I used to dream of a home for the soul, a beautiful house full of lovely things that I love which nourish me. Now I dream of a home for souls. Maybe it won't as beautiful as the other, but I think, God help me, beautiful things can happen there.
I am dreaming of opening a hospice, but maybe not. Maybe it's not a hospice. Maybe it's a home, but for the dying poor, and many of the dying poor with AIDS. I certainly don't think I my age I'm going to go to medical school and become an expert on palliative medicine. I want to be able to sit beside people, listen to their stories, their regrets. Wipe their brows, or do whatever else they need. I have experience with this. I worked in a group home, and changed many a diaper on adults. It wasn't nearly as bad as I thought, and they were just my lovies, not the poor Christ! At least I didn't see them that way then.
I am dreaming of writing lovely, quiet books about spirituality. If God wills it. I always say I want to be like a girl Brennan Manning, or Henri Nouwen, but now that I've discovered so women writers who move me like they do, I am asking if I write at all, that I do so as the person who God made me to be, and that, I assure you, is not Manning, Merton, or Nouwen.
I am dreaming of going to jail for peace. I will probably do this with Lisa Samson, as she is good at getting me in trouble and radically changing my life (she may deny this. Do not believe her.)
I am dreaming of speaking for Christ. I'm glad I haven't had any real success as a speaker. I think I would have been too much about me. I'm tired of me. I want to share the Beatitudes. The Gospel. I think I'm an evangelist. Note I used a little "e". That's important. We all should be evangelists, but I'm really seeing it differently than when I was a fiery teen preacher, and of course, for a season, I abandoned that call all together. It all seems to be coming into focus now, but how it will all happen I don't know.
I am dreaming of being faithful to what is mine to do.
I am dreaming of friends to join me in the work.
I read that on the feast of the Immaculate Conception, Dorothy Day went to the National Shrine and prayed, "some way would be open for me to work with the poor and the oppressed." I am dreaming that prayer flying on the wings of my great desire, all the way to God's heart.
When Dorothy returned home, Peter Maurin, a man who changed her life, and planted the seed of the Catholic Worker Newspaper in her soul, was waiting for her in her apartment. I'm dreaming that my Peter Maurin is waiting for me. And that St. Raphael, the Archangel and saint of happy meetings, is leading me to my friend, and my friend to me, and that they are dreaming also of me.
And now it is three am. And I must sleep, and dream the other way.