The clock marks time, unwilling to go faster.  Two cups of coffee and still drowsy.  6 hours of sleep and still tired. Meaningless work.  Time painfully crawls by like some wounded animal.  Why am I here?  What am I doing?  Meaningful purpose?  I see none here.  Desires of fulfillment?  Still unfulfilled.  How much longer will I be reading this run-on sentence and when will this chapter end?  I rub my eyes as the lines of my life blur together.  The clock dutifully ticks it's minutes off its to-do list and so I wait.  I wait for something more...

It is not enough to pay my rent and to feed my family while my soul is poor and starving.  I want to run but in what direction?  I am lost and without a map.  I refuse to run away and I refuse to run in the wrong direction, so I wait. I wait for direction.  My direction must come from the one who drew my map.  My answer must come from the author who wrote my story.

My dream had to be surrendered to the One who gave it to me.  While I carried my dream it remained small.  It couldn't grow because human as I was I couldn't imagine anything larger.  My dream, feeble and malnourished, needed help.  I feared for my dream's survival so I asked Him to take it back.  I asked Him to carry it for me because I feared my strength might give out.

This was folly for deep as it was embedded it's removal tore the very fabric of who I am.  Surprisingly it is not regret I feel but relief.  Relief in the realization that only now can my dream grow and thrive.  Bereft of my small dream I live in the hope that one day I will be entrusted with something larger.  Larger than myself and larger than what I'm comfortable with. Much larger than anything my finite mind can conjure for it is the infinite that I want to chase after.  A life without limits or boundaries.  A life where anything is possible.  Not because of who I am, but because of who He is and always has been and always will be.