Once Upon A Time, I Dreamed of an Farmhouse in a Rosebriar…

Once upon a time, I started a little blog, and it was this blog, “Farmhouse In The Rosebriar”. This blog was where I was going to document all of my daily endeavors and little “adventures” on my (by then, already) decades-long journey and quest to chase my lifelong dream of someday having a little farmhouse amongst a beautiful briar of roses, just like my grandma once had (I like to think that I inherited my hopeless romantic daydreaming spirit from here.

And then the trials of life came once again, as they always seem to do for all of us, and laughed at my dreams, and caused there to be great thorns and thickets to hedge up my way, standing firmly and dauntingly between me and my dreams.

Ever since I was a really little girl, I have not ceased from dreaming and longing, desperately for a seemingly simple, yet in reality such a difficult thing in life to obtain: I dreamed of having a farmhouse on a little homestead, where I could raise my children, provide for them the meaninful, memorable, and valuable childhood experiences that I wish I had had as a kid, and where I could nurture my family and I, as we made a life of everyday ordinary memories together… and a home, haven, and sanctuary where we could each be free to learn, grow as individuals hand in hand, develop our own talents, and chase our own dreams, side by side, together. “A life most bountifully blessed”, I called it… A life of our own making.

I still dream of this place. I’ve been dreaming and envisioning every detail of it every day of my life for nearly 20 years, and I’ve been dreaming this dream for almost twice as long as that – literally for as far back as my memory can go back in time.

The most difficult part of this journey has sometimes been watching others see this same dream that they share, too, come to fruition for them, but not yet having seen this dream come true for myself. This is especially true regarding those who are younger than me, not because I am jealous, but beacuse life is a strange and often fickle thing, and sometimes it just doesn’t make sense why some must wait longer to see their dreams come true, and even others never seeing their own dreams fulfilled, at least not in this life. I am so happy for those who have already obtained such a beautiful dream come true for themselves. It brings me joy to see others happy, thriving, or at least in a better position than I am to be able to achieve that ideal of “happy” and “thriving”. But even if my heart is happy for the, it is also simultaneously, and perhaps poetically, heartbroken for myself and every other person who, like me, has this dream, too, but which represents so much more than just a romanticized pretty little house with a garden in the countryside;

To those of us who come from hard beginnings, or who have endured prolonged seasons of great adversity in life, dreams like these represent something much deeper than an ideal, an idyllic llifestyle, or an aesthetic: Dreams that mean this much to us, they symbolize the hope of a future where our existence is not only ever suffering and physical survival, but a life that at least has a bit more balanced experiences, having the “sweet” in life to counter-balance the “bitter” in life, instead of having mostly just a life of “thorns” of life, and so rarely ever experiencing the “roses”, too.

A Life of Sweet Roses Amongst The Bitter Thorns

In reality, it’s not the specific dream of having my own little farmhouse and homestead that is so important to me, but the principle of hope and faith in good things to come. That is what my heart longs for: More roses amongst the thorns, that the briars of life might be given a bittersweet purpose, instead of feeling like the many adversities of life are without any meaning or purpose at all. My heart cannot bear the thought that pain is meaningless and has no purpose other than to experience it unnecessarily, and that nothing good results from it. If the briars are not the catalyst for cultivating the roses in life, then what purpose could thorns ever serve? But if briars and brambles are the travailing birth pains of the sweet and beautiful things of this life, then, oh, how beautiful is the poetry of every thorn.

I’d like to dare to dream again, and not allow the heartaches and disappointments of this life to drown out the hopeful possibilities of a future that is yet to be seen; I’d like to challenge my every doubt, my every fear, and every obstacle that tries to stand in my way between me and the truest longings of my heart and of my soul: To know joy.

To whomever is out there, reading this, and feels their own hope is weary and withering, too: I hope we both obtain the dream: A life most bountifully blessed- a life of roses amongst our thorns.

So, all that being said…

Here is “take two” of my blog, “Farmhouse In The Rosebriar”. Whatever happens from here on out, and especially if I don’t see this dream of mine come true in this lifetime, just know that I never stopped dreaming and I never stopped believing. At least, that’s what I hope I will be able to say someday when my hair and long and silvery white. And I hope that future me might look back on this record of my strivings, that is this blog of mine, and think about her yesteryear younger self: “I’m glad she believed in me. I still believe in her, too.”

Dear Future Stacy, I believe in you. I hope you still believe in me, too.

Love, Stacy