I have always liked hidden corners. I am strange that way. As a child, my favorite song lyrics from Rogers and Hammerstein’s Cinderella were:
I’m as mild and as meek as a mouse
When I hear a command I obey.
But I know of a spot in my house
Where no one can stand in my way.
In my own little corner in my own little chair
I can be whatever I want to be
On the wings of my fancy I can fly anywhere
And the world will open its arms to me.
I mean, after all, didn’t Cinderella’s imagination lead to faith…and didn’t faith change her world? Come on…everyone knows the fairy Godmother was an angel in disguise, right? And who but God has the power to turn pumpkins into carriages? And did she really have the faith to believe that a noble prince would marry a girl who sat in the cinders?
So as a child, I often lived in my imagination. And I believe my imagination later helped me to have the faith to believe in a God who could do the impossible.
As a four-year-old, I would hide behind the couch to open Mom’s junk mail…which transformed into secret messages. I loved paper and words even then.
Mom put a curtain over the opening in a desk (meant for a wooden chair and human legs), and I had a secret hideout right in the middle of the living room. It was a great place to eavesdrop.
I was always building forts. Snow forts. Tree forts. Prairie forts. I had some inborn desire to create a small and hidden space where I could ponder and dream.
Even today, my favorite indoor writing spot is in a corner with two windows. It overlooks the backyard and is secluded in the laundry room. Yes, the laundry room which is also my office.
I have even considered converting the girls’ tree fort to a writing retreat. Haven’t many of the great writers done the same? Have you seen the tiny house at Walden’s Pond?
My children’s favorite toy was an antique trunk filled with dress up clothes. Another box had hats. A third container held purses. A fourth shoes. The best box was perhaps the miscellaneous one…beads, gloves, belts, glasses, masks…Out of this magical trunk emerged skits and plays and costumes. Movies were made. Dances were choreographed. Imaginations were grown. Sermons were preached. Children were married. Careers were born. Gospel songs were sung. God was praised in the imaginations of children.
Sometimes I wonder. Do children have time to dream? Do they have time to sit in quiet corners and ponder life? Do we fill their lives with so many “good” things, that imagination and faith never grow?
And as adults have we given up imagination as a lost part of childhood? Do we take time to let our imaginations soar? Do we have a quiet space to reflect on all that God has done? Do we ponder the flight of a hummingbird or the home of a woodpecker or what heaven is really like? Because doesn’t faith require imagination… to believe what cannot be seen?
