Dreaming Again

How does revelation come walking the aisles of Bunnings? There's something about the smell of saw dust that just makes the world okay for me.

It must be growing up the daughter of a contractor (who, ironically, ended up developing an allergy to saw dust and changed careers)... falling asleep on the construction site to a symphony of power tools while my 18 year old mother helped her new husband on the job...

Or the special memories of walking the aisles with my builder-turned-minister husband who can talk for hours about the physics of different types of hammers. And I'm not exaggerating.

Today as I walked those aisles, breathing deep and smiling at the elderly lady who had her arms full of a special project I could tell she was just itching to get started on, hoping that one day I could be just like her, I remembered the last time that I had walked those aisles.

It was the day that I had started labour and I remembered the very chair I sat in when I had the first long contraction that caused me to need to catch my breath. And the woman who looked at my sympathetically. And the shopkeeper who came to ask if I was okay as I laid my head on the little DIY table. And then the determination I had to suck it up and not show the pain when I realised that people saw there was "movement at the station." (I hated that phrase during the 10 days I was overdue, by the way.)

And while I enjoyed the memories that came flooding back - and the fact that there were special things about the day that made it so memorable that it would strike me in an ordinary moment like that, I also got a little bit sad.

Because if that day was the last day I was at Bunnings, that means that I haven't been to Bunnings in almost four months. And its one of my favourite places to be.

In that moment, I realised all over again just how much my life has changed in the past four months. There are the obvious changes - the weeks without sleep, the overflowing rubbish bins, the yellow poop stains on my favourite shorts, and the fact that my heart feels like it has tripled in size.

But its the subtle changes that surprised me... the fact that I had not had a moment to do one of my very favourite things in almost four months.

So as I walked the aisle today, holding the hand of my favourite man, as he pushed the pram holding our sleeping sweetheart, I relished in what it meant for my heart to dream again...

Planning the deck we could build on the back of our house, the dwarfed fruit trees (um, they have dwarf avacado trees now!? yes, please!) we would put on it and the friends we should share the fruits with... Calculating how many cold cokes we'd have to sell for a dollar to save the money to do it.

And picking out the new floor we could put down at our ministry centre so that our friends who have an Indigenous dance outreach could practice and the teenagers who need a safe place to hang out can dance their precious little hearts away... And feeling motivated again to get that grant application in to see it a reality.

Teasing. Laughing. Loving. Disliking. Problem Solving. Not having to use the toilet every 5 minutes.

It felt good to dream again.