When Dreams Die

Dreams. Glad how they don’t always come true. Now before you dismiss me as a Debbie Downer, read on to hear how the death of one dream gave birth to something beyond my wildest dreams.

“Praise God from whom all blessings flow!” After 7 years of marriage, my husband and I walked down the airport corridor to a chorus of singers. These friends spent 4 years weeping with us. Praying with us – that our dream to become pregnant would come true. But in that moment as we held our two Ethiopian children, I was grateful. Grateful that because my dream wasn’t realized, I was experiencing something more glorious than I could have ever imagined. Motherhood came in a different package, and it was beautiful.

As a teacher I always dreamed of creating my own little classroom at home for my children. I designed it to the square inch. It was cute, y’all! As we searched for homes to buy, only those with classroom space to transform Joanna Gaines-style were given the time of day. Remember those darling little children? They grew to the inquisitive age of four and were ready. My classroom moved from across town to my spare room. Dreams were comin’ true!

Only it was terrible.

Ter

ri

ble.

My pocket charts and word wall hung perfectly straight and lovely on the wall while my son and daughter rolled around flailing and screaming on the floor.

My original lessons featuring pretend characters (with their own ACCENTS, mind you) were prepared with great care while my kids simply did NOT care.

I laugh about it now. But it wasn’t funny. I spent months depressed, thinking I failed as a teacher. As a mom. As a person. How could I not do this one thing that I was supposed to be able to do? I managed classrooms of twenty-five. This was two. One, two. I could count them on one hand and have three fingers left over to still hold chopsticks! What gives?

We have since learned that our daughter was experiencing heart-wrenching thoughts at that time. As she processed her adoption, she feared someone was going to come and take her away, so she hated me from dawn to dusk to protect herself from hurting too badly when “they came for her.” Sweet baby. Her fears led to acting out, led to our son’s craziness, led to my need to re-evaluate.

And now we are flourishing…

because God worked beyond our wildest dreams and provided the sweet gift of a public school up the road. My children are so loved there. And they are so loved here…by their mommy. Not crazed Teacher-Mommy Hybrid Edition. Just Mommy. And that’s what we all needed. I so respect homeschooling mamas. I was just not meant to be one of them right now.

I was meant to write children’s books. And that’s something I never dared to dream, but God did. Once again there’s a chorus of support singing “Praise God from whom all blessings flow!” I hear you loud and clear, friends, and it is beautiful.