I Have a Dream

Ever since I read my first Nancy Drew book, I dreamed of being a writer. This was in fourth or fifth grade. I could hardly wait for “library day” when the teacher would take us into this big mysterious room full of books. I loved the smell of the library. It was the smell of adventure and I couldn’t get enough of it. When I had devoured all of the Nancy Drew stories, I dug into the Judy Bolton mysteries, and then Trixie Belden. I even tried my hand at writing my own mystery when I was twelve. It was a total flop. I just didn’t know how to write. I had the dream, but not the “know how”; so I put my dream on a shelf and it sat there for many years like books that are never opened.

Becoming a Dreamer

In junior high, I discovered Jane Eyre. Oh, how I loved her. I wanted to be her – to tell Mr. Rochester, “No, sir. I cannot be your mistress because it wouldn’t be the moral thing to do and you, sir, are a cad.” No, that’s not what she said, but that’s what I would have said. Jane took the moral high ground with just the right words that shriveled more than Mr. Rodchester’s ego. That’s probably why I failed at writing. I had the imagination, but it didn’t connect on paper.

I had another dream. My childhood hero was none other than Dr. David Livingstone, the missionary/explorer to Africa. He discovered Victoria Falls and established a mission in the middle of the Congo. I wanted to be like Dr. Livingstone. I wanted to become a missionary. Although I sucked at writing, the thought of living in a hut in the middle of Africa wasn’t appealing either. I thought I could get used to it, but God had other plans for my life.

Ever since my mother told me that she was part Native American, I wanted to do something to help. I mean, after all, I was part Native American, too. My father was of German stock and although my hair was black and I had dark eyes, my skin was light. But the thought grew in my heart. I wanted to do something to help Native Americans. So I added that to my list of dreams.

Another dream was to work with the elderly. This dream was birthed when a Christian lady in my neighborhood invited me to go with her to visit some older people in a nursing home. I was shaken by what I saw. They looked so fragile and lonely. This dream did not become a reality until much later in life.

The tiny seed of another dream took root in my heart. In high school, one of my classmates lived in a foster home. Her parents were abusive and I noticed she was shy and withdrawn. She was moved from foster home to foster home. One day she disappeared from my life. I don’t know what happened to her, but I still can see her vaguely drifting in and out of my thoughts through the years. I knew one day I would work with homeless people or perhaps in an orphanage. But life got in the way. My dreams faded into the background.

I went to a Christian college, Olivet Nazarene University in Kankakee, Illinois. I majored in English but hated grammar. I still loved to read and took as many literature courses as I could to avoid taking the grammar courses. But the day came when I had to take a grammar course in order to graduate. I got through it somehow. I still have problems with commas. Thank goodness for copy editors!

I married while still in college (the wrong boy, of course) but he made me laugh. I pictured a life full of laughter and gaiety. Why do girls think this is such a necessary prerequisite to gauge the qualifications of choosing a mate? Someday, those boys that made you laugh will make you cry when they walk out the door.

Becoming a Missionary

But during the thirty-six years of my marriage, I did fulfill one of my dreams. My husband came home from a missionary trip to Brazil and said he felt the call to go back there and work in an orphanage. I couldn’t believe it. We’re going to be missionaries and work in an orphanage. Two dreams in one. I loved being a missionary. Working at the orphanage was a privilege and joy. I will tell you all more about my adventures in a small village outside São Paulo in future posts.

After being on my own after my divorce, I moved to Pasadena, CA. to be near my daughter, Tami, and got a job teaching in a small Christian school. I taught there for nine years and retired when the school disbanded. Bored with retirement, I looked on the internet for teaching jobs. Guess what? A Native American boarding school in Arizona was looking for an English teacher. I sent in my application a few weeks before Christmas. I was accepted and told to report after Christmas break. Another dream fulfilled. I sold most of my furniture and gave the rest of it away. I packed my clothes, books, computer, old manuscripts, and my teacups. My daughter drove me to the school. I will expand on my time at this school in later posts. I must get on with my story.

Becoming a Teacher

After retiring again from teaching, I moved to Albuquerque, NM to be near my younger daughter, Tiffany. She had just gotten married and I moved into a retirement community nearby. It was full of old people. Remember my dream to work with the elderly? Another dream came true. The retirement community is a hotbed of intrigue, gossip, bullying, and downright animosity. We need our own reality show. And yes, there is some hanky-panky going on, too. I will tell you all more about that in later posts.

Be careful what you dream. God just might fulfill your dreams.

-Joan Marie

P.S. My daughter, Tiffany, has recently agreed to foster a baby. I enjoy helping as much as I can with this little angel sent from heaven into our hearts. I will make it up to this little babe for not doing more for my classmate who was in foster care in high school. Thank you, Jesus, for fulfilling my dreams.