a storm and dreams didn't seem all that important.
But everyone deserves to dream a little.
About a year and a half ago my man started talking chickens.
Chickens were about the last thing on my list of dreams. Literally.
I bucked it at first, but then I realized that this was the first time he had ever truly expressed a dream with boyish giddiness.
Was I willing to shoot it down just because I was worried about the disapproval of others?
I balked at first, too eager to please other family members over my own husband.
Then one night the Lord and I had a heart-to-heart chat.
Who did He call me to serve?
Who did He give me as a mate?
Had my husband ever balked at any of my dreams? No, he's always done everything in his power to make my own dreams happen; even at the sacrifice of his own desires.
So I said yes.
Then I had to say it with a good attitude and wild abandon. (Still working on the wild abandon part, but I'm getting there)
Did I allow a little of myself to die by saying yes to his dream? Surprisingly, no!
I find myself delighted in his joy.
Do I love chickens? Not as much as he does, but I'm learning.
After all, it's not about the chickens. It's about allowing his dream to become my own, which then makes them our dreams.