Dream to Goal

I have dreamed of being a published author my whole life.  In the past, I thought that this would never happen.  I was so bound up in my own hurt that I could only see the road straight ahead of me, and that only for a few yards.  Whenever I tried to write, voices seemed to shout at me, "You're so stupid! Why do you think you can write?  Nobody wants to read what you have to say!"  That would continue until I put down my pen and walked away.  Obviously, I was being fed lies, some would say through demons, others just by my own poison self talk.  Either way, I knew this had to change.  I sought counseling from an old friend (NOT the best idea, those of you who are searching.  It worked for me, but I don't recommend it for the majority of people).

My friend was more interested in renewing our friendship than in a strict patient-counselor relationship, so we tried that out.  It seemed to work for us, mainly because she understood where I was in the relationship.  There were times when I only wanted her to be my counselor; other times I accepted her as a friend.  It was a long time before we could do both at the same time.

While we were finding our way in this relationship, she asked if I'd like to go with her to San Diego.  I agreed, and we had fun seeing the sites and searching out the used book stores.  In the car, she would play classical music.  On the way back, she played Taverner's Akathist of Thanksgiving.  The Eastern Orthodox sound and the beauty of the music were overwhelming.  As we listened, she gave me the CD notes to read, and I realized that the man who wrote the meditations on the Psalms was held in a Russian prison.  He spoke of the beauty of nature, the glory of God, and the wonders of his love--all with only a small window which looked out on the barrenness of the prison.  I was inspired.  "If he can do all that facing certain death, surely I can write meditations as well."  When I got home, I started writing meditations on the Psalms--starting backwards at Ps 150.  Such joy!  A wellspring seemed to come up out of nowhere, and I began writing more and more.  My counselor/friend and I began writing music together, too.

So I was released to write, and for many years, that was enough.  But eventually, the desire to publish became a burning within me.  I've never been one of those people who can write for God or for his own self-pleasure.  I write for an audience.  Even now, I think of you reading these words as I write them.  I think of you wondering if maybe it can work for you like it worked for me.  I'm praying that you realize that it can.

So I had the desire to publish, but I didn't have the faintest idea how.  I also was afraid.  No matter how many people told me that my content was good, it didn't give me the courage to submit it for publication.  So I kept writing, but with no place to show it off, it was frustrating.

Then I found blogs.  I started writing, testing out different styles and having fun.  I was excited and felt that maybe things were starting to come around.  But then--I wrote something that got me into serious trouble in the work place, and fear overwhelmed me.  Before, I felt that I was too stupid to write.  Then, I felt that I could lose my job if I wrote.

It took time, but I started again.  This time, lesson learned, I determined never to put anything on my blog that I wouldn't want my worst enemy to read.  It worked.  My audience was small, but I got good reports.  After a while, I also started a blog for language teachers, and that took off.  I was very happy about that, too.  But still--publishing?  However, this time I felt a little more hope.  I started reaching out to the writing community.  There were some false starts, yes, but then I found it:  a Christian writer's group!  This was truly an answer to prayer!  In one simple meeting, I received all the hope, affirmation, and encouragement that I could ever have wanted.  Last night, I got out all my writings and am starting to categorize them.  I'm excited, because I now know what to do and how to do it.

So now my dream of publishing has turned into a goal.  I'm setting that goal down here as a marker:  I have decided to release a book of monologs by Christmas.  It will be called Biblical Portraits, Vol. 1, and it will center on the people and time during the life of Christ.  I will self-publish (it just so happened that this was the topic of my first meeting), and I will release it on Amazon.com.

So there, friends.  My goal is down for all to see. Please pray with me that I might achieve this goal.

I will let you know how it goes, and I will give you samples of the portraits.  I would appreciate it if you would pass them on to your reading friends.  It seems I also have to have my own website, so that is in the works as well.

Love to you all!  I know that many of you have been praying for me to get to this point in my career.  Thank you!! I'm excited!

tell her megan says hi

Sand, sea and sky.  Moving pleasantly back and forth within  the waves, waiting for the big one.  No board, just my body.  I go beyond the waves and lay on my back, watching the sky with its pristine white clouds hovering overhead.  Some seals come close, and I swim with them in a way that assures me that this is a dream.  As I swim, I catch sight of a blonde head just beyond me.  She also is swimming.  She is young, no more than seven or eight, but she swims like a pro!  Who is she, and why on earth am I dreaming of her?  I begin to swim toward her to find out who she is when …Billy Joel sings to me, assuring me that a bottle of red and a bottle of white/whatever kind of mood you're in tonight/ I'll meet you anytime you want/ in our Italian restaurant.

I hit the alarm, get up, and march out of my bedroom, knowing that if I even look at that bed, I'll give in to the urge to crawl under the covers once again.  Eat breakfast, shower, shave and take off down the street to catch the 302 bus to my job downtown.  On my way, I think about that little blondie.  What on earth kind of dream is that, where all I can remember is a 8-year-old girl!! I smile to myself.  I'm more the kind of guy to think about the mom, not the girl!

Mountains, a stream, and a fishing pole.  This is the life!  Overhead, blue sky with not a hint of clouds.  The fish are really biting, too, but as is the way of dreams, I don't remember anything but catching them and then seeing them miraculously appear on my stringer.  For some reason, I'm dressed for work in a button-down blue shirt and Dockers, but at least I have on my favorite tennis shoes.  I look to my side, Ah, yes! One cooler for the fish, another for me!  I look in the box for a beer and notice a couple of sandwiches.  A couple--am I staying a while, or did I bring a friend?

I look around.  On one side, there is an old man chewing on a pipe who looks like he's fished this stream for 50 years or more.  To his left, a young couple, the wife visibly pregnant, each have a pole in the water.  The husband seems to be enjoying the experience much more than the wife.  I hear noise in the distance and look up toward the parking lot--a ratty brown Mustang sits with its windows down, and three small children play inside.  

I look to my right, and there she is.  Blonde curls done back in a bow, she is older today, more like 10 or 11.  She's not fishing, although she has a vest and wading boots on.  I ask her where she's from and she smiles and points off into the distance.  "My folks are over there, fishing.  I don't like to fish, but I like to be stylish.  Doesn't this look nice on me?"  I smile and say yes, it certainly does!  It surprises me that I say it.  I'm not much into kids, really, but she's different.  She seems really polite and isn't into that annoying question asking or favor begging that some kids enjoy.  She asks me what I'm fishing for and I tell her "Bad Bad Leroy Brown, baddest man in the whole damn town!"

I'm jarred awake, blue eyes still in my mind as I get up to get ready for work.  Twice in a row, now!  Who is this girl??  She's on my mind as far as the bus stop, but then I slowly shake it off.  It's just a dream!  I must have seen her somewhere and she made an impression.  No big deal.

That day, I go in to work and I notice that there's a new face at the desk beside me.  She's quite something, I have to say.  Brown hair, blue eyes, and a smile that lights up the room.  She's introduced to me as Kate Colliers, and I greet her politely and then go into my work haze, as usual, forgetting everything but the task at hand.

At an opera, of all things! What on earth?!?  But then I realize that it's not quite an opera, it's more a musical, which I have to admit that I enjoy.  I look around, but I don't seem to be accompanying anyone, which is even more strange.  I can't see myself going to something like this if a lady wasn't involved.  Oh, well, whatever.  I settle myself in to enjoy this pretty weird dream, and then there's a tap on my shoulder.  "Excuse, me, but didn't I meet you a few years ago?  You were out fishing?"  I look up and see a slender blonde teen.  She has aged from 10 to around 15, but again, not your usual 15-year-old.  There's something about her….I say, yes, I did, but I didn't get your name.  "That's right!" she says.  "Hey, did you meet the new girl at work yet?"  "Ms. Colliers?  Yes, I did.  Do you know her?"  She doesn't answer that question, either.  "When you see her tomorrow, can you please tell her Megan says hi?"  "Megan?  Is your name Megan?"  But she turns and walks away, disappearing as if she'd never been.

The alarm doesn't wake me; the dream does.  I don't have a clue what it meant, and I don't know what to do about it.  I think about it as I shower.  As I shave, I look at myself in the mirror and imagine her there. "Hi, Ms. Colliers--Kate--I know this sounds strange--"  I don't even finish the thought in the mirror.  How can I possibly say something that insane to her?

But by the time I'm on the bus, I know that I will.  I don't stop and chat.  I got straight to the office and…there she is.  Why hadn't I noticed how pretty she was?  Oh well, now or never!  I gird up my loins and walk over to her desk.

"Hey, Kate, I, uh, well, I have something pretty strange to tell you."  She looks at me with a friendly smile, and I tell her the story of my dreams.  When I start, she looks pretty quizzical, but somewhere in the telling, her face flushes and her eyes begin to glimmer.  She says not a single word, and there's a moment of silence when I've finished.  Then she reaches for her wallet.

"Tell me Megan said 'hi'? Pete, tell me, did she look like this?"  She takes out a picture of a girl of about 15.  It doesn't take me a minute to realize that it's her.  Blonde hair, blue eyes, sweet smile.  I look at Kate and nod my head.  She nods her head, too.

"Pete, Megan was my older sister.  She was diagnosed with leukemia when she was 15, and this was the last picture that we have of her.  She went really quickly.  But she always told me that she would scope out the perfect man for me.  She would make sure that he was okay, and when she was sure, she would let me know."

In that second, it was as if she heard what she'd just said, and she blushed crimson.  I laughed and said, "Well, if Megan is so sure that we're a match made in dreams, we mustn't disappoint her--we should at least try it out!"

On our first date, we went fishing.  The second date was to Phantom of the Opera.  And the wedding?  It will be at the beach.  And we plan to swim with the seals afterwards.  And we will light a candle for Megan, too.  After all, she was the matchmaker--a match made in heaven!