Sorry I haven’t written lately. I’ve been too busy.<\/p>\n
“Busy doing what?” you might ask.<\/p>\n
Too which I can only respond: “Dreaming.”<\/p>\n
It had been ages since I knelt in worship–even longer since the kneeling turned to sitting. I used to kneel in worship all of the time. And when my knees started to go numb, I’d transition to sitting on the floor, basking in the presence of God. Many of my most intimate conversations with God have occurred on the floor of our church during a worship service. But it had been a long time since I’d been on the floor–and a long time since I’d last had that kind of conversation.<\/p>\n
When I knelt in worship this Sunday, I wasn’t expecting anything spectacular–I just wanted to worship God. And when my knees grew tired of being sat upon, I shifted onto my bottom. I wasn’t expecting God to drop in–but He did.<\/p>\n
“When did you become so pragmatic?” He asked. “When did you stop dreaming?”<\/p>\n
You see, I used to be a dreamer. I dreamt of making a difference in the world. I dreamt of seeing great things, of doing great things. I dreamt of seeing blind eyes receive sight. I dreamt of dancing in the arms of a lover. I dreamt of owning a house that I’d minister out of. I dreamt of marriage and children. I dreamt of traveling the world. I dreamt of so much. My goals<\/a> are nothing compared to my dreams.<\/p>\n But somewhere along the way, I stopped dreaming. Things hadn’t turned out the way I intended. I turned 21, not only unmarried but with no prospects in sight. I was 24 and still in school. I prayed for revival, but I didn’t see it happen. I stopped dreaming. I stopped believing that dreams could come true.<\/p>\n It’s not that I didn’t miss dreaming. On the contrary, I sorrowed over my lack of faith, my absence of dreams. I even wrote a little song about it:<\/p>\n Once upon a time I thought big thoughts \tTeach me again the faith of a child \tRemember the child I heard Michael W. Smith’s “Missing Person” with new ears. I’d heard the song, sung the lyrics a thousand times without ever giving thought to what it was saying:<\/p>\n \tThere was a child who had the faith to move a mountain \tHe used to want to try to walk the straight and narrow It brought tears to my eyes–I wasn’t the only one who felt that way. But for all my searching, I wasn’t getting anywhere closer to finding the missing dreamer inside of me.<\/p>\n At least, not until God asked me His question: “When did you become so pragmatic? When did you stop dreaming?”<\/p>\n I didn’t really have an answer–or if I did, it was a pretty defensive one. “Well, Lord, what do you want me to do?” I asked in frustration.<\/p>\n “Listen to the dream.” He answered back. “Let it well up in your heart once again. And let Me make the dreams reality.”<\/p>\n I struggled with God a bit: “So how do I know that dreaming won’t just lead to disillusionment? I’ve dreamt before–and where has it gotten me? Have any of those dreams come true? How do I know that dreaming isn’t just a waste of time–something to keep me occupied so I don’t notice when life passes me by?”<\/p>\n And God responded: “My<\/b> kind of dreams aren’t a waste of time. My<\/b> kind of dreams don’t keep you from enjoying life. The knack, Rebekah, is to dream My<\/b> kind of dreams. The knack is to discover where your dreams and Mine intersect–and to jump on them for the ride of your life.”<\/p>\n And then He began to awaken the dreams. But this time, they’re not the fantasy castles of a little girl. This time they’re the dreams that involve blueprint writing, financial affair setting in-order, deep soul-searching. So I’ve been busy dreaming–finding the missing person I thought I’d never see again.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Sorry I haven’t written lately. I’ve been too busy. “Busy doing what?” you might ask. Too which I can only respond: “Dreaming.” It had been ages since I knelt in worship–even longer since the kneeling turned to sitting. I used to kneel in worship all of the time. And when my knees started to go … Read more I’ve been…<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"ngg_post_thumbnail":0},"categories":[5,21],"tags":[],"aioseo_notices":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/bekahcubed.menterz.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/196"}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/bekahcubed.menterz.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/bekahcubed.menterz.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/bekahcubed.menterz.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/bekahcubed.menterz.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=196"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"http:\/\/bekahcubed.menterz.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/196\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/bekahcubed.menterz.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=196"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/bekahcubed.menterz.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=196"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/bekahcubed.menterz.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=196"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\n\tI hadn’t yet learned they were impossible
\n\tOnce upon a time I dreamed big dreams
\n\tBefore I learned to not believe<\/p>\n
\n\tTeach me again to see
\n\tTeach me again, God oh so big
\n\tTeach me again to believe<\/p>\n
\n\tdreaming to sweat drops of blood?
\n\tRemember the child
\n\tCrying for revival to come?
\n\tBring back that heart,
\n\tthat longing,
\n\tthat hunger
\n\tTeach me again to believe<\/i><\/p>\n
\n\tAnd like a child he would believe without a reason
\n\tWithout a trace he disappeared into the void and
\n\tI’ve been searching for that missing person<\/p>\n
\n\tHe had a fire and he could feel it in the marrow
\n\tIt’s been a long time and I haven’t seen him lately but
\n\tI’ve been searching for that missing person<\/i><\/p>\n