Letting go...of my dreams
My hand is clenched tight. I don’t want to release it. It won’t pry. My hand is grabbing, grabbing hold of my hopes, my dreams, my aspirations. In front of me is Jesus. He’s standing there, with outstretched arm. Waiting patiently for me to open up my hand and give him my future. I’ve given him one hand, my left one. My right hand is still grasping my hopes and dreams.
I cannot grasp the future and cannot control the present. But I think I can and that’s what keeps me gripping.
Jesus says I cannot follow two masters, but I try anyway. With one hand gripping the hand of Jesus (for I know I can’t do anything myself) and the other hand grasping my hopes and plans, I try to advance… but I get nowhere. I struggle, teary eyed. I want to advance, but I don’t want to let go. My eyes shift from one hand to the other. Which should I let go. I don’t want to let go of Jesus because I know that I need him, but I don’t want to let my dreams go either.
Things happen and circumstances change. I realize that what I thought I could hold onto I can’t. Slowly, my dreams, my aspirations are slipping out of my hands. I try to regrip, but there’s only tiny fragments of my dreams left that I can hold onto. I try collecting them and pasting them back together, but I can’t. Circumstances change and I have no control over them.
I glance again at both hands. “Let it go!” my emotions cry, “you can’t handle this anymore!” I know I should. I know that holding onto these things won’t change my circumstances, but my pride won’t let it go. I want to prove that I had control over something. I wanted something I felt or dreamed of to be true.
My broken dreams have taken control of me instead of me controlling them. They’ve grown as a vine from my hand that grasped them, slowly up my arms making its way around my neck. The tighter I hold on to it the tighter it squeezes my neck. I gasp as my breath begins to escape me. My heart beats faster and faster my eyes dart from left to right.
I feel a squeeze on my left hand. I look, it’s Jesus. He’s not going to let me go. He holds out his other hand to me, I reach for it. Still holding on to my dreams that have begun to choke me I try grasping His hand. I can’t. My hands are small and I cannot hold two things at once. I let go. At least I still have one hand in His.
I continue gripping my dreams, and they continue to grip me. Ever so slowly they wrap themselves around my body across my heart, around my legs. Slowly, slowly they creep down my right arm until they reach my right hand. Their thorns pierce into my fingers making it difficult to keep my grip on Jesus.
I wince and look up into my Savior’s eyes. Will I manage to hold on? The thorns remind of the thorns that pierced His brow on the night He was killed. They go deeper and deeper and begin to drain my blood.
With watery eyes I look up to Jesus. Is this really worth it? Are these dreams I’m holding onto really worth risking my relationship with Christ. Dreams I have no control over. Dreams that can be changed by circumstances, torn by false hope.
I begin to realize that my grip on Jesus cannot be tightened until I loosen my grip on my own dreams. Slowly, painfully, I begin to open my grip and let go of the dreams and hopes that have strangled me. It hurts to let go, but when I look in Jesus’ eyes I know that it is worth it. Carefully he begins to unwind the tangled mess and apply ointment on my wounds. I look into his eyes, it’s going to be okay. He will give me better dreams, better hopes, better aspirations.
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