The Cry of the Dreamer

I AM tired of planning and toiling

In the crowded hives of men,

Heart-weary of building and spoiling,

And spoiling and building again,

And I long for the dear old river,

Where I dreamed my youth away;

For a dreamer lives forever,

And a toiler dies in a day.

I am sick of the showy seeming,

Of life that is half a lie;

Of the faces lined with scheming

In the throng that hurries by;

From the sleepless thought’s endeavor

I would go where the children play;

For a dreamer lives forever,

And a thinker dies in a day.

I can feel no pride, but pity,

For the burdens the rich endure;

There is nothing sweet in the city

But the patient lives of the poor.

Oh, the little hands too skillful,

And the child-mind choked with weeds!

The daughter’s heart grown willful

And the father’s heart that bleeds!

No! no! from the street’s rude bustle,

From trophies of mart and stage,

I would fly to the wood’s low rustle

And the meadows’ kindly page.

Let me dream as of old by the river,

And be loved for my dreams alway;

For a dreamer lives forever,

And the toiler dies in a day.

John Boyle O’Reilly

Mother’s Day came early this year–earlier here than in some other parts of the world. This is on a plaque I got mom…basically because, well, I need it as much as my mother.

• Sing
• Smile at strangers
• Keep learning
• Notice kindness
• Eat ice cream
• Hope
• Count your blessings
• Laugh
• Love
• Love some more

Now if I can only remember half the list…

The sticky note has been on my desk for 4 yrs. It is faded and discolored, creased at the corners, and has wax spilled over it. It was what I believed to be God’s word to me during the wearisome days of pushing words out of a pen. Habbakuk 2:2&3:

Write the vision and engrave it so plainly upon tablets that everyone who passes may be able to read it easily and quickly as he (she) hastens by.

For the vision is yet for an appointed time, and it hastens to the fulfilment; it will not deceive or disappoint. Though it tarry, wait earnestly for it: because it will surely come, it will not be behind on its appointed day.

It’s time to throw away that piece of ragged paper. That chapter of my life is past. This is what the new sticky note says, written in happy pink ink:

I will open rivers in desolate heights,

And fountains in the midst of valleys,

I will make the wilderness a pool of water

And the dry land springs of water. –God

He tells me He will do impossible things—not just one but several. I can’t wait!

I was heading out the shopping centre car park and stopped to let Eamon and Nora cross in front of me. They are good friends of ours, and important, appreciated members of the community–he is a police, and she a nurse at the hospital. He didn’t walk across but came to my window and informed me that a back tyre was soft. He said it’s ok enough to drive to the nearest petrol station. I thanked him (I rarely check my tyres because dad always does, but he’d been gone) and drove gingerly to the station–but their air hose was broken.

Thankfully, I had grabbed a mobile phone before leaving (I’m still holding out on buying one for myself; I don’t want to bother with it) and called dad who I’d just seen in the same shopping centre I’d left. Told him my perdicament, and he said to come back to his vehicle. So I drove carefully and prayerfully again, took his van, and left my flat tyred car with him and found a parking space at the dentist–all  of this15 min. before the appt.

Even though I feel alone sometimes, I loved this reminder that I do travel with/live with angels. I am protected and looked-out-for and loved, not just by people but by the Living God, and for this I am stupendously grateful.