Of Dreams and Faith

Of Dreams and Faith

David N. Alderman

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Copyright © 2014 by David N. Alderman

Cover image by Michal C. Alderman

Many names have been changed to protect the privacy of individuals.

All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

Smashwords Edition License Notes

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This novel is available in print through davidnalderman.com.

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"Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference."

– Robert Frost –

For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are My ways higher than your ways and My thoughts than your thoughts. (Isaiah 55:9 NASB)

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Table of Contents

Forward

Chapter 1: Of Dreams

Chapter 2: Arizona

Chapter 3: Preparations

Chapter 4: California

Chapter 5: Homecoming

Chapter 6: Doubt and Faith

Chapter 7: Choices

Chapter 8: The Gauntlet

Chapter 9: Demons and Angels

Chapter 10: Friends and Compromise

Chapter 11: The End of a Chapter

Chapter 12: Michal

Chapter 13: Standing Up

Chapter 14: The Furnace

Chapter 15: End of the Innocence

Chapter 16: Jars of Oil

Chapter 17: Changes

Chapter 18: And Faith

Chapter 19: A Step

Chapter 20: The End...And The Beginning

Connect With David Online

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Forward

Nothing changes when nothing changes.

A friend of mine said this statement to me many years ago, and I ended up writing it in the front of my Bible to avoid forgetting it. This phrase is sometimes overlooked because of its simplicity, but in reality, nothing will change if nothing changes. It is unrealistic and unreasonable to expect different results when our methods and actions toward a goal remain the same. To break the cycle, to create new paths and forge new frontiers, we must step out and grab hold of that which frightens us, that which intimidates us, that which confuses us in order to achieve the dreams that threaten to consume us in magnificent passion.

However, pursuing our dreams—the dreams that are God-given anyway—is a futile effort unless we are doing so in faith. The word faith seems to have taken on an archaic meaning in our times, representing a casual vocabulary term sprinkled throughout everyday conversation instead of a supreme hope and trust that is placed in the one true God. In today’s culture, we have faith in other people, in inanimate objects, in money, in jobs, in circumstances, in weather, even in our vehicles.

The thing is, people will disappoint, things will break or become archaic, money will lose value, circumstances will change, weather will never line up with what the meteorologists predict, and even our vehicles will break down at some point, usually when we’re on our way to an important meeting.

When we put this same generic and empty faith into our dreams, they too are sure to crash and burn.

But what would happen if we took our dreams, placed them in the hands of God, and placed our faith in God to turn these dreams into reality? Instead of trusting in the temporary, instead of putting our hopes in the ones who will undoubtedly disappoint, what if we turned to the One who has power over all creation?

I wonder if maybe we neglect to go to God with our dreams because we think they are too small or too insignificant to bother Him with them. But what we forget is that some of these dreams that are burning within us were planted there by God Himself, and He’s waiting fervently for us to turn to Him and partner with Him to fulfill these dreams.

This book is an account, a chronicle really, of my own at-tempt to raise my goblet of dreams to the God who moved Heaven and Earth to call me His own, to align my will with the will of the Almighty and expectantly watch to see what He can and will do with a dream, however grand or simple that dream may seem.

This story isn’t just written for you to marvel at how great I am at being a good Christian, because I’m not. I’m far from perfect. But maybe by taking you on a journey through my own hardships, my sometimes volatile nine-to-five work grind, my heartbreaking relationships, my dysfunctional family dynamics, and my blessed, painful, messed up, and sometimes treacherous testimony, I can show you that God is alive, that He cares for you, that He cares for your dreams, and that He is ready and waiting to bring you through your own incredible journey to acquire the desires of your heart.

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1 - Of Dreams

All men dream, but not equally. Those who dream by night in the dusty recesses of their minds wake in the day to find that it was vanity; but the dreamers of the day are dangerous men, for they may act their dreams with open eyes, to make it possible.—T.E. Lawrence

What is a dream?

There’s no need to go into the technical dictionary definition of what a dream is. From what I’ve experienced, a dream can mean one of two things: something you experience in the middle of the night while you’re sleeping, or something you strive for during your waking hours. Dreams, the ones we pursue during our waking hours, are like fuel, pushing us forward, pushing us beyond ourselves into things we never imagined possible.

Lest there be no confusion over what a dream is or isn’t, you can be assured that a dream is not limited to a career choice. Many attempt to restrict a dream to their hope of becoming an artist, an astronaut, a Marine, or a short-order cook. And while these can all be considered dreams, they are not the boundaries that define what a dream is. Aside from the career choices we make, we also dream of getting married, having kids, owning a home, impacting a city, writing a novel, performing arts, aiding Third World countries—the list goes on and on.

Dreams are only as strong as our efforts to pursue them. The old adage The road to hell is paved with good intentions is truer than you might think. Dreaming is easy. It makes us feel good. It gives us a goal to strive toward, a light at the end of the tunnel of mediocrity. Hope in a dark world.

The work involved in making a dream reality is another story.

I’ve encountered many people in my lifetime who had grand dreams in their youth. Those dreams now lie dormant on their bookshelves, in their kitchen cabinets, at the bottom of their hope chests, covered in spider webs and surrounded by good intentions that have gathered like loose change under the cushions of a couch. Instead of living out their dreams, these people now find themselves knee-deep in a mortgage they assume they’ll never be able to pay off, or married to a person they settled for because it was too tough to wait for their true mate, or flipping burgers at the local fast-food joint because their aspirations of owning their own business went out the back door.

When we’re young, we dream because dreaming comes naturally. Everything is new—our faith, the world, our experiences. Dreams come naturally in the new, because dreaming is our way of shaping that newness into desires. As we grow older, though, as we slowly shed our innocence and find that life isn’t as easy or glamorous or fruitful as we imagined it would be, we convince ourselves that our dreams are nothing more than fantasy or make-believe.

I reached a point sometime in my past when I asked why this has to happen. Why do we have to settle for something we don’t want to settle for? Why do we go along with things we don’t agree with, or strive for things we don’t really care about?

Isn’t life too short to live by subpar standards?

I know I’m not the only one who has asked this question before. It seems to me that nowadays, true dreamers are few and far between. Why is that? Too many talk the talk but don’t walk the walk, sketch out magnificent goals on napkins and whiteboards but never do a single thing to make those goals reality, or tell their friends about all the great things they’re going to do someday in their community, their social lives, or their professional arenas.

When it’s all talk, it’s meaningless.

Only true dreamers actually reach for their dreams. And something we forget too easily is that the act of reaching takes work. Reaching for things that look impossible to attain takes even more work. I realized that long ago and made the conscious decision to chase after my dreams with everything in me.

Have I reached all of those dreams yet? No. But I will with God’s help. I have an uncanny determination, a will that will not be broken by man or spirit.

Has it been tough following my dreams? Of course. Have I received negative reception from friends and family because of some of the decisions I’ve made in regard to these dreams? Undoubtedly.

If you only take away one lesson from this book, please remember this: Chasing after dreams will reveal to you who your true friends and family really are. Chasing after dreams will at times isolate you, it will wear you down, it will make you question everything you’ve ever known. You’ll sit in the dark and wonder where everyone went. You’ll wipe the sweat from your brow and wonder when God is going to save the day. You’ll question yourself time and time again. Worse yet, you’ll question your faith.

But that is what you face when you go against the grain, when you swim upstream against the current. When you do what nobody else is willing to do. Maybe it’s because I’ve always been considered a black sheep among those around me that I have no issue with going against the status quo. I’ve frequently been the underestimated, the underappreciated, the underdog. I’ve been the runt of the litter, the odd man out, the thing that is not like the other things.

It’s not just the fact that I was diagnosed with attention deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD) when I was 2 years old and placed on Ritalin for the next fifteen years of my life.

It’s not just because I was born with a club foot and walked pigeon-toed until eighth grade, when a teacher finally spoke out and asked why I walked the way I did.

It’s not just because I hate the taste of alcohol, can’t stand sports (aside from dodge ball and Frisbee), or am obsessed with video games.

It’s because I still, after all these years, have managed to hold onto a scrap of my childlike faith in a God who can do far more abundantly beyond all that I ask or think. After all these years, it is my faith, my relationship with God, that has kept my dreams intact.

It’s because I dreamed when I was a youth, and I still dream now that I am older. It doesn’t mean my dreams never come under attack. They’ve been through fire, the blender, the firing squad...you get the point. The armies of hell have come against my dreams, seeking only to dash them to pieces, to obliterate them, to consume them in unholy fire.

But I stand, to this day, holding my dreams high, holding them up to the same merciful and generous God who gave them to me in the first place. And I still remember the day in a sixth grade English class in an obscure elementary school in Rio Rancho, New Mexico, that I dreamed the dream that drives me more than any other. My teacher instructed the class to write a short story. It would be my very first, but by far not my last.

My debut writing assignment told the story of a young boy who went on vacation with his family to Australia. There, his sister was kidnapped, and the young boy and his friend had to fight a crime boss and his henchmen in order to save her. I named the work Mission: Australia. If that seems like a strange name, it’s because I was enamored with Australia and spy movies back then.

Writing that little masterpiece turned me on to writing as if a switch had been flipped. Although I hardly realized it at the time, my dream had come to life that day. And as I progressed through middle school, I wrote subsequent short stories of adventure, intrigue, and Australia. I learned quickly to pull inspiration from the people and places around me and in turn to use that inspiration to craft my stories. I became engrossed with this newfound hobby, and it rapidly hijacked my life. I would rush home from school each day and type my stories out in amber-colored text on the little computer my dad had given me. While the rest of my family went out to run errands, I stayed home and wrote. And wrote. And wrote. I even went so far as to create covers for my short stories, using colored pencils and finger paints. I listed the characters who were starring in each story, and even gave the stories issue numbers, as if they were comic books.

The passion for writing burned through me like gasoline, driving me to create a new world in place of my own. I even convinced my mother to take me to a science fiction and fantasy writer’s conference one year. I was by far the youngest individual in the room that day. I got many funny looks from the rest of the authors and panel members there, but I didn’t care. I loved writing so much that my passion overrode my sense of belonging.

I quickly grew into my craft, and after I turned 16, I began writing my very first full-length novel: Mission: Australia. It was mostly a handwritten mash-up of many of my short stories into novel form. I carried that tome around the house, beaming with pride at my project. Nobody could have been prouder, though, than my grandmother, Priscilla. She would sit and read what I had written and tell me what a good job I had done. She was my biggest fan back in the day.

In that season of my life, we were living in a suburb of Modesto, California. My dad commuted each day to the Bay Area to do his work at Intel. My grandparents and my aunt on my mom’s side lived only forty-five minutes away in the town of Sonora. My grandparents on my dad’s side lived only forty-five minutes away in the town of Merced. And my Uncle Chris lived in the Bay Area.

It was a blessing to have the majority of our family living within such close vicinity of each other. I had family around me. I had great friends in my life.

I was even attending the youth group at our local church on a consistent basis. I discovered a really great friendship in the youth pastor and his wife. Each Wednesday, he would open up the youth room for teens to do homework or study in, or some of us would just show up after school those days and fire up the Super Nintendo to grind out some good old-fashioned Super Street Fighter II. The people I met in that youth group were some of the greatest friends a guy could ask for.

Amid all of the great things I had found in Modesto, I was also writing...constantly.

Life was good.

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Sadly, though, all good things must come to an end on this Earth. And although the end of those things can wrack us with frustration, anger, and sorrow, tragedy can sometimes push us onto the paths we were always meant to tread upon.

My downward spiral began when my mother asked me what I wanted to do when I got older. I answered: Be a writer. She told me if I wanted to write for a living, I would have to be good at it because writers and artists weren’t known for making much money. The comment stung, but it didn’t wipe away my resolve to one day be a writer full time.

Then my grandmother was diagnosed with breast cancer. The disease attacked her aggressively, wiping out the majority of her memories by the time she reached her deathbed. One night, I sat at my grandmother’s bedside, at a time when she was having trouble remembering the family members in the room.