Walt and I once ran into an old college mate on the streets of our home town. We’d been acquaintances on campus, but hadn’t seen each other for years. At our chance encounter, the man exuded prosperity, from his designer suit to the brand-new Mercedes he nonchalantly leaned against. He talked only of his successes and achievements since our college days. Walt and I, in our J. C. Penney clothes, leaned on our 20-year-old Plymouth and listened. We thought of the dreams we’d had in school. We didn’t covet succes; we only wanted to serve the Lord Jesus however He chose for us to do it. After that conversation, we were so glad for the paths God had given us. We honestly weren’t impressed with his fancy clothes, his successful career, his gleaming Mercedes, or his trophy wife
It’s odd how suddenly something can trigger your memory, where you remember youthful dreams and view the reality of life now. A death in the family, a fiftieth high-school reunion, a chance meeting of old acquaintances—these stir up those early memories.
Recently we buried my precious baby sister Joy, and I found myself assessing once again the dreams our Rice family had shared through the years, and trying to judge how successfully we’d seen those dreams fulfilled.
When I was nine years old, I saw a picture of little Chinese children fleeing in terror from Japanese invaders. That day I asked God to let me give them the Gospel. When I was 18, ready to fall in love, my dreams hadn’t changed. I wanted to marry a man who would love me and who would love God. I wanted to mother a houseful of children. I wanted to write “The Great American Novel” if Mark Twain hadn’t already written it. And God gave me the reality of those goals (except for writing the “Great American novel”!)
I didn’t know the great hazards of having such high and holy dreams. It didn’t occur to me that I might not have the talents or smarts to accomplish what I dreamed of. I didn’t know how much of my success would depend on my inheritance and upbringing, the circumstances and the lives of others. I didn’t know the vagaries and inconsistences I would find in myself. But I did dream holy dreams.
My mother and father prepared us for serving God as best they could. Just before they were married, Mother wrote Daddy about her dreams for her sons, that they might grow up to be college presidents or even president of the United States. Daddy wrote her back, “Lloys, don’t you have dreams for your daughters, too? They can be great musicians or artists. They can be great mothers. Dream for your girls, too.” (A good thought, since it turned out they had only daughters!)
So when I said goodbye to my baby sister (yes, I know, she was 87 years old, but she was still my baby sister) I had a solemn time of comparing the dreams of my childhood, and the reality of my life now. I did it in the light of the promise God gave me in Acts 2:18-21:
In those days I will pour out my Spirit. even on my servants—
men and women alike—and they will prophesy. . . .
[“To prophesy” means to tell people about Jesus]
But every one who calls on the name of the Lord
shall be saved. Acts 2:18.21 (nlt)
I could not achieve my dreams by my puny, inadequate efforts. But I could see God work on my behalf. He keeps His promises. The reality has been sweeter than the dream. Failures on my part? Oh, my, yes! Inadequacies? Again, yes. But God has been faithful, and there is glory ahead.