Do you carry a dream? One that hangs around the backside of your mind? It's been there for years but you've never paid too much attention to it. It seems fantastical, beyond imagination. Now and then you invite it into your living room and have a little chat, but you always, somewhat wistfully, send it back to where it resides in the darkness.

Maybe it's a dream of organizing a drama club at the high school where your daughter goes. But you don't have a degree–just some experience, years ago, when you were in high school. Or you'd like to do watercolors of orchids. When you walk into Lowe's the purples and yellows of the phalaenopsis call to you. Does the idea of making jewelry excite you, but you're afraid people will laugh at your attempts, or worse, won't notice at all?

For thirty years, I carried a dream of writing–maybe longer. In my senior year English class in my small high school, the teacher publicly praised my semester thesis paper. In other academic and work settings, teachers and supervisors complimented my reports. So I carried around some sense that I was a good communicator. But the idea of writing my own story lingered in the background. Until five years ago. In January of 2004, I first picked up a pen and wrote. Without knowing a thing about writing for publication, I put together a genre-busting compilation of poetry, journaling, and devotionals. That was the beginning.

This morning, I signed off on the text for Trading Fathers: Forgiving Dad, Embracing God. My memoir will be out in a few weeks. Sometimes those dreams that hang around the edges of our hearts are God's dreams. Sometimes we need to take them seriously enough to invite them into the living room for a long discussion. What, exactly, are my fears? What are the obstacles? And whose dream is this, anyway? Mine or God's?

Father, You are a God who gives dreams and who brings them to pass. May your dream be made manifest in our lives.