There are more than 500 stores in the Mall of America. We gave our 8-year-old son $20 and told him to pick one. He didn’t need a map to show him his options. He just needed his dad to point the way to Goldy’s Lockeroom.
Once inside, he bought a University of Minnesota baseball. “I want it to remind me of my goal to play for the Gophers,” he told Ryan.
He didn’t want a shirt or a toy or something else that would wear out. He wanted something that would last for ten years.
“He’s so you,” my husband snickered as he handed me the ball.
It’s true. Landon and I share a certain, oh, intensity about things.
Which probably explains why I found a way to get him to Siebert Field the very next day to document the exact moment in his life when he committed to pursuing something huge.
It moved me to watch him press his face up against the fence, squinting to see the invisible with a robust confidence that used to come naturally to me, too. He couldn’t see how small he looked pressed up against his big dream, and he certainly didn’t stand there asking a bunch of questions about how he was going to make it to the infield. It was enough for him to clutch the chain link and believe that if he committed himself to his goal, one day he’d be looking out from that field for God’s glory.
This picture—this boy—has made me ask myself a hard, yet familiar, question:
What would I be willing to attempt for God if I knew I couldn’t fail?
In other words, where’s my fence these days?
The Holy Spirit has led me to answer that question twice before, and neither time did I need a map or even a moment’s pause to consider my options.
Adopt an orphan.
Plant a church.
Why should now be any different? Well, because I think I’m more petrified this time. I’m afraid to say my latest three-word response out loud because I know he’ll tell me to buy the ball, grip the chain link, and commit to the daily acts of discipline and obedience required to get to the other side. And I don’t wanna.
Honestly, I don’t know that I’m up for it. In fact, I know I’m not up for it. Unlike Landon, I can see how small I look staring down such a big dream. But when has that ever mattered? Um…let’s see…never.
What about you? Where’s your fence? If what you see through the chain link scares you like what I see through mine scares me—and if it’s tethered to Jesus and the passions and gifts he’s given you—then you’re probably right where you need to be. If you’ve resolved in your heart to want to be used by God in this generation, then you ought to be overwhelmed. If you’re not, then you might want to go looking for a more intimidating fence—one that only He can hoist you over.
Whether you’re ready like Landon to say your dream out loud with confidence and go running for the fence, or if you’re keeping your distance and shaking quietly in your cleats like I am, can we all agree that it’s long past time for us to start staring down God-sized dreams again?
Someone has to, guys. It might as well be us.