She’s recently discovered imaginary friends, actually an imaginary family to be exact. Her caterpillar family lives in her princess tent to the left side of her room. She puts them to sleep at night and sometimes her caterpillar mom needs certain items brought to her (what a luxury), which means the caterpillar home becomes quite full on occasion.
I find myself smiling as I peer around the corner, watching her care for these invisible creatures. I never want this imagination of hers to go away, but rather for it to flourish and develop into a deep, abiding creativity that pulses through her life.
So I pray right there at her door that she wouldn’t lose her wonder and imagination in a world of desks and a flurry of activities. That she would see crayons as pathways to farmable artwork and center activities as ways for her to get her hands dirty and explore. I pray she doesn’t lose her innocence this year, not even when she shares about her made-up world. But that she would believe whole-heartedly in her thoughts and ideas that others might believe with her – not dismiss her and her blow out the spark in her eyes.
And then there was the time she and I stood with a poster board sign that read, “Two Blondes Lemonade Stand.” We were perched on the sidewalk of a somewhat busy road, sweating and waving, with hopeful hearts of a Barbie waiting on the other side of all this hard work.
Cars zoomed by with lots of waves but hardly any stops. My heart grew anxious. “Would business build? Don’t people care anymore?” My mind whizzed down a path of negativity and harsh statements. And I looked at my little girl, digging down deeply for optimism and joy and said, “Don’t worry, they’ll come.”
She looked right back at me and said, “Of course, mommy. They just aren’t thirsty, yet.”
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