Last week, I spoke with about 25 challenged, inner-city youth from central Pennsylvania. We discovered the new season on this trip. The dogwoods, both white and pink, were resplendent. Azaleas were popping out all over. The few clouds brought a chill in the air, and yet the riders were out on their bikes enjoying an Appalachian Spring.
After the ride, we gathered under a park pavilion along the banks of the beautiful and yet still very cold Susquehanna River.
My message was simple: Don’t buy in to the dreams others may have for you. Don’t deceive yourselves with truths others have convinced you to believe. Dream for yourselves. We didn’t have the time to dive deep into how to make that happen, but the main points were made.
When the brief talk was over, I was left with a couple of thoughts.
There were a few who didn’t understand my words. The dreams others may have for us are comfortable—for the moment. They make us bigger—for the moment. Dreams of playing in the NBA are easily visualized on a nearby television. When truth confronts them like the quickening temperature difference of that river, will they have the desire to breathe deeply into the reality others have for them or will they merely gasp out of the very real convulsive shock of suddenly finding themselves in frigid waters? I’m not limiting what God can do, but where do you look for His reality? On the pages of Truth or the sports programs on television?
There were more who came up to me after the talk and approached this stranger from a faraway place with a child-like, creation wonder in their eyes. It was clear they wanted to believe that their dreams were their own and they had long ago painted those dreams on a landscape of faith. They appreciated my talk and with quiet voices assured me that they had heard what I said. God will take this clay—He prefers youth over people like me anyway—and mold beautiful futures for the least of these.
Throughout the afternoon, the ice-cold river kept up its pace. People were catching fish along its banks. April showers and run-off silt had contributed to the murkiness. There was a spillway upstream that proved the river’s flows were full. And still, there was one constant reality of the river, regardless of season or level or clarity or temperature—an absolute truth for all to see. No matter how much someone would want to make you believe otherwise, this truth cannot be changed. The river, like life, always flows in one direction—the same direction as time.
There was no way I could know or share their experiences. I could not identify with what these youth-filled riders would face upon returning home that night. But, I am acquainted with someone who knows their experience better than they do themselves. Indeed, He has seen it all. And with Him, dreams become reality.