Bottled-Up Dreams

Bottled-Up Dreams


I wonder what Joseph felt in that span of two years–after the surge of excitement at the possible release from his horrible predicament, wondering, waiting for his bottled-up dreams to bubble into reality…

Instead, hope faded because of a forgetful individual–

…the chief cupbearer did not remember Joseph, but forgot him.

Over time, I picture his shoulders slump, as hope slouches a bit.

Isn’t this what happens when we see our dreams, but they are just out of reach?

I had a dream that has yet to be fulfilled. It has sat on a shelf for some time, the edges of its crispness have faded into a less-vivid shade of hope.

July 16, 2012–

I had a dream.

I stand close to the water.  I see below the surface to the bottom.  It is full of rocks.  The water is clear and calm.  I lean in for a closer peek.  It feels as if time stands still.  Maybe it is because of the stillness of the water.  I don’t know.  

I only see my lower half (a good thing) as I either have my pant legs pulled up or I am wearing capris.  I gently place my painted toes into the water as if checking the temperature.  Ripples move outward.  

As with dreams, the scene abruptly shifts.  I am on the other side.  People are with me, but I do not see their faces.  Only the ground as I guide them to pick up the now dry stones to build an altar of sorts.

I wake up.

My dream feels familiar.  I know this story.

Joshua, Moses’ successor had a similar real-life moment.  He was about to take a journey to the Promised Land.  The River Jordan was high; at flood stage.  The water was rushing.  I am confident his adrenaline was rushing through him just as fast.

God encourages him to take a step.  He will go before Joshua on this journey.  Joshua and the people move forward in faith.  The water parts and a thoroughfare opens.  The rest is history.

Maybe it is because I saw it being literally answered in June, when I paid for the trip to Israel, and planned to be in the air to ring in the New Year, and new beginnings.

When days before, with bags packed, I received the unexpected call with just two words on the other end, “Mom died.”

All I wanted was a new beginning, not another end of a life that mattered so much.

I see a half penny on my run, and feel these thoughts speak to me–

Josie, your belief is like this penny, cut in half by circumstance.

Maybe the dream is not dead, only different.

My friend came for a visit and brought me a bottle of water from the Jordan River. It is a bit cloudier than I imagined. And my toes are not painted. But what if I place them in the three ounces anyway?

I’m reminded of another dream. The one with Bill, after Bill was gone.  Others are with him in the scene, but he is the only one I recognize.

…his arms are around a large, white stone on the ground. As he attempts to lift the giant rock, he looks up. 

I catch a glimpse of his face–so vivid. So alive. 

He smiles. 

I wake up. 

Maybe, just maybe, the dream is to reach the ones about to pick up stones, and me on the other side, is well, when I am literally on the other side after I have taken my last breath here?

I don’t know. That is the crazy thing about dreams, they are often so very different than we imagine.

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