The Dream

A poem about my daughter, before I ever knew her

Years before my daughter was born or I even knew we’d adopt, I had a distinct dream about her. In the long-suffering season leading up to meeting her, I clung to the images God gave me in my sleep one telling night. I’m in similar place, again. Rediscovering what hope looks like after loss and grief. And as I try with all my might and faith to believe my other nighttime dreams will come to life as real and true and beautiful as my daughter, I rest in what He’s already done, and pray our story includes God doing it again.

The Dream

What would you say if you saw your child’s face before God knit her together in her other mother’s womb? Could you comprehend this kindness or even fathom the slightest piece of the story he’s written for you? Would you believe it, that you could look in her eyes just as true and real as feeling the ocean breeze kiss your skin? 

You know that feeling when you’re pedaling and pedaling and the muscles in your legs are tingling? That feeling when the sun bakes down tanning your shoulders and revealing the faintest freckle–or two–on your nose? When your tires are magnets to the earth and your hair one with the wind? 

Does life get more joyful than riding, and flying, and ringing the most cheerful bell to tell passersby you’re zooming through, hello and goodbye?

Would you be surprised if God collected your deepest desires, delights, and fears and gathered them together in a magical, imaginary scene? Would you flinch if he planted a seed of your future in the depths of your subconscious? Would you awake in wonder and hope and scribble down every detail of the cracks in the sidewalk, their faces, and the words you swore came to life?

How do I take a nighttime dream of a girl I’ve only daytime dreamed about and believe she is to come? How do I transport my mind back to the midnight blue expanse and piercing stars so I can see her face again? How do I believe our three bikes–together at last–the calm of the ocean, and her unmistakable straight, dark bangs are waiting for me, someday, somehow?

If you heard the voice of someone you longed to love baring her soul, could you ever stop the words from replaying in your mind? If you held her soft, little hand in yours after years of aching for this child, would you be able to open your eyes and let go? If the cirrus clouds swirled their way across the sky while you slept that night, how would you not think of her each time they passed by?