The Hope and Dream

I thought if I could touch this place or feel it
This brokenness inside me might start healing
Out here it’s like I’m someone else
I thought that maybe I could find myself
If I could just come in I swear I’ll leave
Won’t take nothing but a memory
From the house that built me
-Miranda Lambert

What was your dream?

I had a hairbrush and a piano and a stereo and a mirror.  I bounced around my room, playing, singing, talking to the people in my imaginary audience, which always looked like the rodeo area  at the Richland County fair grounds.  I learned to write songs just to make that fantasy a little more real… I wasn’t singing Reba’s song, or Lila McCann’s song, or Sherrie Austin’s song; I was singing my song.

I followed that dream through high school, into college, into North Dakota and Minnesota. I followed it to talent competitions and college studios and into praise bands and even to an independent record label, where I thought I might learn a little about marketing myself. I worked. I dreamed. I reimagined.

And I moved to Tennessee.

I followed that dream here. But somewhere along the way, I lost track of something, and I’ve never quite been able to figure out what. Did it just take me longer to grow up than it takes most other people? Did my sense of responsibility and guilt lead me down the road I’ve taken? Or am I not brave enough, not adventurous enough? Do I not work hard enough?

I don’t know. Maybe I just need a little more inspiration.

But I recently picked up this book, lent to me by the beautiful and charming Melanie, and it didn’t take more than a page or two for that sense of wonder, of hope, of big dreams, to rush right back to me.  These were the things I wanted to do, the work I wanted to do.  I wanted to live on peanut butter sandwiches and play run-down bars and county fairs.  I wanted a band and a stage, and some day, maybe I wanted to sing a duet with Bryan White, or with Reba.

But responsibility got in my way.  Lack of money got in my way.  Fear of a million different things got in my way.

And now I’m really not sure which way I should go.

Home feels like it might be right, but my sense of home is scattered now, too.

On the other hand, it’s spring, the sun is shining, I’ve got food in the pantry and a still pretty brand new ukulele occupying my hands more often than not.  Songs find their way into my notebook weekly.  I’ve got friends and opportunities I never imagined I’d have.

It’s just hard to see the whole tapestry when you’re just a little ant crawling along your way, I suppose.

And hey, it’s Sunday.

That’s the day for smiling.