I haven’t seen this Indonesian friend for months, about six months—measured in the ages of our babies. Her 10-month-old son now crawls and eats rice and looks like his brother. My daughter can walk and has hair and doesn’t like to share toys.
We are busy with our kids, her job, my responsibilities, her husband’s college courses, my husband’s master’s degree. And we admit that we both have headaches as we carve out about a half hour for lunch.
It doesn’t help that we both seem to be suffering from Hujan Panas, literally translated, Hot Rain. It’s that weather where it gets all dark and cool and rainy, then the drips stop and the sun breaks out all shiny and hot. Then back to the rain, and onto the sun.
Back and forth until Indonesians believe it gives them headaches. And who am I to disagree?
I stick my umbrella under the table, ready for either a downpour or a scorching sun. And I rub my pounding headache as I glare at the dubious sky out the window, while keeping an eye on my little girl. She is walking around the restaurant, curls bouncing, gripping her toy cell phone tight—holding on as if her life depended on it—and definitely not sharing.
I wonder if I can blame my headache on another condition where I go from cold to hot and back to cold, again and again, all day long. The one that is partially in my head, but mostly in my heart. You see, I am a dreamer—with big ideas, great plans, and high hopes. And sometimes, when I’m really in the mood, I’m convinced God is on my side, dreaming big along with me.
But I also a doubter—ridiculing all these lofty thoughts that certainly won’t come true and are silly and are just my thoughts and not His.And so I start things—big things, and stop them again for something easier to attain, like vacuuming the rug.
And I make lists, plans, goals—also all big with timelines and mental pictures and attainable mini-steps. But I also make the other lists, the safe lists, and I happily check them off as I go through my day. Buy contact solution. Done. Pat on the back. Make some more yogurt. Check. Look at you go.
In fact, it’s this very combination of Doubting and Dreaming that won’t let me type out these big dreams for you to read. They’re so big and so silly, you will surely either think I am too foolish to think such big thoughts or too wimpy for not believing in them. And both are true. Every day.
But, I’m trying. Trying to choose trust in Someone Bigger than my doubts, faith in His heaven-sized plans for me and hope in His Love when life and dreams disappoint. So, if you see me walking around, frizzy curls bouncing, hand gripping something tight, unwilling to let it go. That’s me—the Doubting Dreamer, holding onto trust as if my life depended on it.
photo credit, John-Morgan