I took the only available seat at a table that looked like someone had emptied the trash can on it, then tailored my cheeseburger just the way my wife taught me: ordered plain ("Yes, ma'am, I would still like cheese on my plain cheeseburger.") and topped with a layer of fries. As I reached for the half-gallon of cola in front of me, the button of my jacket caught the fry box and dumped 49 cents worth of fries on the floor. So much for super-size.

I finished my meal quickly, just in time to sit and wait a half hour to board the plane. I hoped for inspiration so I could type something on my new laptop computer, but it didn't come. Airports are usually such an inspiration to me. Maybe its the hoards of people from all over the world. Maybe its the CNN piped in just low enough to know its there, but not nearly loud enough to understand it over the ear-piercing P.A. system. Maybe its the first time in a long time that I'm actually forced to do nothing, alone with my thoughts. Either way, I am usually wracked with noteworthy thoughts, even epiphanies, when I fly. I used to buy notepads at the airport gift shops so I could jot down my thoughts. Then I wised up and started bringing them from home. I would always end up with writer's cramp and forget half of what I wanted to write down because my hands couldn't keep up. Its precisely why I was so excited to finally get ahold of my new laptop. I lugged it through the security checkpoint and held it in my lap as I waited to board the plane.

I boarded the plane and made my way to my seat, then zoned out while the flight attendants told us how to save our lives in the event of an emergency. If the plane suddenly started plummeting out of control toward the earth, all that useful oxygen mask information would be lost in an instant anyway, trampled by thoughts of panic and desperation, so I don't even try to pay attention anymore. Instead, my mind trails off and I think about what I might say to my wife if I were lucky enough to get cell phone service at terminal velocity. What would I say to her? For that matter, what would I say to my family and friends? What would I want the world to know about me when I am gone? Would I write a note? Should I write one now in case I can't find a pen when we're all dying? And if I couldn't find a pen, would it be important enough to me to bite off the tip of my finger and jot something down in blood?

My hope is that I have lived my life in such a way that a "last words" letter would not be necessary. I don't want to wait till my dying breaths to let my wife know I love her. I want her to know it now whether I get a chance to tell her one last time or not. I don't want to have to jot down creative ideas for whoever delivers my eulogy. I want them to struggle to fit all they have to say into the allotted time. I want my vision and passion to be clear not because I am outspoken about it, but because my life is spent carrying it out. I want to be a man of action, not just a dreamer, because it is not the dream that is important, but the chase.
Dreams are a funny thing. They are like the obnoxious boy at recess who runs around the playground hitting girls just so they chase him. To chase him only encourages him to come back for more. It is only when they ignore him that he stops. Like a one-sided game of tag, dreams exist for the chase, and we are always "it."

So many people come to a time in their lives where they wonder why it seems they are stuck where they are. What happened to those dreams that seemed so attainable in their youth? Where have they gone? I think they have moved on. Like the obnoxious kid, they give up when they are ignored. They move on to their next target, hoping this time they will be chased. Or maybe they just die. If we would pay them the attention they seek, they would surely keep coming back for more.
We were not created to only dream. We were created to have dreams and to chase them with purpose and direction. The Bible tells us that when we delight ourselves in the Lord, he will give us the desires of our hearts. These desires are the dreams I speak of. I won't speak for all of us, but the desire of my heart is not to spend my life merely surviving. Survival is a self-centered thing. My desire is to truly live; to experience, grow, learn, teach, serve, travel, give, relate, share, fellowship, create, inspire and ultimately to bring glory to my Creator by doing my best to live a life that points to him.

Then when it comes time to share my last words, I can be silent and only smile, knowing my life has said enough.