For all those who endure, a golden crown ...

Who can know the power of a dream? Columbus had a dream of discovering a new world. Henry Ford had a dream of building an affordable automobile for the working-man. The Wright brothers had a dream of a flying machine. Many powerful and beneficial ideas have sprung from the imaginations of creative and visionary people over the ages. Educators, politicians, and guidance counselors make speeches out of this; so much so that it has become clichéd. Follow your dreams! Be all that you can be! Somewhere over the rainbow, etc. There is some truth there. We are made in the image of a creative God who has given us dominion over the created world. We are free to join Him in this on-going work both in gracing the world with works of beauty and discovery and also in redeeming part of what was broken in the fall. The creative impulse stirs from the very core of our being, a signature mark of the Creator, Himself.

Not only is it a natural outgrowth of who we are, but God also works in mysterious ways to kindle visions of service through the gifts and promises given to individual people like you and me. Abraham’s vision of being the father of nations was a promise of incredible proportions. Joseph’s visions of sheaves and ladders propelled and prepared him in ways he could not imagine. And Moses had a sense of destiny in looking upon his oppressed brothers that was linked with his privileged position. A superficial wish would be that we would be so blessed with same-such dreams and visions. I am not so sure. Dreams and visions can be very troubling things. Abraham waited and waited for the fruit of his promise to appear. And when it did not, he foolishly tried to bring it about on his own. Joseph shared his dreams with his brothers and was sold into slavery for his impetuous kindness. Moses slew an Egyptian and then fled for his life into self-imposed exile. In each case, the vision had to die before God could give it life.

Living with such dreams and visions can be a painful thing. And the temptation to force them into reality is constant. Such is the tragedy that stalks Shakespeare’s Macbeth. He becomes a self-made victim of the prophecies as he lends them his helping hand. On a slightly smaller scale, I happened to see a visionary on TV who had sacrificed his family and plunged into years of indebtedness all to follow a dream of a silly invention that had absolutely no merit. Not only was the bargain he had made a complete debacle, he stood pathetic and shamed before a TV audience with the sudden reality of it all. Many are the victims of following a dream to the exclusion of everything and everyone else.

David awoke one day and asked himself why he should dwell in a house of cedar while the ark of God dwelled in a tent. This vision of building the temple was one which grew in his heart and was to be the crowning achievement of his life. It was his dream. And it was a good thing. But God said, “No.” It would be built by David’s son, Solomon, instead.

Many of us have had dreams and visions of what we would like to accomplish in our lifetimes. They need to come with a warning label. Hazardous: handle with care! Giving them the Isaac-on-the-altar treatment is always good, preventative medicine. We must be willing to let them die so that God may resurrect them in His time. And let’s not forget David. We may never fulfill our dreams but instead enable our children to live them. Not all dreams are fulfilled in one generation. Especially great ones.

Sundays

"…and God rested on the seventh day from all his work which he had"

Finally, after the crush and rush of the first full week back to school, a Sunday dawned with ‘normalcy’ written all over it. Thank God for Sundays, that blessed provision from the foundation of the world for the sake of tired humanity. Some folk chafe at its proscription against labor. I revel in it. Maybe its because I am just such a shirker. Anyhow, when God says rest from your labor, who am I to argue?

Sunday can be such a day of refreshment. Rising early from force of habit, I find the house is quiet, time to reflect on the Word with no blast of hurry. Then there is the sweet music afforded on a radio station that prepares one for worship. Old favorites are mixed with a casual breakfast and the Sunday funnies. After church finds us gathered around a family dinner table for a home cooked meal and enjoying lively conversation ranging from the funny to the feisty. A soft couch brings a nourishing nap after which there is still time to write an overdue note, clear some clutter off the desk, make a long distance phone call, or just get some time to reboot one’s mind and spirit. And to think that it is a totally guilt-free experience. Sweet! The lawn can be as tall as ever, but it is Sunday! The garage still needs painting, but it is Sunday! I relish the change of pace, and can feel myself drinking up the refreshment to my body, spirit, and soul.

As idyllic as that all may sound, it was not always so. Sunday is the one day of the week our enemy loves to destroy. And it is not that hard to do, especially for young families. I well remember the sourness that would suddenly come out of nowhere on a Sunday morning and some resultant very quiet rides to church. Once, we never even made it. Expectations would clash, kids would lose a shoe, keys would turn up missing, or impermeable stains suddenly appear on clothing in between the house and the car: any one of which could drain a morning of all spirituality in a moment. The absolute match-to-dynamite in this morning scenario would be if one spouse or another was putting together a last minute Sunday school lesson. The odds for conflict would rise exponentially. And Sunday morning conflict can begin a conflagration that consumes the whole day and singes the whole week.

We learned we had to fight to preserve the sanity and sanctity of Sunday. The learning curve for dads is especially rough. I had to get lessons done ahead of time. I had to learn about expectations for shared responsibilities of prepping children for public display. Why don’t they teach you this stuff in manhood 101? But it seemed that no matter how much I made myself helpful, we were always finding ourselves in that last minute Sunday school charge. ‘I would NOT be late AGAIN,’ and, yes, I occasionally committed Sunday suicide by honking the horn from the driveway (men – do not try this at home, ever!). It took awhile, but I finally figured out why we were always running late: we were sleeping in until the last possible moment. My patriarchal instincts kicked in, and I wanted to proclaim a new time for rising and shining, but wisdom said this would be just another horn-in-the-driveway approach. I then discovered a secret weapon: bacon. The smell was irresistible. It was accompanied by eggs, pancakes, fried potatoes, etc. etc. Armed with these formidable weapons, I drove my family from their beds another whole hour earlier than what was usual. And, get this, they all thought I was great! We were up, fed, and then had an extra hour to get it right, strolling out the door, actually early. Tension was replaced by unexpected joy.

May you find and keep joy in your Sundays. At times you will have to fight for it, but it is there.