Did those dreams I had in childhood bring me where I am today

Excerpt from Sacred Spaces by Faith Chatham - copyright 2009

It feels good today to have expectations
of the “normal” that used to be.
I slept as long as it took to wake up,
knowing there were no missed commitments.
Refreshed, thanksgiving came easily from my lips.
Thanks were the first thoughts I spoke this morning.
I didn’t ache as much as yesterday when I awoke.


I don’t expect to weep today.
I used to take myself for granted.
It feels good today to have expectations
of the “normal” that used to be.

Didn’t think I’d lose myself in “some other”
or venture past “simply caring”
into that nebulous joy-filled world of mutual need.
It feels good today to have expectations
of the “normal” that used to be.

I’m glad there was no need
for prayers for you when I awoke.
You were in the peaceful recesses of my soul,
at a safe distance;
yet I know you’re still within my heart.

God knows I want Him to keep you safe, vibrantly alive,
and free to be fully yourself, as He wants you to be.
I didn’t ache as much today when I awoke.
Your name was not the first word I spoke.

It was such a relief to find
that recognizing God’s touch
was the first thought upon my mind.
I heard raindrops falling regularly
in syncopation from the roof.
I remember hearing that sound
in childhood and in youth.

Through windows streaked with rain,
I’d dream of finding love.
I let those drops of rain mingle through my mind,
as I wander in memory like the steady tempo
on the porch swing, and an ultra-understandingly wise walnut tree.

As real as the adolescent who was in it,
that porch-swing was filled with thoughts of hesitance,
confidence and speculation about what I’d find,
of what “someday” would be like,
of who I’d want to love, and “what I’d want to be.”

Did dreams bring me to this place?
I wonder if those dreams were of what I am today?
Thunder-storm accented evenings and afternoons in the Texas sun
moulded wishes into intentions and plans of “what to do”.
I remember “planning”, “thinking” and “scheming”
of how I could become:
an artist, writer, investigative reporter, and a poet.

I dreamt of loving, in various dimensions,
with words and deeds and thoughts,
expressed with pastel, brush, pen and action.
I wanted to be tender to friends and strangers,
serve the hapless and the free.

I wanted to work and make a difference
to the brave and to the weak.
I wanted to discover life and share it,
touching others I did meet with simplicity and compassion,
to be a marvel and inspiration with selfless humility.

I didn’t understand what it is to lose yourself in loving,
to be ground under another's foot,
to measure love in time and minutes,
or balancing love and giving
with other things someone might need!

I didn’t think of you being the first thought
I’d think upon awaking,
or of the need to change one’s plans or pace
to spend a fleeting minute with the special person
who sheds iridescent lustre upon my face.
I didn’t think someone could make such a difference
in how I feel, in what I think, or how I dream.

Today upon awaking,
it felt good to have my first thoughts
be thoughts to God of thanksgiving.

Wherever you are,
beyond my vision and my reach,
though you weren’t the first words upon my lips today,
you are nestled warm within the crevices of my soul.

I’m at peace knowing you are safe in Him.
Prayers for you are natural.
On simple days, you intermingle in essence with my thoughts,
like dreams I dreamt on that veranda,
moments mundane, extraordinary and spectacular,
you exceed the wildest speculation of my youth.

I grew old and ceased to trust and dream and care.
I’ve grown callouses against the abrasions of others’ souls.
When you told me you were “harmless”,
instinctively I knew that was not true.
You are one of few among the many
who can deeply disappoint me.
Somehow, when you said you were harmless,
I thought, “Beware! He can probably make you care!”

I didn’t dream you’d really want me.
I didn’t expect to be pulled that deeply,
through the mundane and the splendor,
feeling neither you nor I need to hide nor to cover
the reality of our lives or of our psyche.

I know you meant everything you told me.
You believed the words when you said them.
You weren’t just “fishin’ ” for your comfort,
spinning lines to draw me in.
Though I don’t know how much
of what you felt then is how you feel today,
I know when you said it, you really meant it.
I find comfort, through the silence,
to know that then you sincerely cared.

Discovering this morning that your name
was not the first thought upon my awaking,
lets me dream someday I might return to “being normal”
since the love who found me
withdrew and stays aloof and out of reach.

I know you meant it when you said it.
Might still mean it, though silence makes it hard to truly know.
Maybe you swing between reality and misconceptions,
fear of losing yourself in love again or passion,
or something you sense but I do not see.

I saw a dream;
You feared a demon.
You fled and left me to fight him here alone.
In the evening and in the morning,
I fought to make sense of what I found
in loving and in your leaving.

The birds chirped outside my window.
Rain washed the earth as I pondered
what I’d dreamed and what I am.
The sun shone upon my frustration.
Water washed upon me like baptism.
Instead of despair, I was filled
with a different kind of hope.

I pray for you, my darling,
as I did before we ventured past friendship into love.
I’m thankful that we were naked for those moments,
not afraid of rejection despite the failure, recent or in our youth.

Prospects for the future escape me.
Them I do not know.
This is true, for you and me, individually or collectively,
we know in our season we did not reject
and were not rejected,
did not scorn the other’s basic truth.

We might not walk together easily,
may not speak or touch again,
yet even silence cannot reprove
the reality of acceptance,
of reverence, and of joy.

We found love, succulent and tender,
if for but just a season,
tasted hope and trust and passion,
letting it revive us, if but for a moment!
It reverberates through the present,
whether we want it or whether we don’t.

Your name wasn’t the first word I spoke this morning.
Knowing that, I have hope that someday
I’ll return to “normal”.
Yet I wonder if the dreams I had in childhood
brought me to where I am today.
-- by Faith Chatham
copyright 2009 (excerpt from Sacred Spaces)