By Lorrie Orr
Published by Just Between Us, Summer 2002

My dream is really nothing extraordinary. I don’t long to take the world by storm or to be fabulously wealthy or famous. All I have ever wanted was a home of my own – a dream home, not necessarily gigantic or elegant, but a place to return to – to have when the grandchildren arrive. A home where the Christmas tree goes in the same place every year, where friends and family are always welcome. A basketball hoop above the garage door, a trampoline in the backyard and a vegetable garden offer clues about the family who lives there. Lovingly tended flowers line the sidewalk to the front door. Once inside, floral chintzes and the aroma of fresh cookies bombard the senses with welcome. In the kitchen doorway pencil markings indicate the yearly growth of each child.

In our first year of marriage my husband Tim and I made a choice which meant my dream would probably never come true. We offered our lives to God and sensed that He wanted us in full-time service somewhere. I didn’t realize it at the time, but along with my life, I was giving God my dreams.

Sixteen years ago Tim and I arrived in Ecuador, South America to begin our missionary career. The decision was made with joy despite the knowledge that we would be far from home. We said we would stay until the Lord called us to something else. That first year, the only thing that kept us from packing up and going home was our pride. We’d told family and friends that we’d stay at least three years and three years we would stay! We returned for another term, then another, and so the years have passed.

Three children were born to us in Ecuador. We’ve moved from the jungle to the city, back to the jungle, and now we’re in the city again. We’ve lived in comfortable places, houses and spacious apartments, but none of them have been our own. For Cristal, Travis and Ashley, their sense of home is rooted in our family structure, not in a building of wood or brick. My family’s memories are not tied to a place. There’s no ‘homestead’ to return to. The things that tie us together are the events and circumstances we share. We remember Tim’s bout with pneumonia, hysteria over a snake in the house, Ashley teaching the dog to skip, Travis being hit by a car, and Cristal’s first attempts at baking bread. Visits to our home country of Canada are just that – visits. Meanwhile, during quiet evenings, Tim and I occasionally would sit down and sketch a house design, planning for the home we would someday build.

But, this year my dream died. I turned 40, Cristal turned 15 and entered her sophomore year in high school. In three short years, she will be entering college in North America. She will probably never return to live under our roof again. This year it struck me with wrenching force that I would never have a home of my own with a garden or a yard for my children. I don’t know when we will return to Canada to live. Unless the Lord changes things very suddenly, it won’t be in the foreseeable future. Believe me, there have been times when I have looked for any possible way out. But in spite of the pain of my dying dream, I have never regretted the decision made long ago to obey God’s leading.

Life is full. God blesses us with so much. We have wonderful friends, a sense of purpose, well-adjusted children; in short, everything that’s really important. Yet my longing for my dream persists. And I grieve its loss.

As I battle with this harsh reality, friends try to console me by saying, “You’ll have your mansion in heaven.” While I know this to be true, my humanity rebels and says, “I want it NOW.” Others say, “Consider yourself lucky – you’ve got a nice place to live where many people don’t have roofs over their heads.” This only makes me feel guilty and ungrateful. I can pat myself on the back and tell myself how noble and wonderful I am for being so sacrificing. But inside I know how I really feel. Rebellious.

So how can I cope? First of all, I must be totally honest with God and tell Him the longings of my heart. There’s nothing wrong with my dream. Given the make up of who I am, my dream is natural and even good. So, I can offer Him my dream and trust Him with it.

Second, I can also choose to live in the present. I’m thankful that throughout our 16 years away from Canada, our home has been filled with floral chintzes, the smell of baking, and the laughter of children and friends. Long ago, another missionary reminded me of the verses in Jeremiah 29 where the Lord tells the Israelites in exile, “Build houses and settle down; plant gardens and eat what they produce.” They were to settle down in a foreign country and not pine for what was left behind, in spite of the promise that they would one day return to their homeland. For today, this is my home. This is where I live. Because my environment is important to me, I putter and paint, rearrange furniture, sew curtains, dust and scrub. My home, where I live right now, is an extension of my personality.

Finally, memories have become more important. They provide continuity in the life of my family. What fun to sit around laughing about events that happened yesterday or years ago. Shared experiences tighten the cords that make us a family. I have recently begun compiling photographs into scrapbooks, leaving plenty of room for writing about the pictures. I’ve been amazed at how much interest the children, as teenagers, have shown in poring over these books. They’ve sparked memories that have led us to wonderful conversations. Tim and I try to plan activities that we can enjoy as a family. We don’t exactly know what our children will remember, but we can provide plenty of positive options.

I am not avoiding life today in hopes of “someday.” Jim Elliot said, “Wherever you are, be all there.” I don’t want to be a person who is always dreaming about the unknown future and totally missing the exuberance of the present. The future lies ahead of me, shrouded in mist. In my imagination it can have different colors. Do I visualize it as a gray gloom, symbolizing a plodding existence, carrying on without expectations? Or do I see the light shining beyond the haze, bright with possibilities in spite of the loss of my dream, because God is there? Will I allow God to take my dream and use it to change me? The choice is mine.

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©Copyright 2006 Lorrie Orr