Snow and dreams

Yesterday we strung twinkly white fairy-lights across my window in a cheerfully haphazard fashion.

They make me happy.

And ease the wintery chill that sneaks in through the single-glazed panes and mocks the broken radiator next to my desk.

Now when it grows dark I see stars in this cold, smog-choked city. About fifty of 'em, shining for me.

Or so I like to think :)

This morning London had its first snow of the season. It's not sticking, but watching it fall is still a lovely experience.

Besides, sticking would mean a long, chaotic journey home. I don't mind if it happens overnight - then we might get a snow day. (Ok, a work-at-home day ... but I'd still find time for maple snow candy).

************

I intended to keep a list of thank yous over the weekend to compile into a bumper post of sorts.

It didn't happen.

Honestly? I struggled.

I climbed into a mental bubble of self-pity and stayed put. On the outside I seemed happy enough. I had a lovely shopping day with my mother. Spent another wonderful Sunday at church.

But inside, that quiet place no-one but God goes, there was discontent. Confusion. Worry.

So many decisions to make. So many dreams I thought had gone.

Yesterday I read a post by Sara-Sophia about daring to speak our dreams out loud. To be unashamed of having them. Unafraid to pray them true, come what may. Unafraid to take a step.

Then I realised.

Somewhere along the line I'd convinced myself that my dreams were silly. Selfish. I'd prescribed a good dose of sensible, swallowed it down with water and told myself to stop being so whimsical.

And I still do it from time to time.

I'm 26. I should be climbing the ladder of life the normal way, I tell myself. One cousin just bought a condo with her husband. Another had a home in the suburbs ready and waiting before she married. Both work busy, extremely highly-paid jobs. In fact, most everyone in my family - all of us cousins, the closest thing I have to siblings - does a good, sensible well-paid job. They have good, sensible dreams. House. Car. Stability. They have plenty of fun, find plenty of time to play. But the "important things" are firmly in place.

Me?

I dream of writing. Crafting. Folksy harmonies. Handmade and homemade love. Reaching out to people. They're fuzzy dreams. But they're my dreams. They haunt me daily; remind me that you can't fit a square peg in a round hole.

And I am very square.

I work a job that pays well below the national average, because I am passionate about it. Because I can say, with no vanity, that it makes a difference - however small - in the lives of the poor.

But it's not easy explaining this to people. It's not easy convincing them that I'm not being selfish. That I'm not too lazy to do a "high power" job. That my degrees weren't a waste of time and money. That I want to live my life passionately and sincerely. Do things I love, not things I "ought" to do. That I will eventually move onto to another job that inevitably pays better because of my increased experience. That starting "at the bottom" is the nature of my chosen work.

I'm tired. Of explaining. Of being afraid. Of doing nothing for fear it will all go terribly wrong. Protecting myself - and destroying myself in the process because it is His job, and His alone, to protect me:

"Fear thou not; for I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness." Isaiah 41:10.

So?

I'll write - blog for my 5 followers; share my heart, get used to reading my words.
I'll craft - knit my simple scarf and breathe calm when it takes longer than it ought.
I'll sing - embrace my place in a barbershop chorus and harmonise to my heart's content; trust Him to take it further in His timing if He wills.
I'll give homemade love - cook for my beloved; hunt down the perfect Christmas cookie recipe for my sisters
I'll reach out - help show the developing world how science can lift them out of poverty sustainably; attempt to make friends in the blogosphere.

These are my small steps. Steps towards dreams that won't die.

When I'm feeling really brave? I'll sit down and pray clarity over my fuzzy heart-crys.

And I'll come here and declare them.

Out loud.

Pray for me?

Giving thanks. Because we may wallow now and then, but it's never impossible:

#216 Bright magenta coats that defy gloomy weather
#217 Vintage-inspired handbags
#218 Stargazer lilies slowly unfolding
#219 A warm, soft duvet
#220 An empty news inbox
#221 Stars in the window
#222 A crazy, colourful skirt that makes me feel like a fairy princess - and the realisation that it's okay if others don't understand
#223 'Mooli' - delicious Indian street food
#224 Embroidered felt
#225 Snow
#226 The Lovely Guide, which continues to inspire me and speak courage into my heart