Monday, December 12, 2011

Bring Me Your Dreams

(Now that my computer is back up and running, I can resume posting!  Thanks to  my beautiful husband for fixing it...)

I was in charge of carpool and the girls weren't ready to go yet. After much prayer and contemplation, I had decided to go back to work and I was going to be late. I lost it. I'm embarrassed to say I literally screamed at them to get in the car. Once I dropped off, I came home to take Braden to school only to find that Drew had dressed him in pajamas rather than school clothes. Drew insisted no one would be able to tell the difference...but they were feety PJ's so I'm not sure what planet he was on when he picked out clothes for the day. I changed Braden's clothes, dropped him and headed up the 405 freeway to begin my new production position. With every mile that passed, I was questioning my decision to return to work. And the commute...why did I say "yes" to a position in Van Nuys? It was an hour and a half from my house at best. My chest started getting tight, my breathing became shallow, and I realized I was at the beginning of a panic attack. No job was worth this kind of stress. I took the next exit and did a 180 degree turn back to my home. I burst into the house in tears and told Drew he had to call the new job and tell them I just couldn't do it.  I just couldn't take the position.

The next night, despite previous misgivings, I found myself back in the college classroom, giving a lecture and demonstration voice class in front of a group of advanced college singers and a visiting academic.  It had been several months since I had been in  the teaching arena, and I had let my piano skills wane in the interim.  As I stumbled over the fingerings of the 32 bar selection, the student demonstrating stopped and refused to continue.  The visiting clinician asked the student why, when he had been given clear instructions as to his direction, would he not continue.  The student, one of my favorites, sighed and said, "I think Cynthia is brilliant at choosing musical theater repertoire for her students but I just don't think she is skilled enough as a teacher to advance my talent."  I was stunned into silence...then into tears.

Last night, I was finally enjoying my decision to stop teaching, stop working in the work force and had decided to do some sorting and clearing out in my house.  Amidst the clutter and piles of categorized chaos in my living room, the doorbell rang.  I opened the door to a family of 12; mother, father and 10 children, some adopted, some foster, some birth children.  Several of the kids were mentally challenged and the whole family entered my home uninvited but profoundly thankful that I had "agreed" to give the children private voice lessons for an incredibly nominal fee.  The mother appealed to my sense of compassion where the mentally challenged children were concerned, as she knew I had years and years of experience working with this demographic.  The father appealed to my sense of femininity as he complimented me and cajoled me into taking his kids on.  So in the final analysis, as the children stared at me with huge, sad, expectant eyes, I shoved aside all of the piles, drug my piano into the living room and launched into a somewhat simulated enthusiastic lesson.  Afterward, I vowed I would never let that happen again.  But before I could make the phone call to stop the family in their tracks...

...I woke up.

Yes, all three of these scenarios were the dreams I was sent as answered prayers to my current dilemma over whether I should go back to work in the spring. My voice is somewhat healed - enough so, I've been thinking, to handle one day a week. I talked to my husband. I talked to my sister. Most importantly, I talked to God. I've prayed...and prayed...and prayed some more. And because I am SO dense, I have asked God multiple times for a clear ambiguity, please, I asked.  So He sent - not one, not two, but THREE separate dreams - in a row - to answer my question.

Do I really need to wonder what He is trying to say?

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