I woke from a crazy vivid dream about being on the brink of my “dream job”. I would be partnering with a wise and super professional in every way woman, to be involved in some way with the Atlanta Braves. I was one final interview from the job and from moving to Atlanta G-A!

Now, I sit in the too cold for Carolina weather wrapped in a blanket and pajamas so thick you’d wonder if there’s a body in there.

In my dream, I was escorted by this close to perfection in appearance writer and coordinator of “human interest” activities for the baseball players.

They liked me, were excited. I was “in”.

My mama was there…I introduced her to “Miss Everything” with “this is Bette”.

There were other parts of the dream that were intensely telling. No surprise, I was lost in Atlanta, it was pouring down rain and I was driving in a panic and in the wrong direction on the interstate that would take me to the interstate back home.

I wanted to go home and I would tell “Miss Everything” by phone if I could find my way back to there.

In my dream, I found all sorts of things in my purse, one was a check I’d forgotten about.

Although the amount was only five figures including the two behind the decimal, it was enough.

There are many parts of my life buried deep, many aspirational paths away from who my life has made me.

There are crazy dangerous can’t find my way in the storm scary roads. There are dark ones. There are exciting ones. There are wounds from of all the wounding.

There are bravery required ones.

And who’s to say how bravery is defined?

What God has decided is your treasure and what your legacy will decide unbeknownst to you…for others to say “this was her treasure”.

“For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”
‭‭Luke‬ ‭12‬:‭34‬ ‭NIV‬‬

I’ve been reading a variety of memoirs. No secret, I’ve had a long held goal/hope/calling to write my story.

So, I’ve been reading to learn, to learn how the author will engage me in the hard story of their life with an equal measure of softness to get me to the part of it that was redeemed.

There are a handful I’ve shelved.

Call me critical, but I prefer ones the person writes themselves, not a ghost writer.

And books about trauma, abuse or addiction?

Well, there are two I’m grateful I was mature and wise enough to put down early.

I’m sorry to say one was Matthew Perry’s. I couldn’t endure the hardness of him to discover the soft place he eventually found.

I do have favorites and I’ve just downloaded a fourth. I’m not a book critic, so I’ll keep that to myself except to say I was surprised by the authors’ ability to detail their horror without causing fear in me.

This is what I needed, what I believe readers need.

To tell their stories in a way that didn’t cause me harm emotionally. These books are and were gifts. They’ll remain with me.

I see the search that didn’t quit in them to find the quiet treasured pearl in the turmoil and torment of their wounded lives.

Hard to believe, but they found a way to shine.

“I will when I can.” I have pencilled in the back of my Bible. It’s a response to a counselor’s question long ago.

“When do you think you will be able

to write it?”

And my answer, I’ll bravely share…

“When I no longer need to be noticed, when I decide it’s okay to forget.”

This post just got real brave, didn’t it?

My husband woke me from the Atlanta dream saying I’d been “yanking” the blanket.

I stilled myself, smiled in dawn of Thursday and remembered the last bit of the dream.

I found my way home.

My quiet life.

To continue and believe.

“Turn the page, Lisa Anne.” mama

“Indeed, the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows.”
‭‭Luke‬ ‭12‬:‭7‬ ‭NIV‬‬

You are loved.

Like a tiny sparrow flitting back across the cold blue sky to its nest.

You are loved.

So am I.