This weekend, I met a dreamer.  For the dreamer in me, it was so refreshing. 

I always believed that my dreams would come true, no matter what.  One day I turned into Fontaine from Les Miserables.  Dreams turned into disillusionment.  Cynicism broke my rose-colored glasses, and I stopped expecting my dreams to come true. 

Now I find myself joking about my dreams.  I’m going to write the next great American novel.  Ha. Ha.

The dreamer is a musician.  Everyday, he’s living out his dreams.  He’s following his dreams. 

This weekend, something dormant in me because alive again.  I realize that I’m not going to sit down in a coffee shop for an afternoon and pen a novel.  Just like music requires discipline and mastering a craft, so does writing. 

To my dreamer friend, thank you for reminding me to dream.

To all of my dreamer friends in remission, I pray that God sends someone into your path to revive the dreams that were planted in your heart at birth.