Wobbling toward sainthood

By Nancy Shuman 

Painting by Gerda Tirén (photo credit: Wikimedia Commons).

Dreams can be useful things.  They wander through the soul, leaving the merest whispers. I love them for the challenges they offer. 

Daydreams stage little dramas in our minds.  They call us forward into roles for which we begin "trying out," as we consider which dreams to pursue and which to set aside.  As for me, I mentally rehearse for daydreams that make the cut as "keepers," and I start auditioning.

As a child, I rehearsed a lot for the part I most wanted to land as a grownup.  I had lots of props.  Dolls, of course, and pretend kitchen equipment, and dress-up clothes that made me look (I was sure of it) like a glamorous mommy.  I was especially fond of Mother's cast-off high heels, in which I teetered about house and yard at least a full inch taller.  I just knew my feet were growing into the shoes even as I wobbled along.

I look back on those days now not so much as pretending, but more as practice.   I landed my longed-for role as wife and mommy (guess I had a good audition).  I'd been prepared for domesticity by dolls that drank and wet, were diapered in my father's oversized handkerchiefs, and bathed in floating soap that was guaranteed 99 and 44/100 percent pure. 


Continue reading at Nancy's blog The Cloistered Heart.