We finally spoiled the secret.  It was one Sunday afternoon. We prayed for the right words. We sat at the kitchen table and spilled the beans… “Goldi has autism,” we said to our kids.

I was teary.  My husband  sighed,  and gave a “it is done” nod.

“Can I have a snack now please?” said Goldi’s  brother.

Didn’t you just hear me?  I thought.  Your sister has autism! Don’t you know what this means? It’s our forever thorn in our side!  I longed to let loose a silent scream.

“Do you have any questions?” asked my husband.

“Please, may I have a bowl of cereal?” my son asked.

No further comments.  As he crunched along, a floating speech bubble floated from his head- So my sister has autism. Let’s just carry on with life. Crunch Crunch.

I had pictured a long heart to heart talk. I had pictured  some “It’s not fair screams from Goldi”  Some tears and prayers and hugging. Nothing.

Our son ponders. He questions. He remembers.   And after sleeping on it for some time, he asked,”So how come I don’t have autism?”

“You weren’t born with it.  Goldi was. ” I answered.

He goes deeper and gets theological – he is after all going to be a pastor. (or maybe your next congressman- these days,  I choose the first one.)

“So if God made us, why did he make Goldi with autism? I thought God made all the good things and all the bad things the bad people made? ”

When I was ready and waiting, he says nothing. When I am least expecting it, ( like when I am trying to figure out how to scrape the burned gravy off my good cooking pan. ) he socks it to me. 

“Sin made people bad. Even though there are bad people and bad things, God made everything good first. Sin tried to mess it all up. But God is making it all good again. ”

“I am going to ride my bike. ” he said.   The door slams and I see him whiz up and down the neighbors driveways.  Carry on with life.

A month later, he stomps into the house.

“Mom!” It’s not fair. I want to have autism too!”

“You mean, you want it to be hard  for you to do things like play with your friends, read, write, go the zoo, and eat at a restaurant?

” I  don’t mean that.  She doesn’t  get the same  consequences  I do.”

“We have to do things different for her so that she understands. Her brain is different than yours.  She can’t understand some things as quickly as you sometimes. You are both learning to be the best you can be. ”

All of the sudden, I see him racing cars on the kitchen floor. Carry on with life.

Since spilling the beans, I’ve carried on with life while still  being stretched and challenged. I’ve worked to ready the right words for those just in case moments. Lord help us. Throughout all our carrying on with life, I know he’s thinking, concluding, and questioning. And all along he races his cars, rides his bike, reads his books, draws pictures,  – and carries on with life. He does what he knows to do. He does what he does best.

One morning, I find them snuggling in the same bed.

“He’s so cute!” Goldi says. “He’s the cutest little kitty.” she says as she gently pats his head.

“Meow” says my son snuggling and squeezing Goldi until she giggles.

His sister has autism. Carry on with life – with love.

Verses from 1 Corinthians 13:  If I have faith that can move mountains but have not loved. I am nothing. Love is patient and kind. I have faith, hope, and love. The greatest of these is love.

Two storage pods plunked down on the driveway causing a serious wondering from Goldi. “What is that?” she asked.

“Two big boxes. We’re saying  “Goodbye” to some things for awhile so that our house looks ready for someone else to live here.”

Goldi looked into the distance .  The sound of the words “Someone else will live here” seemed to create shadows of what might be. I saw them in the distance too.

Gradually things vanished from the house and Goldi  made inquiries.   “Where’s my stuffed dog?” she asked. “Where’s that purple chair?  “Is my doll in that big box?” Home looked empty as our fingerprints of living were removed all around.

Goldi kept home by pretending  and storytelling in her room. She rode her bike around the neighborhood.  She jumped when she saw someone come up the front walk. She made spill over splashes in the bathtub. She hung her backpack on a hanger in the closet.  She nestled down in her pink flower bed and slept.  She threw her sock and shoes in the hallway and ran around  barefoot.

She spent time in a home more permanent- her grandparents house.  There she could make music with her grandpa in the big room of great acoustics. She explored the ponds. She lay her head on the comfy couch and rested.  She threw off her socks and shoes in the mudroom and ran around barefoot.

As we readied our home for someone else’s life, we began to “live” in a home that was still in the making. The first several visits to our house under construction,  came with protest.

“This is not my home!”  Goldi  screamed each time we went the “wrong way” home.  My images of  life in our “dream house” had spots of worry and fret.

“Look , this is where we’ll eat as a family.” I announced one day as we walked into our skeletal like kitchen.

The well thought over  island was just newly constructed. Dust  and builder slop decorated everything.  Despite protest, promises of picnic, play, and props ( toys to bring along)  finally coaxed her to cooperate.

“Let’s eat like we live here. ” I said unpacking the fast food picnic. But with no chairs,  lighting  or attractive surface, our family dinner table looked more like a tool shed.

Quickly I grabbed a small forgotten ladder,  and turned over a big cardboard box. Immediate seats began a transformation to a home sweet home feel.  Hungrily I dove into my cheeseburger. Goldi’s brother chose the cardboard box and bit into his and Goldi, without prompt or persuasion, tore off her socks and shoes,  sat on the ladder. and nibbled on a chicken nugget.

While I wiped the picnic crumbs, Goldi stood and announced “Time to play Hide and Seek! ”

And she began to run around the house barefoot.

Months later, we’ve moved to our newly built home. We’ve packed up and brought everything in the world with us-including  memories of our first home as a family.  Goldi makes big splashes in the tub. She stories and pretends with  her dolls. She rides her bike all the way to the grocery store.  She hangs her backpack and hat on a hook in her very own locker. She nestles down on her pillow in her painted pink room.  She throws off her shoes and socks and runs around barefoot.

We plan to live here and enjoy. All the while knowing this home too is only temporary.  For there is another being prepared for us more glorious than a blue print of dreams. Our Eternal Home awaits us someday as our Eternal Family does too.  And I imagine when Goldi gets there, she will throw off her shoes and socks and run around barefoot. She won’t put on shoes or socks again.  Home Sweet Home at last.

“Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.”  Luke 9:58

Expressive hushes awakened me when Goldi first became friends with books. I would find her sitting on her bed with many books pressing on top of her.  The  weight was like an extra blanket warming her with words she would mysteriously hear first only in her mind.

When Goldi read aloud, there were windy whispers,   deep bellows from her belly, or fluttery songs.  She knew to raise her eyebrows or brighten her eyes as she browsed the pictures. She had the storybook voice that caused me to turn up my ears. She knew herself a reader without really reading.

At times, she turned the pages as though the book lay open on a windy day.  The closing of the book said” I did it. ” She could go through the motions of real reading. But  it really wasn’t.

How to teach an autistic child to read? Same way as everyone else? A special way like no one else?  The teacher in me offered diagnosis.  “She’ll just learn to memorize sight words and put those together to make sentences. ”  But the mother in me wanted  to have her snuggled on my lap, finger hop over the words, and soak in a good story forgetting the world around us.

Goldi began to know stories by way of DVD.  ( The Weston Woods Series from Scholastic)  She couldn’t help but love those  classics all “jazzed up”.   I  continued  reading aloud- in fast forward mode because Goldi’s quick page turns forced me to cut to the chase for each story. To her, the story just breezed by.

Then Goldi , the first grader,  held Frog and Toad to my eyes and said “Read this!”

Well, I thought She’ll race through this story,  but at least I’ll get a chuckle from Frog and Toad.. I held dear the. humor and simplicity of the two fellows. We turned to the story about  the garden. Toad wanted one just like Frog. He planted some seeds then got impatient.  “Now seeds, start growing!” Toad yelled as he laid down on the dirt.

I  looked at Toad wiping his sweaty head in the last picture. “You were right Frog,  Gardening is hard work.” says Toad.

I lay the book aside laughing inside at the way Toad went about taking care of his garden.I took a look at old tired Frog and contemplated the hard work he did just to grow a few seeds. Reading with Goldi was hard work.

“Now Goldi, slow down and pay attention to the whole story! Now, Goldi, follow along as I read. Now, Goldi start reading!” I wanted to shout.  To get Goldi into really reading, it was going to take a miracle.

I was  ready to give my usual orders “Brush your Teeth”  when Goldi picked up the book. She opened back up to  The Garden Story. She smiled and giggled. She turned to the page where Toad was shouting at the newly planted seeds, read his words with her best Toad voice. and belted out her contagious belly laugh. It echoed throughout the house.

Then she  turned to the beginning of the story and began to finger walk along.

“One day Frog was working in his garden,” Goldi read. “It’s your turn mom!”

With a scratchy stunned voice, I uttered “Toad came along and said “You have a very nice garden. ”

Goldi snuggled her head into my shoulder and tip toed along with her eyes and ears soaking in the story.

“Now seeds start growing! ” I shouted in my best Toad voice.

Goldi belted out her laugh again and rolled over in giggles.

To me, it was a little  miracle shown to me by the One who is working out His glory in an autistic girl named Goldi. And it began only with two simple but glorious words- “Read it again.”

Wonder and be Astounded, For I am doing a work that you would not believe even if you were told. Habakkuk 1:5

Some show off a blue strand in their hair. Some shine their outdoor house lights.  Niagara Falls displayed its majesty  in blue.  “Light it up blue” says Autism Speaks.

Before Goldi blue was the color of the sea near Grecian islands and it took my breath away.  Blue was the color of the summer sky. It was the color of the early spring forget me not.  It was the ready to eat shimmer of berries from the shoreline. Now, it is the color of Goldi’s eyes when they smile with life and this month blue means autism. 1 in 88 children have it. Most are boys- thus the stereotypical blue (and something about light particles and easier to shine this type of  bulbs )  Be aware- there are people out there with autism.

As a mom of an autistic child, I wonder,  what do I pass on to deepen awareness? There is SO much to be aware of in this complex world. From wars, poverty, pollution, and even things as astonishing as the decreasing population of bees. ( Our honey supply is in severe shortage.)  We each live in our own little world. I’m sure I can hear a “so what?” to the idea of April is Autism Awareness Month.

You might find it interesting to know the names of celebrities with autism.  Dan Akroyd, Daryl Hannah, Temple Grandin, Albert Einstein, Mozart, have it.  There’s some endearing children’s stories like- The Friendship Puzzle by Julie L Coe and My Brother Sammy is Special by Becky Edwards and David Armitage. There’s a website called Greater Good Network that sells really unique items.  ( I bought a cool top and skirt made of colorful scarves) . Proceeds can go towards autism research. There’s a place called Benjamin’s Hope, a home for adults with autism and a retreat center for families with autistic loved ones.  Some colleges including my Alma Mater have expanded their special education program so that graduates will qualify to teach autistic children.  Some snippets of awareness for you.

You don’t have to look far to meet and greet and an autistic person.  They are in the classroom, maybe jumping and flapping. Maybe being pulled out for a much needed sensory break. They are in the restaurants spoon tapping their demand for their meal. They are in the grocery store with a glazed look pacing. They may be living next door where you may hear some banging or screaming blaring from the house. Don’t call the cops- they’ll be fine.It’s only a matter of time before they are calmed down and more like “themselves” again.

They are also at the basketball game singing the National Anthem in front of thousands, winning over people like Simon from American Idol. They may not be talking out loud, but they are expressing the richest of words through the magic of an I-pad. ( see the website Josiah’s Fire) They are on talk shows tickling our funny bones as they share interesting Presidential tidbits. They are painting works of art that could easily be housed in the National Gallery of Art. They are featured in movies like Rainman and Temple.  

And there’s our autistic girl Goldi. She was diagnosed the fall of 2010, and I became aware. I googled and read and interviewed and conversed to really become aware. After nearly 5 years, I realized something I had been ignorant of since that dreary day of diagnosis. It  catches us by surprise and  reminds me to have faith.  When Goldi’s  blue eyes light up, I know it’s there. When she belly laughs,  glides like a swan on her bike, articulates a sentence as though it were a song,  welcomes a guest in our home as though they were royalty, and shows a gold star at the top of those dreaded math drill worksheets. That “Light it up Blue ” moment is God’s amazing greatness and power displayed– teaching me that He is so much greater despite this life’s permanence of something  so wrong. With this awareness,  I feel lit up in all  colors. It’s more like the feeling of seeing the glory of a rainbow.

Greater is He who is in you than he who is in the world.  1 John 4:4

“Did I not tell you that if you believe, you will see the glory of God?” John 11:40

As for you, you meant evil against me, but God meant it for good. Genesis 5:20

This Thanksgiving image is fixed in my holiday dream thoughts.  It’s those  images that we dream of when the holidays roll around hoping they come true.  Norman knew how to show goodness and happiness for the picture perfect world.

Thanksgiving Day, we made our way to grandmother’s house, ( over the river and all), I shushed my  two bickering kids  with a “You’re going to be thankful!” voice, and said,

“Goldi when you are sad, what makes you feel better?”

Goldi gave her brother one last smack, turned angelic and said “Well, . I just get my pink blanket and tell my mom.”

“Thank God for pink blankets and moms to help us feel better. ” I say.

“And you sir, ( referring to Goldi’s “Mom, she just smacked me!”Brother, If you are sad, what makes you happy?”

Silence. “Uh…..I can run as fast as a Cheetah away from the scary stuff.”

“Thank God for giving you fast legs.” I say.

I proceed with other  ridiculously simple  questions such  as “What is your favorite red  thing?”.  Anything I could  muster up for baby steps to a thankful heart.

This was my child  version of the “Thanks be to God” kind of stuff that we would recite during a Thanksgiving liturgy at church. Thanks be to God for putting the idea into my head at short notice. For the moment, we focused on a thankful heart.

Before we went up the hill and through the patch of woods to grandmother’s house ( really and truly) ,  I said “Let us pray.”

I thanked God  for things like pink blankets, and cheetah feet. And silently through my inner groanings, I asked God to fill both kids’ hearts with joy and gratitude.

Thanksgiving  at Grandmother’s house was very much  Norman Rockwell like picture. . The table was fancied up fancier than Martha Stewart’s.  We oohed and ahhhed over the bounty of food placed before us.   Family and friends were all there.

Suddenly someone with a ruptured spleen took my husband from smells of pure goodness to a stench in a cold OR. Suddenly,   Goldi grabbed her ear,  and I rushed home to get pain relief ,and missing the Thanksgiving prayer. Suddenly my son was asking for cereal,  after  barely tongue touching the home grown mashed potatoes, organically  and locally raised turkey, and out of this world cranberry relish.( never liked it until mom made us her version)

Then Goldi returned to the table proudly cleaned her plate. My husband returned in time to eat a plate of leftovers and help serve up the pumpkin pie. My son decided the green beans from the garden were really good. and licked his lips after a bite of pie. Thanks be to God.

We returned home and noticed Christmas lights already on display in the neighborhood.

“Oh, my goodness , will you look at that!” Goldi declared.

Not a second later,  we took off our coats, and Goldi said “Mom, we have to bake our cookies for Mrs. Claus, ( I will explain later) and….do you think she will bring me a Barbie House?”

Tired and ready to get down on my knees, I pray,  Lord, please help  Goldi ( and her brother)  to see, feel, and touch the gifts of God.  I pray,  that she will praise and glorify You not for just what You give, but for Who You are.

And with that prayer, in faith I look for Goldi’s grasp of the Giver of all things.

That night, Goldi pulls up the covers and closes her eyes, “Dear God, Thank you that we could have so much fun today. Thank you that we could go to Grandpa and Grandmas. And please help us to have a good favorite sleep. ”

I close my own eyes and do my own thanking. God gave as He always does on this day, and will forever more. Perhaps Goldi’s knew it. Simply because she knew Who to thank and what to thank Him for. To me, that is more than a Norman Rockwell picture.

Every good and perfect gift is from above. James 1:7

Cinderella and the Air Force Hot Dog  strolled out  on that misty evening in late October.  Kids seemed to come out of the cracks like ants to melted chocolate.  The streets were lined with people. We were one of those “must hit” neighborhoods.  This night was our first trick our treat.

Cinderella AKA , Golidi, freely floated in her “genuine article” dress towards any house that was well lit and familiar. Hot Dog Guy , donned with his father’s Air Force hat ( just to add some real man flair ) to his  pudgy stubby look, hobbled alongside. Both were attempting to make sense of the surrounding  topsy -turviness.

Goldi’s telescope eyes expressed wonderings sounded by her  Hot Dog brother. “Why did Mr. G have a spider web over his door? He always keeps his house and yard in tip top shape? What are those strange noises and steam coming from Mr. A’s house? Why are those pumpkins all lit up on Miss L’s steps? Is that Annie dressed up like a puppy dog? Why are their ghosts hanging from Miss M’s tree?

“This is what Halloween looks like.” I say.  “Halloween,”  I mutter softly, “the first of a series of sensory loaded holidays. Halloween-soon to string together with all the other holidays waiting their turn to raid our days until March when everything is a blur.”

For the moment, I focused on the present holiday sounding a bit like a Grinch. Is trick or treating going to be worth it? Dressing up for candy? Over half of which Goldi can’t eat thanks to her peanut allergy? Goldi likes to dress up.  I did it and had good neighborhood memories. It’s an experience. So on we go.

 We rounded our court and begin to brush shoulders with other princesses, fairies, football players, robots…. and then….a masked one. A green one with wrinkles and blood. Then another white one with black eyes that were like never ending holes.  That darn Scream painting!  I thought. ( You were thinking the movie eh?- the painting came first)

“No! I don’t like this.  ” Goldi says.

“It’s just a mask, ” I say calmly,  “They are pretending. Then they take off their mask, and it is just a boy or a girl.”

Goldi is not appeased. A shock paints her face ghost white.  Goldi is all about pretending but a mask  of any kind, hiding one’s true identity, puzzles her imagination and causes her to long for a safe reality.  Hiding behind a mask is not in her realm of any happy purpose and only leaves her with  a fearfully strange world.

“Let’s go home!” Goldi begs as she yanks my arm the opposite direction of anything sweet and dandy.

“Not yet Mom! cries my Hot Dog Guy .  His plea seems extra strong with Air Force plastered on his head.

“Let’s go get Dad. I will pass out candy at our house.” I told my son. ” Daddy can take you to more houses .” I say looking down at his sad little face.

Though my husband and I traded places, the fear of the mysterious mask continued to prison Goldi in fear as she huddled in a corner of the house where she wouldn’t have any glimpse of the “Stranger than Strange” constantly knocking and hollering at our door.

“No more! ” she cried. ” Tell them go home and take off their masks. ”

I hold her tightly and whisper “Mommy’s arms are real and Mommy’s love is real too. You’re safe. ”  But another mysterious mask appeared at the door and my words of comfort were overpowered with the once happy and innocent but now dreaded words of “Trick or Treat.”

“No! They have to go home.” she cried again.

How many more minutes until the neighborhood shuts down? How much more until normal returns? I wonder.  Normal is what Goldi needed for the freedom to be.  The world needed to be normal again- where everything was predictable and understandable.

For Goldi, there was  the pressing of the “Why?”behind the mask.  She learned to look others  in the eye, read their face, and be Goldi.  She longed for others to show their face as she does even in the midst of pretending. Unmasked but in costume was a safe pretending. A trying out of someone else but the reality of one’s true self still present.  In costume and unmasked, Goldi’s spirit and essence of who she is shines forth and is enjoyed. Put on a tutu and Goldi talently twirls.  Put on a princess dress and Goldi is the perfect tea party hostess. Put on some wings and hold a wand and she knows how to work magic.

Goldi enjoys and appreciates the spirit behind each known face. For the bottom line for Goldi – is …..Who would want to be anyone else but themselves? Who wouldn’t want to shine their own face?

For man looks at the outward appearance, but God looks at the heart. ( From 1 Samuel 16)

Before it was ever August 18 2014, I was zipping across the rainforest in Costa Rica when suddenly…. I was married and rocking our Goldi to sleep listening to Kathy Lee Gifford lullabies.

With everything in its place and the house  was a palace of hospitality when suddenly, baby dribble drops splattered on the couch pillows and the baby swing or bouncy seat crowded out the oak piano with candles on pedestals.

Grunting and crying, shrieking, and pointing filled up Goldi’s talk.   We waited for the right time to vacuum the house. We said her name and she never responded.  We cut tags off every item of clothing and I winged it when washing them. We scratched our heads and sought to wait and see.  But suddenly, we were in a Pediatric Office and we heard the words “Autism “.

Suddenly the record player arm made  one hard scratch that stopped the beautiful , dreamy music of my life.   Suddenly every dream, goal, and picture perfect day was floating farther and farther away into the shadows.

Suddenly Goldi was starting school well before I ‘d planned. Suddenly, there were numerous professionals observing, studying, and testing our Goldi.  To me others would see Goldi not as our pride and joy , but as a label.

Autism in my mind, almost poisoned Goldi’s  very being.  No cure for autism.  Just a life sentence. Suddenly all that mattered is how to live each day.

It’s funny how Suddenly comes and goes. It enters in when you least expect it and often paints an entirely different picture. And its funny how when Suddenly enters in , we soon forget the world it left behind.

August 18, 2014 has passed. It is over a month later.  Goldi is  suddenly seven. I’ve leafed through pictures of those days of “suddens”, remembering the bumps, and the turns and twists of Goldi’s younger days.  Days when she lay in her bouncy seat and screamed as I vacuumed. Days when she just squeaked and nuzzled noses with her baby brother. Days when she ate nothing and drank only milk.   Suddenly, those days are gone and the “suddens “of days soon painted a different picture.

Suddenly, she  didn’t even plug her ears when I vacuumed the bedroom.  Suddenly she was shouting out to a neighbor “You there! What are you up to?” Suddenly she tried chicken sausage and actually asked for more. Suddenly she drew a tree house with fairies in it.  Suddenly she brushed her own teeth. Suddenly she did a show and tell in front of an entire class of kids.  Suddenly she played for hours with her toys. Suddenly she grew as tall as a lamp post. Suddenly she’s seven years old.

Suddenly Goldi will be 8,9, and 45 . Lord willing, I’ll see the day.  No matter how suddenly the years go by, there is certainty that the One who made her and brings about all the Suddens of life, is the same yesterday, today, and tomorrow. And the One who never changes, asks me to stand and watch and be amazed.  For I would not believe the miracles that will take place even if foretold.  Goldi is suddenly seven and I am suddenly dreaming again.

Though Goldi ‘s words were only jumbled up sounds for a time, there was the language of stories. Stories that whispered secrets her ears longed to hear. Stories already my long time friends, waiting for the right time to touch her memory with richness. Stories that seemed to be written just for her.  Just as they were written at the right time for me. Stories that when shared with Goldi, all of that happened and more.

When I needed to joy in the absolutely perfect gift of Goldi,  the story was:

When  dreams seemed distant,  but all that was needed was right at my fingertips, the wishes do come true story was:

When I need to encourage Goldi into the unknown  the “can do” story is:

When Goldi needs a taste of home cooked goodness or a little spice in her life, the “Try it you’ll like it.” stories are:

 and 

To see the beauty in  her awkwardness, and to teach her there’s sameness even in difference, the story is:

The pick me up story during stormy days is:

The story that Goldi fixates on, that I tire of, but I know she found her way in is :

When I wasn’t sure if the world of pretend even existed, the story that light bulbed Goldi into a world of imagination was:

When Goldi needed  the perfect pictures to give her a storytelling voice, the story was:

The stories that calmed and lulled her to sleep were:

 and 

The story that helped develop an endearing brother and sister relationship, were all about:

I could always count on Eric Carl for teaching and soaking in wonderful things.    

When I least expected it, I was surprised when she “shook hands” with these stories and called them “friends”  

Someday I will introduce her to Christy and her cute rabbit Cupcake.  ( even though it’s in the attic of stories unknown and collecting dust.)

She’ll get more giggles from Ramona. If she were real, she’d probably be Goldi’s best friend.

Maybe a spider named Charlotte will take a piece of her heart.

Someday a little farther away, I will introduce her to another kindred spirit just like her.

These are all in the spectrum of stories that this spectrum girl must know for more wondering, learning, growing, and just plain delighting.

Yet as I story Goldi through life, there’s one above all others told by the Author of all wonders, lessons, and truth.  It will take Goldi’s whole life story and eternity for it  to be told. For even if I attempted to write them all down, there would not be enough story times.  These are the real stories to hold on tight and bring her to the Great Storyteller and find the greatest happy ever after ending of all.

When Goldi arrived, I had visions of lovely picture perfect playing.

I knew I would see her cooking a surprise .

Or I might see her playing hospital with her dolls.

It wasn’t  meant to be.   Goldi’s play was work with a dallup of fun. Toys only overwhelmed and confused her.  They were no treasures.  The tea sets were scrambled. The dolls lay lifeless. The play kitchen was one big disorganized garage sale.

What is a kid without play? It is the vitamin for growing up.  It is the building block to  fulfilling dreams.  Play  would not come naturally,  but in baby steps.

This is a box. Inside lies Thumbelina. She lays on layers of blankets. Shhh be quiet she is sleeping. It’s the way Goldi began her play. It’s all Goldi  played.  No doll was awakened and lively for long. Sleeping and resting lifeless in a box was the safe way of doll play.

This is the Princess Phone. It is the run to tool toy for announcing, planning, and inviting. It started an “I can pretend and rehearse what to say “kind of play.  Something ordinary and dressed up pretty has turned out to be a goldmine of toys. It stands as an essential for Goldi’s social skill growth.

This is the castle with princesses atop. The fairy tales, the royalty, the symbol of happily ever after are all lined up. They are named and placed. Good Enough for Goldi.  For her, it was an organized ,sequential , “in my comfort zone kind of play.”

This is the tutu and slippers. With twirling and tip toeing, fairies fly and flowers bloom.  It was a musical, movement “feed her sensory needs” kind of play. Goldi took  ballet lessons promising a real Angelina Ballerina experience.  Alas, so many positions and directions were too hard for her motor to plan.   But dress her up in this outfit and announce her ballerina. She is in our eyes prima!

This is the cape that flies in the wind behind a fairy who holds the key to all wonders with one  magic wand wave.  It’s all about drama and being a “shining star” kind of play. Pretending came natural when she was the star. No puppets, no dolls. Nothing else but herself to voice  impossible possibles.

This is  cute and tiny Minnie Mouse.   She wore only pink . But soon parties called for many  dresses ,purses ,and shoes. Minnie was transformed into party or church mouse bringing Goldi into a world of tea parties ,guests ,and sunny day conversations over sweet cakes.   It was finally real “little girl, sweet adorable, “play.

This is the dollhouse. One might call it :The Three Bears Cottage.  Without the help of the mom and pop bear , and baby, Goldi might not have seen the wonder in this house.  It’s a cozy house cramped with guests ( Barbies, princesses, other little mini dolls) But this dollhouse soon gained its home sweet home  adoration when a little Dolly named Goldilocks knocked on its door.

If toys could talk ,they would share wonders. The wonder of how far Goldi has come. She’s blossomed and grown and discovered…..all because of play.  Though there may still lie cluttered dollhouses, lifeless dolls, and dusty tea cups, when the day is done, I smile with delight . Because  most often that day , Goldi knew the pleasure of perfection in every play.

Play gives children a chance to practice what they are learning.

Fred Rogers
American television personality
1928–2003

If you want to be creative, stay in part a child, with the creativity and invention that characterizes children before they are deformed by adult society.

Swiss philosopher, Jean Piaget
1896–1980

Beloved, we are God’s children. 1 John 3:2

The Chicago Art Institute, The High Museum, The Walker, The Uffizi, The Sistine Chapel- Homes of famous “you may look but don’t touch or severe penalty” masterpieces. I’ve stood in awe of many. But recently, at our local downtown museum, an awe that came to me was just as fresh as my first view of David or Starry Night. Goldi had a work of art displayed at the local art museum. It was a special art show. 

As we readied ourselves the morning of the big event, I flashbacked to the times I had given Goldi a box of crayons. Just a bunch of colored sticks to her. I allowed scribble, scratching, dotting, anything… Papers were blank nothings. An amazing something was hopelessly lost in the nothing plainness of paper. Then came stemming. Hard colored bold blobs of crayon filled the page. She held the crayon tightly and squeezed every bit of color out that she could. Her paper looked like a painter’s pallet.

Then with direction, she drew a real person.

 I was elated. Finally, she could visualize, organize, and produce something meaningful! As a  teacher, I knew that if she could draw then she would write. If she could write then she could read. As a mom, I knew that if she could express herself, she would shine!  Goldi rested in her art for awhile. The art of creating a person with a smile and swirls around them- her art.  It was routine. Perhaps this was all she thought she was “supposed to do”. It was somehow the way she saw all people. I  had city population of swirly smiling people and held on to the hunch that there was more expression to this little artist than what my eye had met.  

We couldn’t wait to see our Goldi’s unique framed expression for a wider audience than those that pass our refrigerator. Goldi’s work was chosen. What she made was art in a museum! Once in the exhibit room, I searched nervously for Goldi’s picture. Goldi’s artistic flare almost called out to us.

 I paused and eyed the work all over. I attempted to muster up deep thoughts as though I was staring at a VanGogh or Monet. More smiling people with swirls. Some stars and sparkles added. One holding a magic wand. The sun and sky above. A sort of bringing together of what she knew to do with marker and taking baby steps towards something new.

“I got the biggest thrill out of watching and listening to Goldi when she created this piece.” her art teacher piped in over my shoulder. 

She had called Goldi’s picture a “piece”. Not a piece of pie or a piece of lint. A piece of art!

“Really?” I responded with a curious look.

“Oh, yes, She’s very fluent when given a marker and tells the most wonderful stories as she invents a picture. I just love the way this captures her expression and liveliness. I just had to feature this in our exhibit.”

It was as though I had been hit with a pottery wheel. An artist in Goldi was being born. I just didn’t know art when I saw it. Looking carefully, I found more Goldi creations revealing the uniqueness of Goldi.

“She’s so quiet and careful with a paint brush. ” her art teacher told me about this one. 

“Interesting.” I replied.

I look at Goldi’s dreamy blur.  Claire De Lune plays in my mind and my soul is calmed.

Goldi must have dreamed of Monet when she did this. I concluded.

I was such a nose in the air art snob! Give Goldi, a brush, paper scraps, markers, and crayons and let her be. Let her express. Let the artist come out.

Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder. Art is a unique expression. Goldi’s brushing, blurry, swirling, shapes here and there, smiley people art. Amazing and awesome like Monet, Salvador Dali (I had to refresh my memory on the directly above work) and most of all our Creator. Goldi’s art reveals the Master Artist. The Master Artist like no other and whom we stand in pure awesomeness.

“For his invisible attriubtes, namely his eternal power and divine nature have been clearly perceived, ever since the creation of the world, in the things that have been made. ” Romans 1:20