it through. But I can’t deny this in-between is breaking my heart. 

Maybe the craziest part is that the reason I cry is not for the present but for the future. It’s the moment in my mind when I wake up for work and leave my two babies at home. You’d think after 3 years of being a work-outside-the-home mom, leaving would’ve gotten easier. It’s only gotten harder. 

And I already feel so connected to this second child, the thought of leaving his big brother and his tiny, little nine pound self at home for 50 hours a week is slowly eating me up. 

I have a wonderful job. I am so fortunate and well-established. I work with kind and competent people. I know my work as a sleep-educator, morale-booster and mom-supporter very well. 

It’s not about getting out of my job. It’s about being home with these babies. And right now, because I provide most of the support for our church-planting family, it’s not possible.

In the past, I felt only pride about my role in the workforce, the fact that my labors in social work paved the way for our church to have a full-time pastor. But the season is changing. My heart longs to empower and educate and nurture my babies with my days, not just my nights and weekends.

Will it ever be possible?

I am working so hard to open my options, but it hasn’t paid off yet. So in the meantime, in the in-between, I ache. It hurts bad. 

There is much more I will say on this in the future, but I wanted all you dreamers and visionaries who live in Now-And-Not-Yet to know I relate. I feel the agony of hope deferred. I am in it with you. But let’s not give up. Our dreams are worth the work, right? 

[In the near future here, we’re going to hear more on this topic of longing and ache from a friend and fellow dreamer of mine, Henry Bartel. Do you have a story of hope deferred? Maybe your dream has been fulfilled, or maybe you’re still waiting. How did you deal? Consider being my guest, fill out the contact box below or send me an email to scsiders (at) gmail.com. And of course, share in the comments below, if you like.

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