Dear friend: a letter for the day a dream dies

for when you're grieving and needing a few seeds of hope

Dear friend,

Today is rainy and grey after a glorious day of sunny warmth. It always felt fitting to me for the weather to match when I’ve felt sick or sad. Today I got news that was disappointing and was the death of a specific dream, and it feels right that it should be wet and a little gloomy outside.

Every day that I’ve been longing and entrusting this dream to the Lord, the prayer of my heart has been for help to believe that the Lord’s heart for me is full of love. I want to trust that even a “no” has love behind it. Even as I’m grateful that I’m grounded in the truth of that today, I’m also grieving and a little heartbroken. I truly believe there’s space for both to be true.

Today, this grief is reminding me of a poem I wrote this winter, that I’ve been saving to share with you.

It was a late December day that wasn’t too damp or frigid that we were out in the yard, gazing up at this magical sky.

I wandered over to our garden boxes, which held the awkward, brown, dead stalks of marigolds and zinnias. I remember the quiet grief that came over me, looking at this space that had once held such glorious, colorful life, that now felt so dead.

And it was in the place, when I noticed something that I had missed.

Seeds. Seeds! So many seeds, waiting to be collected.

I called my kids over and we opened our hands to receive this hidden bounty. As we gathered up seeds together for the spring, I felt the Holy Spirit’s invitation and the following poem came out of that. I hope it meets you and speaks to this question from AJ Swoboda, “Could it be that a legitimate stage of hope is hopelessness?”

At first glance

it’s nothing but a

graveyard.

You can almost hear the grief

in the rustling brown

of what was once green.

Frost has choked and grasped

until all that remains is

weathered, worn, weary.

There’s nothing left but memory

of vibrant colors

and blooms teeming with life.

The thought of summer’s bouquets feels

far away and almost cruel

bringing an ache for

warmth and beauty

to the surface

of your heart.

You turn to go,

reminded of the death

of other previous dreams,

wanting to push the pain away.

But wait—come closer.

Lean in.

Could it be?

Death hides a secret.

There is life here,

waiting

for the right time.

What are seeds

if not hope—

Hope that after winter’s barrenness

spring will burst forth,

declaring that a graveyard

doesn’t tell the full story.

You gather handfuls of this

tangible hope—

seeds for spring

future flowers

precious dreams in your palm.

How could you have forgotten

that death is not the end?

It is but part of the resurrection

your heart longs for.

Your hopes

your dreams

your longings

are all held safe

for the right time

just like the seeds you now hold

tenderly.

What are seeds

if not hope?

Dear friend, thanks for reading my words. I want to end with a quote from one of my favorite writers and teachers, that feels just right for this letter to you:

“When we dream with God, our dreams—even in burial—are not lost: they are planted. What grows from that painful planting is God’s business. But sowing in faith is ours, and like the early disciples, our faithfulness is never sown in vain.”

—Alicia Britt Chole

And as always, I'd love to hear from you! Feel free to just hit "reply" to this email. Whether you want to share a prayer request or if my words brought up anything for you, I’d be so glad to know.

Grace,

Alison