I almost made it this year.

You think I mean that I didn’t fall for any April Fool’s pranks, right?

No, this year I almost made it through all of April 1st without remembering that seven years ago, my dream died. Not to put it too strongly, but my dream job became road kill. I still don’t know why.

But as Phil Vischer wrote in his book, Me, Myself & Bob, when a dream dies, God will work in us and through us in ways we can’t imagine.

I never imagined I’d be a pastor of a local church.

I never imagined I’d be a church planter.

I never imagined that my love of reading and writing would be realized in blogging.

I never imagined I’d mentor others in what it means to care for and lead others.

I never imagined, seven years ago, as I sat in a stairwell and sobbed, that the death of one dream meant the birth of another.

Maybe I never would’ve made the move into pastoring without the death of the dream; maybe this blog would’ve never been.

Phil Vischer likes to talk about the Shummanite woman when he talks about dreams. You can read her story here in 2 Kings 4.

For me, Jeremiah 29 has always held a special place. There, God tells Jeremiah: “For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Then you will call on me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart. I will be found by you,” declares the Lord, “and will bring you back.”

Tonight, I don’t know if anyone is living through the death of a dream. I know that hurts. And that even the people closest to you won’t always understand how much. But I do know this: while I still don’t know why that dream died, I do know that the Almighty Creator of the universe loves us enough to breathe new dreams into our souls.

And even in the midst of the death of a dream, that gives me hope.

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