I am a dreamer. I dream wide and long and often. Every day I dream new dreams about what could be – in my home, in my family, in my church, in my community, in my career. When I was in high school and time stretched out before me, long and lazy, I would spend hours letting my thoughts wander, letting my dreams frolic as they pleased. And it seemed then that they were all possible, probable even. It was glorious.

And then life struck. I turned twenty and entered that decade that brought on wave upon wave of washed up dreams. Ideas and possibilities choked out by natural circumstance and limitation and life itself. It was hard. Very, very hard. So for a bit, I put all of my dreams in a closet and locked the door. Easier to lock them all away than watch them run free only to drown in the sea of real life, and all of that.

At thirty one, I now see things differently. I feel more free to let my dreams roam as they may, knowing that many of them will simply wander off, likely meant to be breathed alive by another. As each year passes and I come to learn more about my God and about myself, I feel more and more comfortable with the idea of them wandering to live with another.

Even still – there is a fullness of belief I’ve yet to discover. With nearly ever dream, ever idea, I stand facing the road block of time and money. It’s always the same. Time and money. Money, in particular, makes me want to throw myself on the ground, wail, scream, pound my fists. It happened this morning as I journaled. A brilliant idea, a dream that has lingered for a great many years and just keeps growing in my heart and mind, refusing to wander on, a dream that is honest and compassionate (mostly) not about me – it flowed out of my heart and onto the pages of my journal in the color of black ink. And it just stared at me. A lovely, God-given idea that I cannot imagine being possible. Because of the money. The money. The money.

Emily.

God does this sometimes when I am swimming deep in a sin and entirely unaware of it. He lets me wade in and get worked up before He quietly, tenderly says my name.

No one can serve two masters. Either you will hate the one and love the other, or you will be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve both God and money. Matthew 6:24

“Well, yes, Lord. I know. I don’t love money. I hate it. I loathe it. I despise stupid, stinking money.”

Who do you serve?

“(Sigh)You’re right. You. I serve you. But I’m acting like it’s money that rules me. You can do whatever you want. You don’t deal in the currencies of money or time. You operate outside of them. Beyond them. You do. I know you do. But it always comes back here – to that which has made me feel bound my whole life – the squasher of dreams, the perpetual log in the road. I can’t figure a way around it. I feel stuck.”

Remember the loaves and the fish. I make much from little. Instead of looking at your own lack, look at my abundance. And ask. Always ask.

“But they did not understand what this meant. It was hidden from them, so that they did not grasp it, and they were afraid to ask him about it.” Luke 9:45

“You do not have because you do not ask God.” James 4:2 

It’ll always be something. There will always be something that I lack,.something that makes a thing seem impossible. Always. I must be careful not to let the lack draw my focus. I must carefully, intentionally steer my focus toward the one who deals only in the currency of blood and sacrifice, the currency that you and I have been granted in limitless amounts – if only we ask. We must always, always ask.