I’ve never been much of a salesman. I only made my property management career last as long as it did because I switched early on from leasing to maintenance. I was all for taking something and making the most out of what I was given… but talking others into wanting that same thing? Helping them to see what it could be not just what it was?
Difficult.
I was a realist. And of the mindset that people know what they want. Or better yet, what they don’t.
For a long time I thought being a realist was the smartest, safest, way to be.
Here’s the thing about realism though.
It doesn’t leave room for a lot of hope.
Some dreaming.
Any wishes.
It just... is.
And I got pretty sick and tired of what I saw and lived without anything to chew on at night. No bubble gum dreams. No sips of hot chocolate. No princes on white horses.
Or any kind of horse, car, bicycle, cane, for that matter.
You know what I mean.
I can’t say it started with a bang – trusting Jesus with dreams. I think it probably started very small.
A dandelion.
And gradually, a few dandelions later, dreams came. My smiles lit up my pillow and I woke up to sun inside me.
My first reaction is to almost defend my realist self now.
“I am not naïve!!” With a small fist shake to the sky and turn of my head. That's the hard-won, fought for, world wisdom in me.
But then a small voice whispered, “What’s so bad with being naïve anyway?”
Naive: lacking judgment, wisdom, or experience.
Basically, kind of dumb.
But then...
I looked at definition #2 and it said this.
Natural. Unaffected. Innocent.
My heart jump roped once or twice.
Natural? Unaffected? Innocent?
And I felt, way down deep in my belly, a longing reach out.
I don’t know how God can make us both. Wise & Innocent. Experienced & Unaffected.
But he does.
Something with that whole, beauty from ashes thing. It’s just God.
Dandelion sprinkles.
And so I changed from a Realist to a Hopeful.
Oh, I know things can still be bad but more than that, I also know how so much good can come from them.
Today I was driving home from Starbucks, deadbeat tired, still coughing, my stomach groaning and ok, basically whining, to be fed, and I talked to God about the Hope Sent book. I feel supported. I hear encouragement. But where are the letters Lord? They started coming and now they just stopped.
Where are they?
And that’s when He reminded me of what a realist I used to be and how Hope was not a welcome neighbor. In fact, I would go running at Hope with a baseball bat and chase it down the street, screaming profanities and promises of a beating if it came too close.
I can’t just wave the flag of Hope and expect people will come running. Obstacles await for anyone that even glance that way. Reminders. Triggers. Feelings that we stomp so hard if it were grapes, we’d be selling a mighty fine wine. And now here I am, asking you to volunteer them out. Asking you to just give it away.
That’s a lot to ask.
I know.
And God reminded me, in order to get trust you have to show yourself trustworthy.
What does that mean Lord?
I’m not sure quite yet what all it means but I do know this.
I have to go first.
I have to trust you first. With the worst of me. With the most painful.
Even though you may be anonymous to me, you are not anonymous to you and I know how hard it is to write it down, to get it out, to make it real.
Again.
And so
I
am going to give
to you
first.
I know what it feels like to be abandoned.
I know what it feels like to learn your daddy is not your daddy and your real daddy doesn’t really want you.
I know what it feels like to have parents that are just kids in big bodies.
I know what it feels like to be touched and whispered to, and violated, when you are too small to help yourself and he’s big enough to know better.
I know that grown-ups don’t always do what they are supposed to do. They don’t always help.
I know what it feels like to watch your mom drink too much, and bring home too many men, and still love her love her and protect her until you just can’t anymore.
I know what it feels like to leave home, pack a bag, hop a bus, and sleep outside, anywhere to get away
.
I know what it feels like to crave anything, drink anything, smoke anything, kiss anyone, to make the pain stop for just a minute, just a second.
I know Rage and her friend Bitterness and her second cousin Control and I know how they wreak havoc in your brain and in your life and in your body.
I know what it feels like to have your husband tell you he’s changed his mind and walk away.
I know what it feels like to finally realize it’s my fault too and I can’t keep blaming him anymore.
I know what it feels like to be a single mom and be overwhelmed and always wondering, am I doing this right? Am I?
I know what it feels like to not be one because you’ve traded places and now he’s a single dad.
I know what it feels like to look in the mirror and see F A I L U R E mixed in with M O T H E R and self-loathing in your own eyes.
I know what it feels like to love God and church and to think somewhere, for some reason, God must have stopped loving you because the church sure did and just like everything else, it’s my fault and I am not good enough. Again.
I know what it’s like to lock the door and cover your ears so you can’t hear him yelling and drinking and yelling some more, while you pray and pray and think to yourself, this is what I get… what I deserve.
I know what it feels like to work so hard for keys and a picket fence just to have to give them back and say goodbye to the American Dream.
I know what it feels like to be lost.
And alone.
And scared.
And angry.
And craving love so bad you think you could die from it if someone doesn’t give it to you soon.
I. Know.
Maybe not everything you have been through. Maybe not each and every detail of your life. But I know mine.
And I know this.
God can take anything, any burnt ash of a life, of a marriage, of a childhood, of a church, of a dream, of a hope, of a home, of a mother, of a grandfather …
And he can make something most beautiful out of it.
But He can only do it if we let him. If we take a step. If we open our mouth. If we write a letter.
You see, God is so unlike what I have experienced in my entire life. He'll be so different from what you have experienced in your life.
He is gentle.
And He waits.
For permission.
For allowance.
For clearance.
For a Yes.
Not because He wants you to beg. Not because He is holding anything over your head. But because He knows.
He knows, Sweet Pea, what you’ve been through, what’s been done to you.
And He is different.
He is the Lover of your soul.
The protector of your heart.
The giver of dandelions.
Hope Sent the book: PO Box 3648 ramona, ca 92065 / hopesentministry@gmail.com
