Once captive to the monthly cycle of waiting and hoping, its loop-de-loop of anticipation and devastation so heartless in its extremes. Enslavement to hope, as ironic as it seems, held me prisoner as love became effort and two became not-three. Month after month, slower than I could stand and faster than I wanted, because the end result was always the same: the hope of all I had ever wanted, bleeding away again.
And then, one time it didn't. One time the imagined hunger, exhaustion, and nausea became suddenly as real as the two lines that set me free. Free to hope and dream and imagine myself in the role I was made for.
The role I am loving. The role I am learning. The role that is so much more than I could have ever understood. The role that is changing me for Him and for them.
That confinement seems so long ago now. He has given me the desires of my heart and then filled my heart with dreams of Him. Big dreams, scary dreams, the kind where He Will Carry dreams. I am captive no longer. I am like those who dream.
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