I opened a gift from my friend Hayley yesterday and immediately burst into tears. She painted for me a dream that I have… a little building downtown that I drive by and day dream over. And now this is framed and sitting on my living room book shelf.

Shockingly, this is the second time in just a few short weeks that I’ve cried opening a gift. (My manuscript published by my family being the other that I cried over.)

I can’t remember ever crying over gifts before, but both of these special gift pull at the depth of my soul because they involve dreams. Deep dreams. Dreams of being a “real” writer. Dreams of owning a book store/venue/hang out/convention and creative space.

There is just something of heaven when your loved ones listen to your dreams and give you permission to dream them.

It’s a slice of heaven’s goodness.

It’s Dreams. Gifts. And Tears.

It’s rainbows on the laundry room wall.

It’s magic.