Entry from my journal on Saturday, the day before Resurrection Sunday.
Something you don’t know about me. I was a very ambitious child.
When I was in 3rd grade, I wrote a play. I took it to my teacher and asked if I could direct the class in my play. To my surprise, she said yes. I added in extra parts to make sure there were 29 characters. My teacher wrote in practice time into the class schedule each day for a month! We even had several after school practices to fine tune my brain child.
My play was performed in front of the entire school during an assembly and I can still remember that thrill, the dare, of doing something big, beyond ourselves. Something no one thinks you can do. What 3rd grader writes and directs 29 fellow third graders in a one-act play and performs it in front of the entire elementary school (with costumes, lights and props I might add!)
I have always been drawn to the lights. I use to dream, when I was a child, of my name eventually in lights. A larger than life life. In high school, although I attended a performing arts school and although I was there for theatre, the realities and harshness of my own brokenness and a shattered world stole many of the dreams I held as a child.
When I met Jesus, at 20, I no longer dreamed of my name in lights, but instead of making him famous. Somewhere over the years though, I have lost myself completely. Lost my way. Lost my dreams, or better put, I’ve lost the ability to hear what his dreams are for me.
On this Saturday, the day between Good Friday and Resurrection Sunday, I find it fitting to sit in this space of waiting, waiting for our King to rise.
I am waiting in anticipation for him to rise up a new healed heart, to rise up new dreams, new passion, new vision, new direction.
For now I will wait and listen.