Borrowed Dreams and Abs that Can Change Anything

Last week I got this random text from my mom, “I think you should give white guys a chance.”



Apparently, the previous night, she had a dream I was married to a lily white guy with blonde hair and blue eyes, basically Ken, but, not, since my mom thinks Ken is gay and therefore wouldn't be interested in me. The last guy my mom advocated as my future soulmate was her catholic priest. As a priest he made a covenant of celibacy with God, but as a man, how could he resist her super spiritual single daughter!



Since her dream guy was more realistic than the priest, I humored her. I decided to stalk this random Midwestern man my friend Rose has been telling me about since like forever.  I could only find two pictures online, but I selected the blondest looking one and sent it to my clairvoyant mother for approval. Her response?!?! “I can’t tell. I will need to see him without a shirt.” My life, a new twist on the classic Cinderella, where, this time, girl searches for the guy, and instead of confirming his identity with a perfect fitting glass slipper, she matches his pecks with those in her mother’s dreams.

It’s weird starring in someone's dream when they aren’t starring in your dreams. To be fair, I can’t typically remember my dreams. Heck, most nights I struggle to stay asleep long enough to dream at all! After receiving and PAYING an enormous electric bill, our house decided to boycott the air-conditioner. As I am already a radiating freak of nature, the added heat has made it impossible for me to stay asleep more than a few hours at a time. I have traded dreams for sweat and affordable bills.

Even awake, I can’t dream. After approximately an hour at work, I am one dreamless mess. It’s hard to keep dreams alive when nothing ever changes. Each day when I walk to my desk another dream and, by extension, another fairy dies.  I have applied for every job, followed every lead, prayed every prayer, and yet I cannot change my circumstances (or my perspective).  I honestly don’t know how or what to dream any more.

Despite my dreamlessness and corresponding hopelessness, other people keep having their own dreams for MY life. My mom dreams about my marriage with a shirtless Aryan man. My best friend tears up when she describes her dreams of my ministry mentoring and training women in the city. “G” believes I could and should write a book and that if I do marry a blonde Ken doll, he will love and cherish my words. “J” dreams of the day I am also a foster mom. My regulars, despite knowing better, believe I am wonderful, and they hurt hard when I can’t see in myself what they see in me. They dream for me when I can’t, which, obviously, reminds me of a story from the Bible.

Once upon a time there was a man who couldn’t walk.  Unable to stand, he spent his days lying on a mat praying for a miracle. One day a miraculous Healer came to his town. Helplessly the man watched as the Healer disappeared into a nearby house followed by swarms of miracle seekers who could actually walk. As he lay defeated on his dirty mat, his friends concocted a plan. Each grabbed a corner of the mat, and began carrying their friend up, up, up, to the top of the house. Boring a hole in the roof they lowered their crippled friend down by the Healer’s feet. Quickly appraising what happened, Jesus looked down and healed the crippled man.


His friends dreamed for him when he didn’t have the strength to dream for himself, and that is exactly what my friends have been doing for me, dreaming.  When we dream FOR people, we give them hope to see beyond their present circumstances, hope to see Christ’s redemption in light of the world’s curse.

Thank you for carrying my mat. Thank you for bringing me to the feet of my Savior when I didn’t have the strength to do it myself.  Thank you for reminding me to dream FOR people, not just American dreams with two cars in every garage and scantily clad blonde men, but real dreams of hope and healing.