Yesterday's musings

We were on our way to have a late dinner at Sam Woo’s. The Chinese restaurants in Rowland Heights are the only nearby eating places we know will be open past nine in the evening. They don’t really start getting busy until eight; we Chinese like to eat late. I’m not sure why we decided to take the van—it’s way too big to park in the compact spaces outside the restaurant—but we did.

As we were driving down the 60 freeway, my dad and I were discussing my future. He always laughs at me during these kinds of conversations, shaking his head and grinning at me in amusement.

“Lynnette’s list of goals is simple: I want to do EVERYTHING,” he’ll say jokingly. This night was no different. It’s partially because my list of things I want to do in my lifetime is so long that I probably need two or three more lifetimes to complete them. Or maybe it’s because the goals keep changing and morphing, or evolving into something bigger and better—and often more expensive.

In response, I punched my dad in the arm before turning to my mom and asking her if there were things still left on her list of lifetime goals. My mom paused thoughtfully for a minute before slowly replying.

“I’ve always wanted to learn to play the piano. After Garrett moves out of the house, I think I’m going to take your old books and try to teach myself,” she said.

I’ve been thinking a lot about goals lately. The last chapter I read for my Magazine and Free-lance writing class talked about setting goals, both long-term and short-term, for ourselves to help us develop as writers.

When my mom was a student at Biola, she came up with a list of things she wanted to do during her life. For example, she made it her goal to go on a missions trip, which she did in the summer before her fifth year in college. She promised herself that she’d read through the Bible at least once and she’s made it through three or four times now.

My mom always wanted to go to seminary; she attended Dallas Theological Seminary and graduated from Talbot as the salutatorian of her class, earning a Master’s degree in Biblical Studies. The only left uncompleted on her list was learning to play the piano. It seemed ironic to me that she worked hard so that she could send her two kids for almost ten years of piano lessons.

What makes my mom’s list of goals so interesting is the things she chose to leave off of it. For instance, being a Biola student, “meeting and marrying the man of my dreams” (or at least, getting her ring by spring) should have definitely been on her list. Or going to Africa and changing the world as a nurse on the Missions field. They may not have been huge dreams, but the things that my mom chose to put on her list were very concrete, very achievable goals.

Sometimes I think my own goals are too abstract, too nebulous, or too unrealistic. Perhaps I make the mistake of conflating my goals with my dreams. How much should my goals reflect those fantasies that seem so far out of reach?

I have made a lot of mistakes in the past, setting my goals too high or placing unrealistic expectations for myself, and then wonder why I’m always so sorely disappointed. I’ve become afraid of failure, afraid of disappointment, afraid to even set goals lest because I don’t want to risk it.

I think over time, I have become so fearful that I won’t even dream big dreams. And I hate that. I hate that I take for granted the gifts and interests God has given me or the dreams He has placed in my heart. I hate that I limit what He can do with my life—His power and wisdom and sovereignty.

I feel like I’ve trained myself to live in these two different worlds. On the one hand, I live in a world that is overly realistic, cynical even, and practical to a fault. I want to anticipate the worst and plan against it, instead of hoping for the best. I refuse to try something if I’m not convinced that I can succeed at it.

Then the alternative me (which I have suppressed until recently) lives in the clouds, in the world of my imagination. This “other” Lynnette dreams big—too big for her own good—and is almost content to do nothing but sit around and day dream.

How does one achieve a sense of balance? How do I set realistic goals for myself, aimed at moving my life in the direction of those dreams? How do I join these two sides of myself before I begin to suffer from split personality disorder? More importantly, how do I plan and set practical goals for myself without limiting what God wants to do with my life or where He wants to take me?

I take comfort in my mom’s story. Yes, she wrote up a list of goals and pursued them. And yes, she wasn’t afraid to chase after things that seemed impractical, expensive, or out of the ordinary (like going to seminary).

But at the same time, she could have never predicted that she would join the Air Force as an officer in the Nurse Corp. She never dreamed she’d marry my dad and work as his office manager.

She couldn’t have guessed that she would be the mother of two children, or that Garrett and I would both choose to go to the same college that God called her to some 30 years ago. She always tells me that she has no regrets.

God gave her dreams when she was in college, and God exchanged those dreams for new ones—for an even greater reality that she calls her life. I have no idea what God has in store for us, but I know it’s good—because He is good—so I’m excited and eager to find out.