La vita e bella. Life is beautiful. It is an exciting prospect to dream a God-sized dream. Joseph made the mistake of sharing his with jealous brothers and awoke to menacing voices of slave-traders. His brothers shredded and bloodied his coat before showing their father. By all appearances, the dream was dead. But wait, it did not die. Though enslaved by fraternal hate, a woman's lying tongue, and another dreamer's negligence, as Joseph's character emerged, so too his dream.

God understands that our understanding is limited to the here and now; when He speaks to us, He does so in terms that we can accept in the present. The fulfillment comes about in ways that are often unexpected and even unrecognized. Prophetically, the brothers' sheaves bowed down to Joseph, but it was the brothers who bowed down to him in reality. Perhaps Joseph realized the famine would stretch to the land of his father when he interpreted Pharoah's dream, but did he know his brothers would come seeking provisions? Or what circumstances would bring them face to face at last? I doubt it. He was caught up in meeting the deadlines of planting and harvest, storage and rationing; so we get caught up with life.

We say we are 'seeking God's will', but often it is an excuse for putting off the task at hand. God's will is in the here and now. "Whatsoever your hand finds to do, do it heartily as unto the Lord." God knows what circumstances will develop our character best. He knows those faithful in little can be trusted with much. Like Joseph, the fulfillment of our dreams comes, not with loud fanfare, but in everyday ways, when our heart's to God and our hand's to man. Let us realize the dreams God has given us. May we live all the days of our life! L'chaim!!

Life in town is not the novelty I thought it would be. Strange how we spend so much time dreaming about the future. Wherever I go, whatever I do, I feel so normal. My sister dreams of Italy; I want to live in Israel. If we lived in those far-off countries, those would be our realities. When we were on the farm, town seemed like the solution to our problems; on a busy street with tidy houses crammed in close around ours, the country seems a luxury we surrendered for convenience. I miss the wide expanse of green fields, the huge walnuts and sycamore in our yard, the way the wind whipped my skirt into a hoop, early-morning walks, birdsong. Here we have civilization: a field of souls to reap for the Kingdom and God has placed us here for reasons known to Him and still something of a mystery to us.

I've filled a dozen journals in my short life. My sister pulls them off the shelf and reads them aloud for entertainment and sometimes I still have the grace to blush over my highschool gushings. But, since coming of age, I don't feel the urgency to make record of every handsome face I pass on the sidewalk, or mention every needlework project I begin. Once in a while I want to make note of an interesting acquaintence made or jot an inspiring quote. My current journal is a little red book I bought at Hastings. The cover has a window cut in it, framing an image of an heirloom rose. It's very pretty and considering I paid $15 for it, I really should go ahead and finish it before starting a new journal. But I won't. This is the 21st century and my composition is aided by the delete button.