You are my future

We sit on the couch in a room of white paint done in a hurry, sloppy, and the perfectionist inside of me cringes.  He begins to tell me of his dreams and suddenly I am not there, I am in a magical place, a beautiful place, there is no longer any imperfections, only plans, and a future, and hope.

He will build a bookcase here, and I will paint here, a mantel for the fireplace will make it so much more handsome.  The furniture will go here and it will be both old and new all at the same time, beautiful to look at and comfortable to pass the hours away in.

 We make plans, we leave this time and place and travel together.  We will spend a summer in London and another traveling the US, seeing every national park.  We will grow old in this house and make it ours, we will make the yard something to behold, a place of rest and escape.  We will raise our children well and have a future for two to look forward to.

We will spend long hours sitting side by side in this room, reading, sharing what we've learned, we will drink hot tea, and we will look at each other and still see beauty.  Or we will move to Africa, we will raise all the children that we never brought home, we will tell them Jesus loves them, and will find the strength to be a mommy and a daddy all over a again.

The dreams are just dreams, the plans written with pencil on scraps of paper, for we know they are not real, they are just words that weave us together tighter than we knew possible.  They are thoughts that one person begins and the other finishes.  They are the promise that you are my future, no matter what it might be, it must be you.