Patience – Jennifer Kropf

Dreams. Dreamy dreams. Dreaming of dreamy dreams.

We all have that one dream, the one that never goes away, even if life provides a heaping pile of lofty distractions. Occasionally something reminds us of it and we pause to go back to dreamland for a moment. We let out a long dramatic sigh and for a split second that thing we want the most is so close we can almost taste it.

Nice, isn’t it? To experience it for just a moment? If only everything were possible and we had unlimited amounts of money and each of us possessed our favourite super power.

Really, there is only one conclusion. Dreams suck. Yep. It’s official. We always take it too far by adding on new branches to our dream tree and suddenly what started as a small dream turns into a completely ridiculous impossible venture.

Go us.

I happen to be incredibly guilty of being a ‘brain-wanderer’ (yes I made that term up which is why it’s lame) which leaves me staring off at nothing for long periods of time, getting lost in non-existent worlds or situations. I can sure dream up some funky dreams. Some of them are probably attainable. But I’ll be honest, most of them aren’t.

My biggest dream though is one that doesn’t seem to want to scamper off, even when I try to ignore it, forget about it, or even beat it down. Realistically there is no reason for me to want to get rid of it, except for personal insecurities, but there are always loads of excuses to. For example, I’m a mamma now. Most of my time is already spoken for by a little stump of a creature who doesn’t even know he’s needy. I love him to death quite frankly. Which presents a problem when the opportunity comes around for me to be selfish and take some time for myself. All I want to do with my time is help him, make sure he’s full, gotten his sleep, isn’t afraid, doesn’t feel alone, has clothes to wear, has food to eat and sing adorable songs to gently put him to sleep. It sure makes it hard for me to want to take off and live out my dreams when I care for him so stinking much. He rules my world. What a little punk. It’s like he’s already got me all figured out.

I’ve always wanted to get published and write novels full time as my career. I have many dreams, some you would laugh at because they are so far fetched, but this one trumps them all. I picture myself sitting in some little hole-in-the wall apartment in Rome, Italy, finishing off an epic sci-fi novel that will leave the world with their jaws hanging open in anticipation of what happens next.

This might sound strange. I don’t exactly come off as the well-spoken type. I’m one of those people that can write something that sounds pretty, but the moment I open my mouth I sound like I’ve stuffed my vocabulary into a blender and failed English seventeen times.

No, I don’t want to live in Rome. But some day I would love to travel there and sit with an unhealthy-sized cup of coffee and write an action packed book with just enough romance that all the saps out there buy into the story too. I would wear geeky glasses and everything, just to make it all feel legit.

Pffffft. Ridiculous. Who has the money for that? Or even the time? Seems like a lot of work to make this dream come true. I’m probably better off to stuff it into my “maybe later” box and never think of it again.

If I’m being honest though, I don’t think God gives us dreams for no reason. His reasons though, are likely not always what we think. Maybe He just wants to see if we are willing to give them up to follow Him. Now whether we are willing to give up our dreams for Him, that is the biggest test. It really doesn’t matter where they come from, God or us, we aren’t called to chase after fantasies, even if it would be incredible to wind up in history-splattered Rome with my nerd-glasses and an armful of notebooks with endless ideas.

We just need to praise Him, no matter what we are doing with our lives currently. I think the praises that come directly from the surrendered most abandoned hearts in those face-in-the-mud moments are the most touching to Him. Even if the songs aren’t that greatly written, sung or played. He just wants our true feelings, our true love, scribbled down on a cola stained napkin, and expressed to Him our very best.

I think the little drummer boy had it right.

Peace out.

There was an eerie whistle coming off the fields; its source was unknown. Only vacant emptiness hung over the green wheaties for miles. The sky was a dull grey, creeping over the landscape like it was its own life form. All seemed…ugh what is that horrendous smell?

Manure season. That’s what. What a wretched time to live out in the country.

I would have loved to sit outside today and observed God’s creation from my rickety lawn chair. But unfortunately the air is clogging my windpipes. I will die out there.

Time to come in and seal all the windows. With duct tape. And fabreeze. And then maybe I will gag myself and make a blanket fort to hide under to try and trap out this horrific smell. I wish I’d thought ahead and invited a friend to come over to suffer through this with me. At least then I could complain about it and make mildly inappropriate potty-humour jokes to pass the time.

Life’s storms, eh? Sometimes they come in the form of spray manure.

Ironically enough, I feel like this is God showing me something incredibly important. And JUST when I thought I got everything He was trying to say, this happens. And I realize all over again that He is sending me a message.

His message isn’t that He wants to choke me in a hot vat of animal waste. It’s about attitude. It’s about what your heart is doing. God is really asking me in this season, Do you trust me?

Ugh. I do. I know I do. Just let me be in control this once, please?

Sometimes it’s insulting when God asks us to trust Him. I get in these “zones” where I think about my education and capability to be able to get things done correctly and I think I can do quite an excellent job. And then God shows up. Do you trust me? And I’m one mega fist-flying hissy fit away from burning my house down for no reason.

Last year my journey to the Love Encounter conference was not flat. And by that I mean I fell into valleys and had to climb mountains to get to the end. But staying on the right course, even if it’s the un-level one, is key. If I’d gone my own way I would have gotten distracted by pretty flowers along the side of the road and after pulling off for too long I would have gotten lost in the magical forest. I never would have had to climb the mountains or scale down the rocky valleys. That might have been nice. And the Love Encounter would have looked really pretty. But it would have been dry, and lifeless. Those mountains that I conquered shaped the vision of the LOVE Weekend and changed my heart to understand the true purpose of where God was going with it. I needed those hikes. Or I wouldn’t have gotten it.

This year God has been bringing me back to those moments, reminding me what He taught me back then so He can build on it this year. Last year we climbed mountains. But this year we are building towers.

“Brave”. That is the theme for this year’s conference. I can’t wait to watch what God is going to do with this. I can’t wait to stand among the bravest of women. And when the enemy starts to spit arrows, I’d like to fire a couple back. I was nervous at first. I was afraid to set out on this new adventure again. But God asked me to trust Him. This year is going to have new battles, but for the first time since this TLE ball got rolling, I’m not afraid. Instead of ducking behind a rock, I’m going to grab my theoretical bow and cling to God’s promise. And the moment He says “Go!”, boy oh boy, I’m going to charge!

What I don’t want to do is walk into the battle unprepared. That is just plain dumb on my part. But in order to be prepared I need to have the right attitude. I need to ready my mind and my heart to stand against the attitude-manure that is going to make me and this entire conference stink if I let it get too close. Set me free God, from this manure season! I want your sweet fragrance to fill the sanctuary all weekend. I don’t want to drag in my manure-smelling attitude. That can leave with the wind. Let’s get this right.

Now I need to go call my husband and tell him that when he gets home he’s going to just have to wait out the poop-storm in his truck. If he comes and opens the front door then my entire fortress will smell like the inside of a cow’s bowels. I can’t have that.

Kropf out.