It is late Friday evening.
Tanya and I are watching an old film—The Painted Lady. Well, not terribly old. It was made in 1997. At 88, one’s definition of “old” becomes flexible.
Then I came across a few words about dreams gathering dust—dreams discovered beneath old fears and inside boxes that had not been opened for years.
Another echo of my life.
I seem to keep stumbling over them.
That is a strange picture, isn’t it? Stumbling over an echo. An echo is something you hear, not something lying across your path. But lately, old words, old dreams, and old assignments keep appearing in front of me as though God is saying:
You heard this before. Listen again.
Not every dream from our past is meant to be recovered. Some belonged to an earlier season and should be released with gratitude.
But others have not died. They have simply been waiting.
Perhaps that is what is happening with my writing. Books delayed for years are finding their way onto paper. Thoughts carried quietly through decades of teaching, ministry, failure, restoration, and walking with Jesus are asking to be preserved.
At 88, I am learning that dust does not mean death.
Sometimes an old dream needs only to be uncovered, wiped clean, and placed again before the Lord.
“Your old men shall dream dreams.”
—Acts 2:17
So, as this week ends, I will keep listening for the echoes.
And if I stumble over one, perhaps I should stop long enough to ask:
Lord, is this an old memory—or a present assignment?
Walk with me.
