Short Story: Building Dreams that Last

I used to be a builder of dreams. I had dedicated my life to the craft. You see, being a builder of dreams takes a lot of skill and self-focus. Dreams are wispy things, likes clouds in the sky. We think they are unchanging but dreams start off transparent, lucid and airy. I was the one who brought them down to earth to be made into something tangible.

The formula to build a dream looks very much the same no matter the type of dream you are building. You first need a lot of me-focus. That looks like a lot of self-will and desire with a full measure of entitlement. Add in a half cup of self-promotion but make sure not to overdo it. Make sure your ambition comes across as someone who is driven, eager, goal-oriented, not arrogant or greedy. And don’t forget to add in a touch of people-pleasing and a dash of humility to make sure you get what you want. 

Once you mix that formula together and put it into action, you will have a fully baked and realized dream. But here became the problem. The dreams I built only stood for a little while. Because once it was fully created and I had that dream in my hands, it began to crumble. And the more I held onto it, the more it fell apart. So I spent all my energy trying to put it back together. The glue of self-help only worked for a little. The tape of effort and performance collapsed too. Delusion and a false sense of reality never worked because the truth was that my dreams always ended up crumbling ash in my hands. 

I played this game for quite a while, convinced each time, the formula for building a dream was going to play out differently. But that never was the case. And soon all that lay around me were piles of disintegrating, ashy dreams. Dreams that I couldn’t quite make stick together. From cloud-like substances to piles of ash in my hands, I realized I wasn’t building dreams. I was building my own prideful ambitions on the wrong foundation. 

As I sat with my piles of dreams all around me wondering what to do next, Another approached me. He said He was a dream builder. And He said He used a different formula and promised me that, this time around, my dreams would not end up crumbling in ash. At first, I was offended. My title “builder of dreams” was so important to me, I had given my whole life to have that title. Did I have to relinquish it to Someone Else? But my offense melted into resignation. Who was I kidding this whole time? Being my own dream builder only got me piles of nothing. I needed help building something that lasted.

So this Other took my ashes out of my hands and breathed on them. Out of that breath, my dreams were rebirthed, built bigger and better than I had ever imagined when I was building them. What I once had thought were big dreams now dwarfed in comparison to the new colossal dreams that this Other had built. “How could this be?” I exclaimed. He said the formula was a simple one with no other ask than to put those dreams in His hands. No striving, no self-seeking entitlement needed. I was amazed at what He could do with my emptied hands and checked ego. 

So I no longer am a builder of dreams. I have given that title to Someone Else now. I am just me—known by a new name: Trusting. Because I am trusting the real Dream Builder, having put everything in His hands, not my own.