We were probably about 11 or 12 years old, my friend Steve and I.
He lived on a large, older farm just across the field from me. A few
yards from the door to his house was a storm cellar. It was a large,
cylindrical, concrete cellar with steps leading down into it and a
small round opening in the top about 3 feet in diameter. One day after
the testosterone surges of puberty began to wreak havoc with our common
sense we decided to see how good we would be as stunt men. I don't
remember who went first, but I do remember that we took turns doing
this over and over for much of the day.
Here was the idea. We retrieved some empty paper grain sacks - dozens of them - from the barn and filled the storm cellar with them leaving only a small corner clear on the opposite side of the steps. The stunt man would then go down into that corner and the other person would close both the opening to the steps and the hatch in the ceiling. Heavy pieces of tin were used to close these exits and large concrete blocks were piled on top of the tin. The stunt man would then light the bags on fire and then, surrounded by flames, attempt to escape through either the stairwell opening or the hatch in the ceiling.
This was only one of many stupid things that as a kid I filled my days with. It was exciting; the risk, the danger, the rush of cheating death, and the bragging rights with which to impress the little girls of the neighborhood who naively mistook our obvious lack of cerebral function for bravado.
I'm much less adventurous today. At 40 years old I'm not quite as excited about setting myself on fire and seeing if I can survive, or car surfing on the hardtop while my slightly inebriated friend simulates waves by wildly jerking the steering wheel back and forth at 30 or 40 miles per hour.
In some ways I really miss that adventurous spirit, but at the same time I've matured enough to recognize that there is a fine line between admirable risk-taking and pure stupidity. Today, I want to recapture the boldness to chase my dreams with abandon while at the same time guarding myself against pure stupidity. And you know...sometimes those lines are a bit blurry.
In a post from a blog long, long ago and far, far away, I talked about the things that cause our dreams to die and one of the things I mentioned was the fear of failure. As I fought my way through the flames of that storm cellar, I didn't give a thought to failure. I knew I could make it. The fear of losing my balance and rolling off the top of the car didn't keep me from enjoying the adrenaline rush of riding the "waves." But now, as I've aged...as I've experienced heartache, pain, and disappointment...as I've seen suffering and death up close and personal, I know that in reality things won't always turn out the way you hope they will.
The truth is that risk can be either rewarding or costly. The questions then become, "Will you allow the potential cost to keep you from pursuing your dreams? Or will you risk everything for the possibility that your dreams will become reality?"
We need to consider a few things. Before we even begin thinking about the chances of success or the risk of failure we need to come to some degree of certainty that the dream we are pursuing is God's dream for our life. If we have reasonable certainty that the dream we are pursuing has been inspired by God, and we are eager to chase that dream with our heart and mind fixed on God and His purposes in the dream, then I think we need to reevaluate our definitions of success and failure and come to the place of understanding that when our heart is fixed on God and we are pursuing his dream for our life success and failure aren't necessarily measured by the visible outcomes.
Listen to the first half of Psalm 1. "Oh, the joys of those who do not follow the advice of the wicked, or stand around with sinners, or join in with scoffers. But they delight in doing everything the Lord wants; day and night they think about his law. They are like trees planted along the riverbank, bearing fruit each season without fail. Their leaves never wither, and in all they do, they prosper."
Did you catch that last part? "In all they do, they prosper." That sounds like inevitable, measurable success...right? But that can't be true. Things don't always go as we planned when we began chasing the dream. Projects fail, budgets aren't always met, pregnancies don't always go well. How do we reconcile the very real disappointments we face when chasing our dreams with this promise from Psalm 1 that in everything we do we'll prosper?
I believe God defines success and failure differently than we do and like I said earlier, it has very little to do with outward, visible outcomes. I'm convinced that as we chase our dreams, God defines success and failure more by what happens IN us than what happens THROUGH us.
When we experience what outwardly appears to be failure, I believe God then invites us to ask these questions:
"Through this event, did I sense God with me?"
"As a result of this event, is God's grace more real to me?"
"While going through this, did I discover things about myself that need to be changed to make me stronger, wiser, and more dependent on God?"
Regardless of the visible outcomes of chasing our dreams, if we can answer yes to those three questions, then we have experienced success...the "prosperity" that God speaks of in Psalm 1. You see, when God gives us dreams to pursue with our life, it's not so much about us accomplishing a task "for God" as it is God accomplishing in our hearts, minds, and souls the very thing that Jesus died and rose again to make possible; the restoration and discovery of who we were created to be as His beloved son or daughter.
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