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Fellow Residents of Cyberspace,

Peter Pan playing the Pipes

Image via Wikipedia

I sit here today, another year older and with any luck, another year wiser. As I reflect on the past 25 years that mark my life, I acknowledge with a smile and a hint of satisfaction that I still suffer from Peter Pan Syndrome.

Peter Pan  – the boy who wouldn’t grow up. I possess a deep-seated desire that mirrors his sentiment. Neverland is home to endless possibility and exciting adventure. It is a place in which childhood is treasured and celebrated above all else. Who wouldn’t want to call it home?

I tend to think kids have it right. They possess limitless awe and wonder – a collection of faith, promise, and simplicity. I believe that, as adults, we should strive to maintain this part of us. I’m not talking about being childish but childlike. The difference between the two is paramount. It’s simplicity not stupidity, innocence not ignorance, purity not puerility. To willingly regress to the mental capacity of a child would be foolishness. But to capture the essence of a child’s humility is to take captive wisdom itself.

Children are honest and objective; receptive to novel ideas and ready and willing to conquer the world. They are free spirits that view the world through elementary eyes. Merriment and mirth come all too easy as they freely bestow clemency. Their lives are uncomplicated and effortless. Trials and tribulations have yet to turn their innocence into cynicism. Famine and war, death and disease, heart ache and loss are foreign to their spirits. Life has yet to tarnish their resolve.

Certainly there are those who fail to meet this description. Children in third-world countries, born into incomprehensible poverty. Babies born into broken homes, left forgotten as their parents fuel their vices. But here in America, in my little corner of the world, the word “childhood” still calls forth images of innocence and possibility. Of dreams and fantasies.

Maybe I cling to this idea with such ferocity because cancer robbed me of my own childhood innocence. Or because I have never truly felt like I belonged in this world, wandering this earth without a home, never to find my place among my peers. I cannot be certain which, but whatever the reason, the realm of fantasy has become my escape.

When the pain and trials of this life threaten to crush me, I lose myself in a world of make-believe. For a few blissful hours I allow myself to drift among alien lands where Happily Ever After is the ultimate reality. Where princes bequeath True Love’s Kiss to their long-awaited damsel in distress. Where good not only triumphs over evil, put transforms desolate lands into masterful works of art. For those few splendid hours, I revert to the unaffected child of long forgotten days.

It was with this mindset that I endeavored to pen my novel, in the hopes that it would provide a means of escape for those who are hurting. Infused with Biblical truths, it is my prayer that it will offer an ounce of hope and light in this dark and trying world.

Before we part, I just wanted to give you all a quick update on my publishing journey. Only a month into this new adventure, social networking has opened some very important doors and offered me a wealth of information. It has allowed me to enter the circles of those wiser and more experienced than myself.

I have been blown away by the generosity and support that established writers are willing to bestow upon a little unknown with questionable talent. I have been directed to an absolutely fabulous editor who has been working tirelessly to transform my meandering imaginings into a work of beauty before the deadline set by an interested agent. This is in no way a promise of publication, but it is a step in the right direction.

Thanks to all for your countless prayers, your ever-present encouragement, and your never-ending support.

Next week I’ll discuss the benefits of a fresh perspective.

Until Next Week,

May You Live Each Moment As If It’s Your Last,

Mandy

Weekly Reflections: (Disclaimer: The great depths of my sorrow can only be justly compared to the impressive heights of my joy. If you stay tuned in long enough you’ll begin to see the silver ray of hope in even the darkest of my reflections.)

Fairy Tale Endings

A fairy tale’s enchanting ending comes,

To those who dare pursue the trail of crumbs.

This proves to be the trait of just a few,

Just ask the biddy calling home a shoe.

I still believe my own will come to pass,

With or without the magic looking-glass.

I know beyond all doubt that this is true,

As sure as Peter Pan to Wendy flew.

A test as true as Princess versus pea,

And Alice joining Hatter during tea.

He’ll come; a charming prince from story books,

And win my heart and soul with just his looks.

In love we’ll be, at just the very sight,

I’ll be his bride and he, my Mister Right.

A shocking circumstance shall have us meet,

My breath will catch when we at last do greet.

I know I’ll never, ever be the same,

When once my lips do part to form his name.

A knight in armor, grave beneath his sire,

He’ll best a dragon’s might and roaring fire.

The tallest prison tower will he scale,

He’ll climb my tresses wearing shining mail.

He will embark on dark and daring plights,

And have to face too many fatal fights.

He’ll bravely choose to duel an evil witch,

And feed the poor by robbing blind the rich.

We’ll ride upon his gallant trusty steed,

Defying deadly spells at lightning speed.

And countless ancient curses will he break,

By all the risky rescues that he makes.

Our love so true; a soft and perfect kiss,

Will serve to mark the age of endless bliss.

Our Ever After surely comes to pass,

With or without the wand and shoe of glass.

Verse Of The Week:

He said to them, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these. 15 Truly I tell you, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it.”  – Mark 10:14-15

What I’m Reading:

Brisingr – Book Three In the Inheritance Cycle – By Christopher Paolini

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