Archive for the ‘Dreams’ Category

David Paul Adams 🎓 & Jonathan William Adams 🎓, Cum Laude
One last blast of the pirate ship, Pirate Proud!
Jonathan, 18 (Auburn University, aerospace engineering) & David, 21 (Gulf Coast Exceptional Foundation day program)… David & Jonathan: biblical best buds, always looking out for each other.
Extended childhood coma, not expected to live past age 4. God always has other plans!
One to Alabama, one to Auburn, one to USA and one to Coastal…scattered to the wind but forever bonded.
The best part of milestones is sharing it with a growing family!
Third milestone – youngest crosses over from 8 years of elementary school (Pre-K-6th), to middle school, having been diagnosed with high-functioning autism last fall and discovering the joys and challenges of his reality…as we all do.

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It’s what keeps us alive!

(is no place sacred from Snapchat?!)

May every 12 year old (and the rest of us) climb 10k feet to play in the snow, descend to the desert going 100 mph in a Mustang convertible, perch on the edge of the Grand Canyon and play in the red rocks of Sedona in the span of 24 hours!

Carpe Diem, Baby!!💕

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Hoax of heart

Back from the start

A loving house of cards

Can’t fix what isn’t

Yours to mend

A mirror, turned to shards


White she wore

When pure to core

Took years to get her there

White nails, fit and tan

For him, fulfilled his

Every dare



She gave herself

To him, so free and clear

He blessed her with

A ring so dear

Then tapered her worst fear:


Pulled the plug

For virtue’s sake

Tuck shirt and straighten tie

Midwest hypocrisy

A farmer’s tan, where rings,

Now gone, ask why?


T’was sweet as hyssop

Meant to cleanse

As good herbs always do

But overdose

Now comatose

Beneath the Gulf so blue


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Baby sea stars like uniformity…they know when their world has succombed to a rip tide.

Sea stars in other oceans benefit from the storms in this ocean, because it assures restoration of calm. Blessings to those sea stars! 

But when the sea stars in storms perceive their mama to be going through grief and storms, the babies know to brace themselves, and act (or act out) accordingly, as though yet another disruption of semblance of normalcy has occurred. 

God help those babies, sedate them till it’s over. Help them pretend another life to protect them from harsh reality. Give them another personality to survive the atrocities.

Oh, what tangled tides we weave…!

Baby, wear those white tights! Wear white always. Cling to the innocence! 

The storm may be upon you and totally not evident (storms are like that, they gather and hover over their prey, giving a taste of sun and then rain and hail all over them in a sudden darkened downpour and vanish like it was your fault for believing all along!)

But keep cheering…keep hoping…storms pass and are cowardly, they retreat and do not maintain intensity. 

Keep the faith, sweet little sea star! Believe those strong storms can save the day! Because if they can’t, God will. God will through His will.

Rest in retired peace, dear sweet ana. God bless You, white virginal garb and all. You gave Your all!

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Reblogged from October, 2011…because what’s old is new again:

I suppose it wasn’t really there after all. I must have been daydreaming. When you’re hanging at the beach, some things just kind of blur together, like the pod of dolphins the other day at one point clearly being a pod of dolphins, gradually fooling the eyes into trying to decipher what was bottlenose and what was fin and what was tall wave. The playful animals somehow melded into being waves. Eventually when the excitement wanes and you start questioning your own senses and sensibility, you learn to quit looking, and refocus anew on what is, on what was, to begin with.

I thought I saw a ship, of great proportions, traversing the horizon. It had a bright color that caught my eye, contrasting from the sea, and maintained a steady path, as long as I dared to watch.

While it caught my gaze, I imagined where it came from, how long it had stayed in port, and where it now headed, what it carried. The Sunday newspaper keeps a public record of such data, but it’s been a month of Sundays since I read a Sunday paper.

But the ship was real as long as I looked at it.

I was driving, though, and could only afford intermittent glances. I was driving fast, windows down, music loud, hair flying.

I know it was there. But then, I glanced again, and it was not. Simply slipped out of my vision, out of my reality.

It reminded me of the man I used to see come home on what I calculated must be his lunch hour, as I ran the last hill on my runs. His house was one of my reality checks – I used it to remind myself of my goal, since it was at the peak of the knoll, the hardest and steepest hill of the three I conquer on my usual 2.5 run.

Once upon a time in the season of jasmine, I marveled at the tall southern pines which graced his front yard, with something that looked like clematis climbing up the trunks of each tree. They were so fragrant, I came to look forward to springtime runs, just to get to that last, steep incline.


Each labored inhalation was rewarded. His front porch was typically Southern, a wraparound with ample rocking chairs and detail in the woodwork, beckoning one to stop for a glass of sweet tea (slice of lemon) in the fragrance of the climbing flowers. The trees, and the clinging flowers, disappeared up into the sky-blue like some Jack-in-the-Beanstalk fairy tale.

How I would have loved to stop!

But my course would have been ruined had I done so – I was compelled to finish what I began, compulsively dedicated to completing my circuit, and his house was only one stop on my way to my destination. How sad…and it always seemed…no, seems (I still go by) so inviting.

Through the spring and part of the summer, I saw him come home. He would be parked in the side driveway, sometimes standing on the porch, sometimes inside, sometimes conversing with his landscapers. Sometimes just standing there, yakking on his phone, or pausing to watch me and wave.

And I always kept going.

Although we saw each other nearly daily, he was a stranger, and I to him. He was at the end of my run, at the top of the steepest hill, and I could not, would not stop, no, never. Never meant to be. He and his coveted possessions were well out of my league. I would not be interested in such.

I had to keep running, keep my pace, knowing the end was near and soon I would have rest. But in that rest I often thought of how nice it would have been to stop my run short and crash on that ample front porch and get acquainted with the wealthy neighbor. He didn’t know me, not really. And I didn’t know him. No, we were Worlds Apart, on two different courses, two different schedules, two different paths. He may have thought he knew me; he probably imagined he knew me, but he would have been wrong. Someone like that and those Things could not have understood or known joy from someone like me and my things.

And, like the ship that I’m not sure ever really existed, he also ceased to exist after my weeks of illness which prevented me from my daily runs. I have gingerly, carefully resumed and gone back, as I sit at the lapping water here, but he no longer comes home for lunch. And I have not seen a ship like it on the horizon since, either.

Both are gone; I am alone, and left wondering if they ever really existed, or if they were figments of my imagination, like so many other things.

I suppose I was a figment, too…not quite real, not quite tangible. Just sort of, out there. Interesting to imagine, but not really existent.

There is safety in not really being real, not able to be figured out, comprehended, perceived fully. Perhaps it is best if figments remain figments, visions as visions, dreams as dreams. That way, things of intrigue remain as we wish for them to be thought of, and we do not run the risk of disappointment, should the harshness of reality not live up to our dreams.

Our dreams…our delusions…our mirages serve us well, to provide the comfort of distracted vision, and of hope and curiosity, without the pain of what is, what must be, no matter how satisfying what must be, is.

Both the ship and the man were elusive and surreal as they passed before what I thought was my reality, bringing interest and reason to look while they lingered in the periphery of my reality, ever just so out of reach and causing me to question my sanity, yet serving a purpose by challenging myself to keep looking and to keep running all at the same time.

Oh, why O why, didn’t I stop long enough to verify the existence of the ship? and the man? Was I afraid they’d be real? Or that I would have to change to accommodate their reality? Was it better that they came and went from what I thought was my vision, that they remained a part of the Unsure?

How bittersweet, never to know for sure. I could never pursue either, and must stay on my circuit.

Damn, today’s run was totally to mentally detox. The news at high noon (delivered in the best room with the best catered food which I didn’t eat) was supposed to be good, which I couldn’t swallow, either. It was good to everyone but me. My crestfallenness did not go unnoticed, and I know they saw me tear out of the parking lot on my run after the meeting with more vigor than usual Upon my return, I was swamped with Higher Visitors and calls from all angles, feeling me out, no one daring to ask. The Secret is not theirs to uncover, they knew. And I was helpless, speechless, unable to explain. Only someone like me could be living such a dual life in so many dimensions.

But the run was hard and fast, and the man wasn’t there…again. I guess I missed too many days, so it was…just…a run. And I returned to face reality, my dreams and thoughts and feelings sequestered to the depths of my inner being, where they are better kept behind the game face.

But nothing can erase the ship on the horizon. I know it was there. I know it seemed like it wasn’t at one point, but I can still see it, I can still picture it crossing my path when I had time to pause my gaze. It was big and bright and happy, and added perspective to the horizon. The fact idea that it was there gave enough impetus to relish the rest of the surroundings, even after it disappeared.

Even if it wasn’t real, it was…just for a moment…it really was. And if I willed it to be so for the sake of my sanity, is there anything wrong with that?

The fumes of belief fuel faith.

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 Symbol of summer…sunrise on Ono Island, Alabama:  


Thank You, God, for some of the best summer memories yet, symbols of dreams come true…and glimpses of Heaven itself.

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This week’s Photo Challenge about dreaming is great, because I like to do a lot of it, night and day, as both participant and observer…


Some day, I will soar far above the oppressive fog and into the bright, white-hot sun one day, free – like Jonathan Livingston Seagull:

2011-12-31 15.08.52

Dreams can throw us off-balance just enough to remind us that perspective may not always be what it appears. They keep our minds sharp and tap into our greatest resources: to think deeper, to contemplate, to problem-solve, to entertain the dimensions that seem to exist only in delta waves…


Thank You, God…for all the dimensions You’ve created. Thanks for rich neurological magnificence that affords us a glimpse into the depths of our brains and those other dimensions.

Please give us the grace to let go of dreams not meant to be, courage to face our nightmares and hope in hanging on tight to our dreams.

Thanks for your infinite wisdom in Your hand in our dreams.

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This week’s Photo Challenge drew me to this naturally occurring beach sculpture:


A beloved tradition of mine is to spend my birthday (or a portion thereof) at the beach, alone, in quiet contemplation. It is a chance to take inventory of things which have passed, what my purpose is in the present and where I stand with goals for the future.

It is a rich time of reflection and communion with God, a time for us both to speak to each other.

There I walk, run, sit and stare, pray, sing, dance and breathe life into a brand new year.

With no other footprints but mine and those of the beach creatures, God greeted me this time with this curious driftwood cross, sunbeams slanted toward it.

That day I learned that as much as I try to keep God in a box with “I shalts and oughts and musts,” that God is much bigger than our interpretations of what we think we are supposed to do when we think we’re following His word.

Sometimes God leads us in ways and directions we cannot fathom. Quite unexpectedly, we can find ourselves on an unforeseen path.

So we must stop, listen, and let go of our rigid interpretations and assumptions of who He is and what His plans for us are.

God never promised that running the race would be easy; to follow Him requires blind faith, an open heart and an open mind. It means being ready to change, to move forward into what often can be scary, new territory.

And, like a long race, one must do their best to be mentally, physically and emotionally fit for the endurance. This is not easy, but is critical for being up for the challenge. He calls us to be our very best…for Him.

Following God is not about staying stuck, it is about challenging yourself to look at things differently and breaking free of the chains of trying to save our own lives, trying too hard to make right out of wrong – and instead trusting Him to lead us.

It’s about having the courage to change for the better….a kind of spiritual upward mobility, if you will.

“Then Jesus told his disciples, ‘If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me. For whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it. For what will it profit a man if he gains the whole world and forfeits his soul? Or what shall a man give in return for his soul?’” ~~Matthew 16:24-26

Hey, God…thank you SO much for times of contemplative revelation, for being with us when it is time for us to grow toward your Light.

Thank you for equipping us with capable minds and bodies to run the long race for being with us every step of the way and for putting the cross in our path on our way to be with You.

God, please bless us with open minds and hearts, a willingness to follow. Grant us unwavering courage to change…for Your sake and ours.

Dear readers, please take a moment to scamper over to our fellow blogger’s site, Our Life in 3D.  Today he completed his first 1/2 marathon race since prevailing over cancer, which God saw fit to eliminate because He had other plans for him. It simply wasn’t his time!

May we all make the most of the one earthly life God gives us…

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Beginnings aren’t always as they appear.

In fact, beginnings can be downright painful, scary, ugly or cold. Kind of like the new year (at least in this hemisphere) begins in winter, when things take a break and go dormant, die and/or disappear.

Sure, there were all kinds of beginnings I wanted to choose for this challenge: a spectacular sunrise, a new baby jellyfish, the miracles each wave washes ashore, cleansing my feet anew.

But it was this shot that caught my fancy, a shot from a few weeks ago, walking through a rose garden surrounded by a beautiful, well-loved fountain. The roses were so fragrant, enhanced by the sea breeze and fostering poetic inspiration.

Yet in the middle of the roses stood the beloved but defunct fountain, undressed and raw – dead for a time, its water drained for its annual cleaning:


It stood parched, dirty and naked with all its blemishes were exposed.

What struck me were all the pennies, each one cast by a hopeful soul who made a wish. The pennies sat undisturbed from their final landing place and in varying stages of deterioration – no one had claimed them, as if out of respect to the unknown wishes.

I wondered how many of those penny-wishes were fulfilled?

The fountain is about to get a new beginning. All the wishes will be scooped up, all the dead leaves and debris will be removed and the bottom of the fountain will get a fresh, new paint job for 2014.

Its waters will flow and bubble and reach for the sky again some day soon, and will be more beautiful than ever. But first it had to be drained and sit dead for a time, like the cycle of life for most living things.

The fountain will see new days, new seasons and new wishes. There will be more children romping and playing around it, visitors posing for pictures in front of it – new friends, old friends, young and old lovers, and oh, the wedding parties!

It will come alive again…but its beginning starts out looking pretty destitute and bleak.

Like I tell the parents of the severely disturbed children I serve at work, sometimes you have to hit rock-bottom so that the only place to go is up, out and toward your dreams.

You have to allow that cycle which includes a period of darkness. In the end, it always turns out more incredibly blessed than any of us ever could have orchestrated of our own doing (or fighting God’s will) had we not embraced the discomfort of necessary “dead-time.”

Wait for Him to “clean it out real good” so it can go on to greater things that you never imagined!

Turn it over, let it lie, “be still and know that I am God.” (Psalm 46:10). “Let go and let God,” as they say.

Our natural instinct is to hold on tight, but God works in other, greater ways when we trust Him and let go. What can feel like bleak darkness and despair may really be a time of preparation and perfecting, in disguise.

Yes, beginnings don’t always start out looking like the final product…just like none of us can possibly anticipate on our birthday what the year ahead may hold.

This week in the children’s group therapy we created our goals for the new year (while enjoying yummy snacks donated by a generous soul the children have lovingly dubbed “The Snack Man”). I can’t share their actual work, but I can share mine:


I always keep it kind of general so they don’t get too wrapped up emotionally in me, personally (requisite counseling principle!). To finish another half-marathon (coming up next week! pray, y’all!), to TRY to be good and to read the Bible more.

One goal not listed on there: I have replaced my initial goal of swimming across a very large body of water near here (thanks to the swelling population of the world’s third-most dangerous shark, the bull shark – no thanks!). Instead, I have decided to kayak it, so our fellow blogger and Kayak King, Mr. B at Wind Against Current, is graciously helping me plan for my next trick.

One child came up to me and said, “But Mrs. Muse, you’re ALWAYS good…” Oh, me, oh my! Out of the mouths of babes…

My goals paled in comparison to the children’s goals. They had far more important goals, such as:

  • Find a new family that won’t send me back after a month
  • Do a better job at protecting my mom so she won’t get hurt this year
  • I want to stop being so annoying to everybody, to have a friend
  • To be able to go back to regular school like other kids, and be normal
  • To find and go live with “The Snack Man” so I’ll never be hungry again
  • For my dad to come back after being murdered

Hey, God, this week I’ve heard it said many times that “it is what we make of it,” but I’m not totally convinced of that – I have to believe that it’s partly that, but mostly what You will it to be. Let us be open to downloading Your will for us, apart from our own agendas and goals.

Let us gracefully endure the dark times, letting go fully and trusting that Your new beginnings for us are far more incredible than any we ourselves could plan for or craft. Thank You for those brand, new beginnings, whatever they turn out to be and wherever they may take us in the times to come.


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Marching with the band in the Christmas parade has been a lifelong dream of our child with Down syndrome. That is all he ever wanted to do.

Music has been his passion since he was in the womb (he would kick harder when his favorite songs were on). It was a music therapist who helped ease him out of a coma in the PICU after he flat-lined.

And now, in middle school, it is the promise of being able to go to band practice that keeps him focused on his studies in the morning.

And keeps him from shenanigans like running into the girls’ locker room when they’re changing.

Besides girls, he has taken a particular liking to all things percussion. When we first asked if he could march, the answer wasn’t no, but it wasn’t yes, either.

Would he do what he was supposed to do? Would he be able to make the three-mile trek along the parade route, orthopedic inserts and all? How many chaperones might he need? What if he got distracted and became bewildered, tried to run or plopped down on the pavement and refused to budge (as he is sometimes prone to do)?

Once we secured answers to all these questions, the answer was finally ‘yes.’ He was ecstatic and talked nothing but parade for the last month. He diligently practiced various instruments at home each night and faithfully counted out the rhythm of various Christmas songs.

We often overheard him in his room, pretending to be in band class, talking (as best his speech impediment allowed) to his imaginary band mates: “Ready? Okay…(tap tap tap tap) one, two, three, four…stop – try that again, this time, faster…”

But last week the band director’s pregnancy took a turn rendering her unable to lead the band in the parade – and the middle school band was removed from the parade lineup. We didn’t have the heart to tell our son – not yet.

On a whim, we emailed the high school music director who oversees our eldest son in the high school marching band. Explaining the situation, we asked if we might include him – we were already signed up to chaperone the high school band on the parade, anyway. The answer was YES!


The percussionists readily took him under their wing and put him to work – here, warming up on the snare. She was teaching him both technique and rhythm while we waited for the parade to begin.


Drumming up some fun on the quads. Somebody forgot the apparatus that holds the quads while marching, so the band director enlisted Daddy to make a run back to the high school right-quick to find it in the band room, then battle the traffic and barricades back in time to save the parade. Close call, but mission accomplished!


Bass drums aren’t easy to pick up!


Lined up and ready to roll…big brother was playing the baritone horn in front of the tubas, somewhere in the sea of Santa hats.


…and baby brother was supposed to be throwing candy to the crowd as we passed, but I counted no fewer than 12 wrappers in the bottom of the Radio Flyer at the end of the night.


Our ears are still ringing from being by the drum line. When we had to slow or pause on the route, I noticed it was impossible NOT to move your body to the beat – so we did some dancing in the street!

Fortunately, there is no picture of me wearing my reindeer headdress, although I was spotted and called out to by several parade-goers, some of whom were administrators where I work….not sure how that affects my chance at a promotion.

He got a tummy ache about halfway through and had to retire to the wagon, but he kept playing until the bitter end.


He got a BIG surprise when Santa himself jumped off of the fire truck and came right over to give him a big hug – the jolly old guy wouldn’t stand still, but the joy he brought was immeasurable.


And he was given a new pair of drumsticks!

Isn’t this what Christmas is all about?

Thanks, God, for the joy You brought to the world through Your Son, Jesus Christ. As we celebrate this time of His birth, we thank You for glimpses of that joy in the faces and lives of Your precious children. May we, as adults, ensure that our children know the gift of joy You have provided through Him. May all our hopes and dreams come true through Your perfect will.

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