They start like the summer song of the cicadas. A nearly inaudible chirp here. Another there in the faraway darkness.
Their song rises and becomes more perceivable. They take form and shape and we start to wait for the hour to come when we hear them calling again.
Soon they have enticed us and drawn us in just like summer’s warmth, and we find ourselves turning our face to their rays and drawing new life from them.
This is how they are born in us.
A passing thought that lingers a little longer than most.
Someone’s story that resonates loud in our hearts.
They are tiny at first, little sparks of light, ambiguous but beckoning.
And then soon you find yourself thinking about that thing you are dreaming more and more often, and before you know its siren’s song is ringing loud in your head at night and echoing still as you rise.
Then one day you find yourself googling “how to write a book proposal” or “international midwife certification”, and there is this second other you, looking on and shaking her head and wondering who the heck you are.
Your dream takes shape and you know the next step.
You draw near to the heart of your Father and place it in his hands, lay it at his feet, whisper it in his ear–whatever way it is you approach the Lover of your soul when your heart is trembling and vulnerable, child-like and expecting.
You wait for his approval, and only realize after that you were holding your breath the whole time.
And then there is the moment, with some dreams, that his hand rises, and he pats you gently on the head and nods. A quiet approval that makes you wonder if you really heard him right.
Then a different sort of waiting begins.
It is more purposeful, and likely, you are a lot less patient about it.
Like sitting on a runway waiting for a journey to begin. Butterflies, but a firm purpose and a destination mapped out.
You sketch out a rough plan and a map from here to there in your life. You think about what this whole thing might look like. You are excited, and a little scared.
And then the waiting becomes a rain delay or a cancelled flight or someone calling you back to the check in desk. You doubt that you were ever meant to embark on this journey in the first place and wonder how you could have misinterpreted things so badly.
And then suddenly, the flight is taking off. You are running, breathless, to catch it. You get there just in time and strap yourself in, satisfied that it s finally time to actually go somewhere.
And there is the sudden awareness, an awakening to an unforeseen reality–stuff has gotten real here, and you are somehow way less equipped for this journey than you thought you were just a minute ago.
Maybe you should go back and get a few more things.
No, there is no turning back now.
And you figure out that writing a book proposal requires that you actually put words on the paper and write a book proposal.
And that becoming a birth attendant requires that you actually study to become a birth attendant.
So you do those things, and there you are.
You are rising.
On the wind of the Spirit and the high velocity of hope, you are making your way across the miles that span between your dream songs and making those dreams a reality.
You find a new comfort in your seat, a satisfaction in knowing you are on your way.
Then suddenly a door swooshes open and wind whips your face hard, and someone is yelling loudly in your ear, “JUMP.”
And you don’t know how it is you never knew.
That this is where it all was leading and now it is time to take the leap.
You are exhilarated and terrified all at the same time.
You hitch yourself to God and prepare to go spiritual skydiving.
And have to chuckle at your surprise as you recall that, yes, this is how it always plays itself out and yet you never seem to remember.
And there you are hitting “send” on an e-mail to an agent or packing up your Pilates ball and cutting up fruit to take to your first International Doula training class, and your knees are close to buckling and your knuckles are white.
And you are unsure if you can actually do it now that the time has come, now that the dream has drawn near.
And there it is, a little push from the One in Charge…and you, you are flying.
I start a doula certification program in Spanish tomorrow, friends. Tonight, I am white-knuckled and breathless as my dream draws near.
What about you? What are you dreaming these days? Are you in the cicada song phase, or just realizing you have to jump? Or has the push come and are you in midair? Tell me. Let’s dream together.