Wow, this is gonna be harder to write than I thought; I thought it would be therapeutic to put it in writing. Ok, just get started.
This is titled “Burial of a Dream” and not “Death of a Dream” for a reason – there is a difference. The dream died a long time ago. It’s part of why I started this blog – to put emphasis on the new dream. On me wanting to live more God-sufficiently, both in a “self”-sufficient lifestyle and in a stronger relationship with my Savior, my Creator, the Lover of my Soul. The new dream is not dead, not by a long-shot; it just can’t happen yet, part 1 at least. Part 2 will be a work-in-progress until the day I die.
No, I realized over Christmas that while the old dream was very, very dead, I hadn’t yet buried it, so it – and I – could rest in peace.
See, for Christmas, we visited my sister. And she and her husband are stationed at the same military post my (soon-to-be) ex is stationed at. That I was going to be stationed at with him, as a proudly supportive military wife. The same military installation I’d done all the research on, figuring out what was where, looking into churches to visit, seeing what avenues were available for making new friends for myself and my son, activities to involve my son in, what neighborhood would be best for him to be at the best school, etc, etc, ad nauseum. And that dream died nearly 3 years ago.
Yes, I made the conscious decision NOT to follow him there, when my eyes were opened to just how wrong everything was, and it wasn’t something I could fix by myself or ignore once the truth was brought to light, but it hurt to not only realize that my marriage was over, but that my dream of moving far, far away was not going to happen.
After awhile, I got used to being “back home.” To being back with old friends, and making new ones in this little-bitty town I grew up in. To the idea that I was no longer a “proud military wife.” But it was when I visited my sister, and she was driving us around “The Great Place” that I realized it still hurt. I was supposed to have been then before her. I was supposed to have been the one showing her around. And that’s when I realized that I’d known a long while that my dream was dead, but I hadn’t buried it yet. I was still holding on to it.
I know, it’s crazy. I mean, I wouldn’t have this new dream if the old one wasn’t gone, right? Wrong! It’s like when a family member or friend dies, and you miss them, but then you have the funeral – to “make it real” that they’re gone. It took going out there to “make it real” to me that I wasn’t going to move out there, that yes, my sister is living what was once my dream, but also because it’s supposed to be hers, and was never meant to be mine.
But that wonderful trip to my sister’s showed me something else, too. I am right where I’m supposed to be – right where God wants me to be. In a little, bitty town with one red-light, where the “Good Ol’ Boy” system (for better and for worse) is still in full swing, where I work at the General Store, and can dream of owning goats, and chickens, and producing a good quantity of my own food. Because this is my life, my dream, my reality. And God has directed every step