A Dream Called Love

I have a dream, a dream called Love, and it starts with me.

It looks like me baking bread, grateful for the wheat and the yeast, marveling at the rising, kneading it slow and praying for the neighbor who will receive it. It looks like lingering instead of pulling away, hugging instead of flinching, seeing people – really seeing them, listening and carrying their burdens.

Love looks like forgiveness – everyone in a circle holding hands, acknowledging the fingerprint of God that exists in each of us, calling out the good and true and beautiful and quirky. There is giggling in the dream called Love, and holy grief too. We stay together in the circle, match our cadence; we stay low when others are low and rejoice when they rejoice.

Scrolling, trolling, and binge-watching does not exist in the dream called Love. We have better things to do. Dinners to cook, gardens to plant, books to read, letters to write, and games to play. Loneliness, tribalism, politics, murder, and avarice have no place in the dream called Love. Love does not divide or deride.

There are no fences, no walls, or moats  – only bridges. Kitchen tables are handcrafted and seat 20 and doors have no locks because whatever I have is yours and whatever is yours you freely give to those in need. There is no okra because okra is gross but there is coffee because coffee is amazing. There is enough gin and wine for celebrating, not escape, and a bit of cussing because a word fitly spoken is like apples of gold and all that.

In my dream called Love The Church is place where people find Jesus and nothing else. No. Other. Thing. Just him, his life laid down, blood, death, resurrection, life, life for NOW, not for later, life upon life upon life that is good and true and beautiful, life that sets people free and does not oppress them. In my Love-dream Church takes place in living rooms and conference rooms and bedrooms and hospitals, especially hospitals, and nursing homes and on mountains and in campers and on the road – wherever there are people who see the Spirit in each other, swap coats, turn cheeks and walk each other home.

All colors, nations, tribes, and tongues exist in the dream called Love. We bring out the best in all with salt and grace and hugging. Women and men, young and old, straight or crooked, get a seat at the table and collaborate to fix All The Broken Things. There is no one-upping or jockeying or vying. Also, there are no cats. Just saying.

I have a dream, a dream called Love, and it starts with me.

It begins with knowing my neighbor’s stories, not just their names. It looks like me, looks like us, seeking the peace and prosperity of the city, collaborating to bring about human flourishing, caring for vineyards and oceans, conserving and not over-consuming because we believe the universe and everything in it was Created, created good, and very good, and the restoration of it is what He is after and also our highest calling.

In my dream called Love, we are creators, musicians, painters, sculptors, writers, entrepreneurs, teachers, singers, composers, all For the Sake of the World. Our work is worship and fits us like a glove. There are no bad or stressful or rotten-no-good days, instead, there are red balloons and high fives and chocolate cake. Even the gluten free chocolate cake tastes good in my dream called Love.

Love is for dreamers, for believers. Love is for you. Love is for us, for our sons and daughters and grandchildren and all who have come before and all who will come later.

It doesn’t have to be just a dream. It can be real Y’all.

Let it begin with me.



8 thoughts on “A Dream Called Love

  1. Very powerful Cara Luther King Jr .
    I love your writing style. They sound like spontaneous thoughts and convictions written so effortlessly. Love is an amazing dream and I will do my best to have it start with me.


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