Pixie Dust (& Other Good Gifts for Daughters)


Sometimes you just have to pretend there’s a little pixie dust.

You learn this quickly when you have a four-year-old girl in your home.

She wants to wear a dress with so much fluff it adds an extra yard to her circumference. She unapologetically fastens on sparkly shoes to dig in the dirt mounds at her brother’s baseball games. She begs to wear her rainbow tiara to the gas station.

Like most little girls, she’s convinced she’s a princess.  Recently, she’s Elsa from Frozen, as she emerges from her shower with a brown monkey towel on her head, flinging it over her shoulder like a snow queen cape. “Let it go, let it go …,” she sings.  She struts by her disturbed brothers.  All they can see is that she has nothing on but a monkey towel.  All she sees is that she is Elsa, Queen of Arendelle, standing before an ice castle, smelling of glorious baby shampoo.

She thinks she’s a fairy, too.  From my warm spot on the couch, a steaming mug of ginger tea in my hands, I hear the sound of plastic princess slippers clacking down the hallway. My little girl rushes clumsily towards me, her butterfly wings strapped unevenly on her back.  “I’m a fairy!” She spins around, searching, “Mommy, hurry, where’s the pixie dust?!”

The sink overflows with dishes.  My body aches. My head throbs. Life feels heavy. But I put down my tea, reach deeply into an imaginary sack to pull out a wand. Her little eyes widen, believing.  With a long, dramatic wave of my hands, I sprinkle magical dust all over my giggly girl.

And she simply lights up. “I really am a fairy now!”

She quickly runs off.  I sit back, thinking.

We crush so easily. Our joy, so fragile, so quick to sink beneath the weight of life.

How can we enjoy the ocean view when we believe we are mostly drowning in it?

Yet from the corner of my eyes, I catch a glimpse of mesh butterfly wings bounding freely through the air.

And once again, courage grows.  There’s something that outshines, outlasts, out loves pixie dust, refusing to be cinched up in a sack.

There’s something, this very moment, being poured out from wells so unfathomable, from hands that have formed things greater than magic.

Still, the ocean groans and struggles to part. But in the restless mystery that bridges the waves to dry paths, do I still dare to be free?  To see His good gifts in small, fluttering moments?  To see that His love is being lavished upon my undeserving head, minute by minute, despite my charades?

Do I dare to live completely satisfied as His child?

I sip my tea. It’s not hot anymore.

But I don’t mind.

But see what great love the Father has lavished upon us that we should be called children of God. ~ 1 John 3:1

If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him!
~ Matthew 7:11

written by kim midori hee 2014

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