On The Day Of The Dream, as I now refer to it, my whole world would begin to crumble. I had just bid adieu to my midday client. As she left I could feel my eyes grasping onto the edge of drowsiness. My half way shut lids made the decision to take a quick cat nap. A mini Siesta as it was called in some parts of the world. I grabbed a 1920's beautifully embroidered piano shawl and tucked it around my body as I fell off of a cliff into a deep sleep. In the dream, I remember being in a state of panic. My heart was pounding and my brow sweating. A still wind seemed to pervade my being. As I peered into my dream I could hardly believe what my spirit was viewing. My whole precious business completely dissappeared. Right down a rabbit hole and into a ball of nothingness called confusion. A living nightmare. There where no beautiful twirly 1950's cocktail frocks, no frilly Victorian Jackets, and no cheeky 20's Flappers dresses. Beauty, as I knew it, had dissolved into thin air. Such a thing, even in a dream, is hard to fathom. In my humanness I reasoned that it could only be the workings of an evil twist of fate. Only darkness would allow for a funeral of one’s hopes, desires, and passions. Destiny had somehow walked out the door on me. And I didn't even get a chance to say: "So long to you Ms. Destiny. Maybe we will meet up again one day." No. She just decided that it was time for her to go, packed her bags without my knowing, and drifted out the back door. And to make matters worse? She didn't even leave a note behind to bid me farewell. She let me find out the hard way…in an empty dream.
The next reel of my dream had me running full throttle out the door and into the business next door. I began screaming: "WHAT HAPPENED TO MY BUSINESS?" “I don't know," was my neighbor’s calm response. And with those words I began to wake. And at the same time I knew that something in me had died in that dream. It was a strange and unusual feeling. Being awakened to what now had passed away. Unbeknownst to me I was at the beginning stages of my learning how to stare straight into extreme surrender's eyes. It was the start of my spirit moving into a new house. And the shingle on my new home would read: Desperate Faith. Not long after The Day Of The Dream, I left the beautiful haven called Australia. I gave away and sold the majority of my belongings. I bid teary and heart wrenching goodbyes to my friends and to my world as I knew it. At the age of 45 years old I returned "home" with two half empty suitcases and precious few dollars. 68 to be precise. One never forgets such a paltry sum. What lay behind me was a country that I loved, friends that I adored, and a business which God had allowed my creative heart to enjoy. Mainly I felt as if I had left behind my destiny. My mission field for inspiration now lay in smouldering flames. It was a spectacular downfall.
For some time afterwards my beautiful world resembled an unshapen heap of puzzle pieces which lay upon a dark and unfamiliar landscape. It seemed as if each one of those pieces had the words "I DON'T KNOW" written upon them. My spirit refused to understand how God could have allowed me to build such a beautiful little hidden jewel of inspiration only to dismantle it in a blink of His eye. As I began to ponder the enormity of God and His unfathomable ways a glimmer of knowing began to dawn in me. Part of the answer was in the word "hidden". God had been incubating me with the purpose of teaching me about the wonders of His divine character. In doing so, He had been growing and strengthening my spirit for new mountains to conquer and new streams to rule. God, it seemed, had been meticulously preparing me to out run the wind. I had overgrown my precious space. It was just that simple. Now it was time for me to open the door, pull back the curtains, and bolt into the wide open space. You see, I was born to fly. Now I know that there are some who will smirk at what I am about to write but it truly comes from the depths of my spirit: I believe that I am a dancing yellow butterfly. I was borne to soar across the vivid blue skies of life. And a cocoon, even if it is decorated with the most gorgeous of frocks, is no place to remain if the tug of flight is pulling upon one's coattails. It was time for me to take my first fledgling flight. Well, at the very least it was time for me to line up on the runway and prepare for lift off.
****note: I am leaving this because I am feeling as if Christ is beckoning many to GO! So do. Just that. GO! No matter, in spite of. Go. A very short word. Two letters, in fact. ****
(Excerpt from the book Home, by Regina Evans, Copyright 2008: Regina Y. Evans)