The steward of this little girl's dreams

This is me when I was little going to see the "Christmas Fairy" at State Street Marshall Field's in Chicago.

christmas fairy and me

I found this picture recently in an old photo album I made for myself before I ran away to the cabin.

First of all, I remember I had a vague feeling for many years that the dress I'm wearing was actually an Easter dress because the flowers were supposed to be tulips. But now I don't even know if that's true. They look like some kind of folkloric heart shaped flowers. And the green does work for Christmas. I'm not sure whether at the time I thought it was a good dress or not, but judging from the look on my face, I think I thought everything was awesome, as is.

So, what I really want to talk about is what this little girl is saying to the "Christmas Fairy".

The "Christmas Fairy" must have been something Marshall Field's made up so everyone wouldn't just be standing around waiting to see Santa. I don't even remember Santa. I thought the "Christmas Fairy" was the most glorious person I had ever seen. And I couldn't wait to talk to her.

So there I am, finally getting my chance.

You were supposed to tell her your wishes I think. And she had special fairy dust that she sprinkled on your head so that your wishes would come true.

What was I saying to her?

I look at this little girl and every time, I feel it.

I feel the energy of possibility. I feel the anticipation of all wonderful things. I feel the belief. I feel the excitement and the power and the glory.

This is the channeling of the spirit. This is what life is all about.

What am I saying to her?

"Yes, okay, well, when I grow up I'm going to play the guitar and sing. I'm going to write songs and make albums. I'm going to go on tour all over the world. I'm going to write books of stories and poems."

I like thinking that that's the caption of this photo.

Maybe I was really saying something about wishing I could fly or wishing I had my own pony. I have no idea.

But for the sake of the spiritual discipline of writing daily musings, I'm going to stick with the idea that the little girl is saying all the things she is going to do with her life. I could add in that she is going to raise three children, but that was never a dream of mine, it was and is a beautiful incredible gift that was given to me in spite of myself, to become a mother. It was what happens along the way as you pursue your vision of who you want to be. Life is what happens along the way. And my life held the grandest blessing of children. But giving birth and raising children is not the illusive dream I'm talking about here.

The illusive dream is stated some how by the little girl. It is a seed.

By the time I was three years old I was singing into the telephone receiver like it was a microphone, Nancy Sinatra's "These Boots Are Made For Walking", for anyone my big brother would call. He was eight years old. He babysat me alone in a third floor walk up apartment in Chicago while our mother went to work at the public library part time. She would tell us to run get the lady downstairs if anything bad happened. I had barely ever seen the lady downstairs. But I think my brother actually knew her. For entertainment, every once in a while, my brother would call his friends and have them listen to me sing. I think at three I only had that one song. Maybe a couple others but I'm not sure. I only remember the one.

The little girl talking to the Fairy is maybe five years old and by then I may have had ideas about music and about singing. I saw the children's choir at the big Lutheran church around this time...maybe this very same Christmas...and I begged my parents to help me find out how to join the choir.

I remember seeing the children's choir process into the sanctuary on Christmas Eve in white robes and with battery powered candles in their hands and my mind just firing inside like fireworks. I started asking, "How did they get to do that? How did those kids get to do that?"

So the little girl in the photograph has the excitement of possibility in her posture and on her face.

And now I am the steward of her dreams.

I am in charge of making sure that she is not disappointed.

She believed and I must believe so that I don't let her down.

She didn't care about all the unutterable negative thoughts that I know about.

She was pure in her delight and her belief.

I must not tarnish her dream with despair.

I must not be so ungrateful for the privilege of living out her dreams as to give in to the dark temptation to say that it has all been for nought.

I won't say that.

I won't think that.

I won't give her, or you, or myself, that burden.

I believe. Yes I do.

 

Comments

Lisa April 05, 2018 @12:57 am
I believe, too. And I believe in you. Yes I do.
Rubin Latz April 04, 2018 @10:57 am
Welcome home! Glad to see your mention of "the power and the glory" - so very coincidentally, I had keyed the same in responding to a photo of waves crashing in Lake Superior, posted by a friend in the Book of Faces, not an hour ago : - )
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