The cost of dreaming.

My freshman year of high school, I completed a project in cooperation with a national organization that outlined how I was going to become an English professor. I was going to write a dissertation, get a Ph.D., and then get a tenure track position at a local state university, eventually becoming the chair of the department. Needless to say, even though I got to represent the state of Kentucky at a national competition for other career-minded youngsters, the panelists at my presentation gave mixed looks of “good for you,” “I hope you like eating beans,” and “dang, 15-year-old, you crazy.” That year, I brought home a gold medal for the state of Kentucky in the category of “career planning.”

I suppose that my love of planning and mapping has not waned. I like planning, it’s what I do. However, unlike in 2005, when the world was well and spotless, my plans seem much bigger and even scarier. I keep having this recurring dream of sorts where I arrive at a graduate school and nobody knows  I’m supposed to be there or my feet are stuck to the ground. I hate this. Maybe this is the cost of dreaming of something bigger. Over the past few weeks, I’ve wondered if my goals are manageable, worthwhile, or if I’ll even make it out in one piece.

Regardless of the peace that dwells inside, I’m still uncertain. My senior year of high school was one long, easy ride where I looked forward to the future. Now I’m a little afraid of what happens beyond the third Saturday of May 2012. I’m afraid of getting my wheels stuck, being unknown, being lonely, or getting my feet glued to some tacky carpet. I’ve talked to many of my friends, and many of us feel the same way.

Perhaps the cost of dreaming is being uncertain, and perhaps the joy of being uncertain is finding out that what I need most is to “seek out His kingdom and His righteousness” (Matthew 6: 33). Because, despite what I believe, pursing the Kingdom is all that truly matters.



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