The un-audacity of living the dream

I re-read my first ever blog. 2 years later, the group that spawned my thoughts has morphed and grown to where my role is basically a supporting one. It's a totally different entity than I could ever have imagined, better in most ways.

It's a funny thing though, the passage of time and the reality of perception. I think if you had told me 2 years ago that I wouldn't be attending the gathering, that there would be another guy who was heading it up and giving it direction, that it would look the way it does... honestly think I would have been disappointed, or at least bothered, maybe even ticked.

But what did I know back then? I knew what I wanted, I knew my heart to see something happen, and I think those were good things. I don't think I was sinful in desiring that group to grow and flourish. I just didn't have all the information at the time. My peception of best back then, and the reality of best right now are barely comparable.

The principle I keep running into is best summed up by the great poet and theologian Billy Joel, "The good ole days weren't always good and tomorrow ain't as bad as it see-ee-eems." If I pause long enough to let that truth do it's work, it should drive humility deep into my core. My dreams and ambitions and hopes and prospects keep waking me up to face the day. They give me something to look forward to. They allow me to dance hopefully and rage wildly into the night. They're important...

But they're best held loosely.

I wouldn't trade one thing about my life, knowing what I knew then and knowing what I know now. I wouldn't do it differently. I'm grateful that God, the one I was listening for on that day, is in control. He knows best. Even better me. If you can believe it. It's a hard lesson to learn. If anything seems to be truly rooted in my own best interest, it's my dreams. They seem so shiny and bright, so tantalizing and sweet. Honest reflection gently convinces me, however, both of the necesity of large dreams, and the humility of letting them age well. It seems when I do that, they are always becoming what they were intended to be... images and reminders of God's sovereign goodness and provision for me.