I used to own a white 2001 Ford Mustang.
It wasn’t anything fancy, but to me it was perfect. It had a black pinstripe down the side, black vents on the hood, and every weekend I had a routine.
I’d back it out from under the carport so it sat on the slope of our driveway. I’d fill a little blue bucket with soapy water and start at the top. I had a brush for the lower panels where the road grime and tar collected, and I even cleaned underneath the spoiler. Once it was washed and dried, I’d move inside. I’d get down on my hands and knees, vacuum under the seats, wipe down every piece of plastic with Armor All, and make the dashboard shine. By the time I was finished, that Mustang looked just about as good as the day I bought it.
Of course, that was before kids.
Back then I had time.
Those weekends weren’t really about washing a car. They gave me a chance to slow down, think, pray, or sometimes just enjoy the quiet. Looking back, I think that’s what I missed the most. The Mustang represented a season of life that eventually gave way to something even better.
Then Karen and I got married.
About a year and a half later, Brighton came along, and a two-door sports car gave way to a four-door family car. Mustangs are not really built for car seats, family grocery runs, and strollers. So we traded it for something bigger. I have never regretted that decision.
I loved being a husband. I loved becoming a dad. Looking back now, I wouldn’t trade my family for a garage full of sports cars.
Still, I missed that Mustang.
Maybe it wasn’t even the car I missed. Maybe it was what it represented. It reminded me of a season of life when I had time to slow down, wash the car, listen to music, and think about absolutely nothing. Those days eventually gave way to soccer, tennis, and flag football practices, church activities, and family vacations. I wouldn’t change any of that for the world, but every once in a while my mind wandered back to those days.
That’s probably why I started talking about owning a 1982 Pontiac Firebird.
If you grew up in the eighties, you already know where this is going. Knight Rider was one of my favorite shows growing up. My brothers and I loved watching Michael Knight drive KITT around every week. My middle brother, Sean, had already claimed the General Lee from The Dukes of Hazzard, so the Firebird became my dream car.
Every now and then I would mention finding one.
Karen would smile and gently remind me that it was an older car, it wasn’t practical for a growing family, and it really didn’t make much sense.
The funny thing is, I agreed with her.
I wasn’t secretly saving money to buy one. I wasn’t searching classified ads every night. I was simply enjoying the idea. Talking about it let me revisit a part of my childhood for a few minutes. Deep down, I already knew it probably wasn’t going to happen.
Years later, Karen and I were sitting in a marriage study when the speaker made a comment that caught both of our attention. He talked about how husbands often have dreams they know may never become reality. What hurts isn’t giving up the dream. What hurts is hearing someone they love tell them the dream is doesn’t make sense before they’ve even had a chance to enjoy it.
During our group discussion, several wives turned and asked their husbands if they had ever felt like one of their dreams had been dismissed.
Karen looked at me and asked the same question.
I smiled and nodded, telling her about the Firebird.
She immediately apologized.
She wasn’t being defensive. She genuinely had no idea that was how I felt. The truth is, I wasn’t upset with her. She wasn’t trying to hurt me. Everything she had said over the years made perfect sense. We had small children. A twenty-year-old sports car wasn’t exactly the wisest purchase for our family of four.
What that conversation did was open a window into how each of us was thinking.
She realized I wasn’t asking for permission to buy a Firebird.
I realized she wasn’t trying to crush a dream.
She was trying to protect our family.
That conversation changed something.
Fast forward to the past few months.
I’ve been looking for another vehicle. If you’ve talked to me recently, you know the search has been all over the map. Jeeps. Pickup trucks. Dodge Challengers. Chevy Camaro Super Sports. At one point I was looking at a 2013 Camaro with the little “mail slot” in the front grille. Karen laughed and said it would be the perfect place for a Knight Rider light. She remembered.
And that made me smile.
Somewhere along the way she had learned my language.
Every time I asked her opinion, she simply said, “You get what you want.”
Whenever I brought up practical concerns, she helped me think through them instead of shutting the conversation down. She reminded me that Brighton would soon be driving my old car, so we wouldn’t always need six seats anymore. Instead of telling me why something wouldn’t work, she helped me think about what could.
In the end, I didn’t buy a Camaro or Challenger.
I bought a black Jeep Wrangler with big tires. I guess this Batman needed a Tumbler, too.
The kids absolutely love it. Grayson will walk outside and just sit in it while it’s parked in the driveway. I smile every time I look out the window and see it sitting there.
The other afternoon I was outside installing another accessory on it when Karen came outside.
She smiled and said, “I’m so glad you’re out here enjoying this. It reminds me of when we were dating and you would wash the Mustang. You know you’re my favorite person, right?”
Of course I know.
That one sentence meant more to me than any accessory I’ll ever bolt onto that Jeep.
As I thought about it later, I realized something else.
I’ve been a dream killer too.
Karen’s dreams involve traveling. More than once she has brought up places she’d love for us to visit. My first response used to be, “We can’t do that. We can’t leave the kids.” That’s not cheap.”
I wasn’t trying to hurt her. I thought I was protecting our family. Looking back, I can see how quickly I dismissed something that meant a lot to her.
Somewhere along the way, I quit saying, “We can’t,” and started asking, “How can we make this happen?”
That simple change made all the difference.
Over the years we’ve watched some of those dreams become memories. We’ve gone snorkeling with sea turtles on the beaches of Puerto Rico, driven the winding roads of Ireland, and watched the sunset in Hawaii. Karen does a lot of the planning, but I’ve learned to enjoy planning with her. Months before a trip, we’ll start watching airfare, looking for hotel deals, and figuring out how to make it fit our budget. Half the fun is dreaming together before we ever pack a suitcase.
None of those trips happened overnight. They happened because the conversation changed.
I wasn’t trying to crush her dream.
I was trying to protect our family.
Sound familiar?
Sometimes we become dream killers because we love the person standing in front of us. We don’t want them to be disappointed. We don’t want them to get hurt. We don’t want them chasing something that isn’t realistic.
Our intentions may be good.
Our words still matter.
Proverbs 12:25 says, “Anxiety weighs down the heart, but a kind word cheers it up.”
There are plenty of things in life we can’t fix. We can’t promise every dream will come true. We can’t always make the finances work or change the season of life we’re in. Sometimes all we can do is encourage one another, pray together, and trust God with the future.
No one wants to hear their dream is unattainable.
Most people already know that.
That’s why they’re called dreams.
As husbands and wives, we’re called to love one another with our words. Ephesians 4:29 reminds us to use words that build people up and give grace to those who hear them. Sometimes building up means asking another question instead of giving another reason something won’t work. Sometimes it means listening a little longer before offering a solution.
That doesn't mean we ignore reality or pretend every dream will come true. It means we choose to encourage before we dismiss, to listen before we solve, and to ask, "How could we?" before saying, "We can't."
Looking back, I don't think God expects husbands and wives to make every dream come true. I do think He calls us to become the safest person in the world for our spouse to dream with. After all, there is no one on this earth I'd rather spend time with than Karen. If she has a dream, I want to be the first person helping her think through it. I know she'll do the same for me. That's the kind of marriage we're still building, and by God's grace, I think we're both enjoying the journey a whole lot more.
If this story encouraged you, would you share it with someone you love?
Sometimes one conversation can change the direction of a marriage.
I'll need to have a conversation about this...
This is an excellent article!! Through 37 years of marriage, my spouse and I have had some of the same conversations—unintentionally crushing each other with the “voice of reason”. We have somehow managed to see so many of our dreams come to fruition, even the “silly” ones.