A long time ago, in a lifetime far, far away, my husband and I set out on a well-meaning but misguided quest to pursue and attain the American Dream. At the pursuit, if nothing else, we succeeded. Perhaps a bit too well for our own good.

The American Dream, according to Wikipedia, is a national ethos of the United States in which freedom includes a promise of the possibility of prosperity and success. In the definition of the American Dream by James Truslow Adams in 1931, “life should be better and richer and fuller for everyone, with opportunity for each according to ability or achievement” regardless of social class or circumstances of birth. The idea of the American Dream is rooted in the United States Declaration of Independence which proclaims that “all men are created equal” and that they are “endowed by their Creator with certain inalienable Rights” including “Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.” We bought it hook, line, and sinker.

We set out with high hopes, reminding ourselves we weren’t simply pursuing prosperity, we were pursuing opportunity. The opportunity to bless a friend or family in need. The opportunity to host and entertain large groups of people. The opportunity to support local and national and world missions. The opportunity to send our children to Christian schools and colleges. The opportunity to provide a comfortable space where all our children’s friends wanted to hang out. The opportunity to travel extensively, seeing as much of the world God created as possible.  We desired opportunity.

I filled a journal with images to motivate me—a “dream book” with representations of all we desired. It came naturally to me, having dreamed these dreams my entire life. A home we could entertain in. A car that wasn’t ten years old. Pictures of orphans in Africa, South America, Asia—in need of food, homes, protection.  Panoramas of National Parks we longed to explore.  Images of space shuttle launches and Olympic opening ceremonies and hot air balloon races.  Names of friends we wished we could help financially.  The book was full beyond its ability to lay flat. For five years I focused long and hard on their pages, trying to motivate myself in the hopes of attaining perhaps even a few of them.

Fifteen years and a whole lot of life later, the dream book has since been abandoned, and the pursuit of such dreams along with it.  Despite a whole lot of earnest effort, a—richer and fuller life—seems destined, for us, to be largely metaphorical in nature. A story how Jesus repairs our wrongs full of the type of blessings fashioned over time through the facing of adversity.  We are assured these blessings are the only ones truly of lasting value.  And there are moments when I really, truly get this. But sometimes, I am embarrassed to admit, those moments are fleeting.

The problem is, when I am this-isn’t-pretty honest, there is a place in my heart that still desires the dreams so painstakingly pasted within my cute little bulging book. Don’t get me wrong—I don’t want to want them. But despite my best efforts to kill off desire, I still long with an achy, palpable longing for our dreams of opportunity to come true. Each and every one of them.  You can’t meditate on such things for so long without them becoming engrained. Embedded. Emblazoned on your heart.

The effects of this internal struggle are equally as unattractive.

Discontent. Grumbling. Entitled. Whining. Demanding. Unsatisfied. Complaining. Ungrateful. Petulant. Lacking appreciation. There are days my heart is all of this, and more.

Sarah Young, in Jesus Lives, nails me.

There are so many things you would like to be different: in yourself, in others, in the world.  Your natural tendency is to brood over these matters rather than talking them over with Me.  The longer you focus on these negatives the more likely you are to be disgruntled.  Even when you control what you say out loud, your thoughts tend to be full of complaints. 

As Thanksgiving approaches, I am convicted by a heart that is, at its core, disgruntled and diseased. And I am longing for a new promise to be fulfilled within me:

Whenever you are tempted to grumble, come to Me and talk it out.  As you open up to Me, I will put My thoughts in your mind and My song in your heart. Eventually, heavenly Light will break through the fog in your mind, enabling you to see things from My perspective. You will find in My Presence irrepressible Joy.  Whether or not I change your circumstances, you will discover I have given you a new song—a hymn of praise.

I need to see things from God’s perspective.  Not just from my mind’s eye, but from my heart’s. From that place where dreams are born, nurtured, and either celebrated or grieved in time.

The American Dream is not my true heart’s desire—an Eternal Dream is.  And that dream demands of me no arduous pursuit—it has already been attained by another man’s effort. Lord, cleanse my heart and fill it with more of you, that I may be appropriately, humbly grateful.

A richer and fuller life awaits.

I will dream, instead, of that day.

American Dream balanced living gratitude Thanksgiving