Had anyone told me a few years back that I’d spend an afternoon this summer with my soon-to-be stepchildren, I would have said, “Yea, right…in your dreams!” Heck, even the thought of divorcing and later having stepchildren would never have occurred to me back then. But, lo and behold, just a few days after Caron and I became engaged last month, she had some errands to do, and I got to stay home with her kids, while my kids were with their mom.

We’d had a great time doing kid stuff for a few hours. Then they got into a TV show, and I decided I deserved a little break. Grabbing a book by Garrison Keillor from Caron’s shelf, I plopped down and began to savor the sweet, post-play quiet of late afternoon.

The book began with a poem in which Keillor explained how his pioneer great-grandparents ended up in rural Minnesota. They’d been on their way to Oregon when, on a starlit, Midwestern night, she said she was tired, and asked if they could stay put for a few days to “rest the horses.” Smiling wistfully, he said that he’d always dreamed of Oregon, but that he’d never go without her. There they stopped, and they never left.

Following Keillor’s great-grandfather’s death years later, the family found a love letter he’d written to his wife years before. He asked that, should he die first, she find a nice place in Oregon to scatter his ashes. Indeed, he had continued to dream of going to Oregon, but chose to remain with his beloved, instead.

I thought about my own dreams as I read that story—those that came true, and those that did not. I thought about how important it is to let go of some dreams, lest they paralyze and embitter us. And I thought about how painful abandoning them can be.

At the same time, I thought about how turning away from those old dreams can also allow us to find new ones. Good ones, too. Not always, of course, but I’ve found that, in time, new hopes usually come our way if we but open our eyes to them.

I thought all of those thoughts as I read that story, and I wept.

Just then, the door burst open. “Hey, Mark! Watchya doin’?” It was 10-year-old future stepdaughter, Kyleigh.

“Oh, just crying,” I said, smiling through my tears. “I just read a poem that was really sad...and kinda happy, too.”

“What was so sad about it?”

So I read her the poem.  Afterward, Kyleigh cocked her head to the side, and furrowed her brow. “What’s so sad about that?” she asked.

I wanted to share my new insights about dreams with Kyleigh. I wanted to tell her that young people would do best to dream big dreams, to hope that they come true, but to be ready to let go of them always. I wanted to tell her how much the letting-go part could hurt, but that new dreams could bring joy again. I wanted to tell her of some of my own, unfulfilled dreams, about how gut-wrenching it was to abandon them, and about how reclaiming hope is among life’s most delectable surprises. I wanted to tell her what a wonderful Mom she has - the living realization of my most brilliant, shining dreams.

I wanted to tell her all of those things, and much more. But I only got as far as, “Well, Kyleigh, in life...” when her brother Taylor shouted something at the TV in the next room. Before you could say “needless pontification,” Kyleigh had scooted away.

I was about to call to her, but then I realized that Kyleigh already knows she has a great Mom, and the rest she’ll just need to learn on her own.

Soon, Caron returned. We shared smiles when she entered, and I realized then how often the events of past, present, and future, seem to elude our control. I, like so many of us, have had some hard times. But, for now, things are good. I know not what the future has in store, but I stand in awe of the mysterious twists and turns in the path of my life.

Pain and joy, grief and bliss, despair and hope. I’ll take it, God; I’ll take the whole damn thing. Stepchildren? Fiancé? Old despair yielding new hope? From the bottom of my heart, I thank You for this glorious, unpredictable adventure of ours that we call life.