Reviving Dreams: What's Buried Can Bloom Again

Earlier this month, I attended the wedding of a dear friend. It was like a fairytale, and she was a breathtaking bride. The crown that adorned her head was truly befitting of the princess she embodied that day. As she walked down the aisle to be joined with her Prince, I sat in awe but also heartbroken. Heartbroken because she was about to experience two things I had desperately desired but didn’t get: the wedding of her dreams and the approval from church leadership to enter a new chapter in her life.

COVID-19 took away my chance to have the wedding I’d dreamed of since I was a little girl. And while I believed God told me to get married when I did, I didn’t fully understand why. But, I obeyed.

For my wedding, I did my own makeup and hair. I ordered my wedding dress from an overpriced boutique and got my reception dress from FashionNova. My mom catered the food from Kroger, and my mother-in-law baked our cake using a box mix. I decorated with Hobby Lobby finds, and we held the wedding via Zoom. I created the programs using Google Docs, and our rehearsal dinner was just me, my husband, and in-laws working through our makeshift sound system. No fancy dinner. No toasts. That was what we had to work with given the circumstances. It was special and memorable, but it wasn’t what I had wanted.

Because of COVID, I didn’t get to meet in person with my pastors for their blessing. In fact, it felt as if God removed them from the process entirely, perhaps so that my loyalty to them or the church wouldn’t delay my obedience in moving forward with my husband. I didn’t know it at the time, but God was helping me put Him back on the throne of my heart—removing the human beings I had unconsciously worshiped in their place.

Sometimes, the sting isn’t so bad, and I can swallow it and move on. Other times, it feels like the memory of my big day is being buried all over again, leaving me gasping for air as hot tears stream down my face.

I’ve learned that grief isn’t just about losing people—it’s about the loss of any expectation, event, or desire. Grief is the process of moving toward acceptance.

I’m a lover of stories. Messy, transparent, complex stories—because they bring clarity and often leave you encouraged, knowing that someone has survived the same path you’re walking. If anyone understands grief, it’s the Shunammite Woman from 2 Kings 4.

The Shunammite Woman was wealthy, insightful, and influential—a woman whom the Bible calls "great."

She wasn’t confined to one-dimensional servitude as many women in Scripture were. She was persuasive enough to convince Elisha, a highly revered prophet, to dine with her regularly. She had the insight to recognize Elisha as a man of God and even convinced her husband to add a room to their home for Elisha’s lodging—a testament to the value her husband placed on her voice and the duality of her meekness as a wife and leader.

Elisha wanted to bless her in return for her hospitality, but she refused, stating her family took good care of her. Yet Gehazi, Elisha’s servant, observed that she had no son, and her husband was old. Elisha then prophesied that by the next year, she would hold a son in her arms. Her immediate response was, “No, my Lord! O man of God, don’t deceive me and get my hopes up like that.”

Outwardly, she had everything—wealth, a loving husband, a respected voice in her community. But inwardly, she had a void. The dream of having a son had died within her after years of disappointment and grief. She buried that dream deep, moving forward in life while quietly mourning what could never be.

I had buried the dream of having the wedding of my dreams.

But just as Elisha’s words resurrected the Shunammite Woman’s dream, watching my friend walk down the aisle brought my buried grief to the surface. It made me confront the painful reality of what could never be for me.

Yet, it also gave me unwavering hope.

Just as Elisha prophesied, the Shunammite Woman held her baby boy the following year—a fulfilled promise. Likewise, after my friend’s wedding, God spoke through her father, bringing clarity and closure to my own situation. For two years, I had wrestled with whether I had missed God’s timing by getting married when I did. It felt like all hell had broken loose in our first two years of marriage, and I questioned everything.

But through my friend’s father, God assured me that I hadn’t missed His will. I wept as I realized God had never left my side. That moment was a turning point—a release from two years of wrestling with what I thought could never be.

I’ve come to terms with a painful truth: I will never have my first wedding again. But I can have a vow renewal with the man of my dreams as we approach Year 5, Year 7, or even Year 10, and it can feel like the first time. I will have the bridal shower I never had, and I will walk down the aisle in a beautiful gown, and it will feel new—because it will be.

My first wedding wasn’t what I wanted, but it was a vehicle into purpose, a door God opened to usher me into a new season. Had I stayed in my comfort zone, I would’ve missed the life God had for me.

For the Shunammite Woman, the closed door of not having a son wasn’t a permanent "no." Likewise, I believe God wants us to see ourselves in her story, to fuel our faith, and to remind us that His "not yet" is not a rejection of our dreams.

If you’re like me, grieving the wedding you didn’t have, or maybe you’re longing for a child, a relationship, or a dream deferred—don’t bury it yet. Give that dream back to God, change the narrative you’ve told yourself, and make room for hope. A closed door isn’t always "no"—it’s redirection. Trust God’s timing. His plans for you are greater than you can imagine.