Tuesday, June 21, 2011
In my Father's house are many dream homes~
My sisterfriend Debra has been sharing her home and life with her blog neighbors for a few years now and we've been there with her as she moved into her dream home, a farmhouse. If you know me at all, you know that this would be the dream most likely shared between Debra and me. Since 1976 I've been trying to get back to The Farm. More recently, Debra and her husband Tom have come to the realization that it's time to leave the farmhouse behind and seek a smaller place to call home. Always willing to share her heart, Debra has allowed us some special glimpses into the frustrations as well as the pleasure of her farm life dream as the sparkle has started to tarnish just a bit. Did Debra and Tom mis-hear God's voice when they moved to this high maintenance dream home? Or are they missing it now as they move away? Ahh, these are the thoughts of mortal minds. Minds trapped inside of time who feel the ever-present threat of wasted moments or years.
As for my mind, well, I try to keep it on the immortal track, there's much more time from that perspective and much less fear of wasted anythings. That's another thing I suspect Debra and I have in common.
Just confining the conversation to dream homes, I've had a thousand and lived in one. The one I ended up living in was the very one I was absolutely convinced I didn't want. The one I've wanted most of all (The Farm), I don't expect to live in. Well, not while I'm caught inside of this doggone mortal body of mine-despite my attempts at immortal thinking.
I've wanted to live in large new constructions with lofts and cathedral ceilings and those catwalk things that connect the two halves of the second story.
I've wanted to live in a cottage by the sea, preferably in North Carolina. Where I have never actually been mind you.
I've wanted to live in a log cabin in the woods on top of a mountain.
I've wanted to live in a Frank Lloyd Wright prairie home.
I've wanted to live in Key West, but just for a minute while watching HGTV.
I've wanted to live in a condo with zero maintenance.
I've wanted to live in a reproduction mid century house in Monroe, MI.
I've wanted to live on a river.
I've wanted to live on a working farm.
I've wanted to live in a farm house.
I want to live on The Farm.
I live in a post war suburban bungalow with two bedrooms and tiny closets. I never wanted to live here. Until I lived here. Now this is precisely where I want to live.
In less wise moments I have thought that the list of places I was absolutely desperate to live in represented a fickle mind that was not Spirit-led. No more. The immortal mind is the dreamer. Some of the dreams we get to experience, like Debra's farmhouse. Some of them we only dream, The Farm. How do we know the difference? We let that immortal dreaming mind go flying through all of the possibilities and hold each one in our hands, turning it in every direction admiring the sparkle and depth of it. And we leap foolishly into the realms of faith by putting our lives into the hand of God, who turns us in his palm looking from every direction and admiring the sparkle and depth of the life he has planned for us.
Some of the immortal dreamer's wishes are granted in part or whole. This is the seeing through a glass darkly part.
Some seem to become less necessary as the years go on, and yet more beautiful and clear. These are the ones that draw us toward heaven. The peaceful dreams of the immortal mind. For me, these are the dreams that lead me not to move back to The Farm and yet, have me convinced that The Farm is my mansion; built just for me.
God doesn't whisper visions and dreams into our hearts out of meanness, to show us what we can't have. He is standing on just the other side of that river I have wanted to live next to, he's crooking his finger and smiling and inviting us to dream.
Because immortal souls are not worried about how much time it takes to live the dream.
Image: My grampa and me, The Farm, 1968.