Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and Invisible Horses
Our four-year old granddaughter came to visit our new home – an old farmhouse surrounded by hundreds of acres of fields. At the back of the property stood a huge weathered barn, battered by unceasing winds and decades of hard use. As we walked toward the barn, she asked me if we had horses. Starting to answer her question, I had a moment of inspiration. “Well,” I told her, “we sort of have horses. I think we have invisible horses.”
Our beautiful granddaughter built an entire fantasy around our invisible horses, and each time she came to visit we walked back to the barn to see if – that day – we might catch sight of them. One summer day we stood peering about inside the barn, while our dog Jack wandered in the tall grasses outside. Suddenly Jack coughed and sneezed, and sounded remarkably like a snorting horse. The little girl at my side froze. Her wide blue eyes widened even more, and she turned to me. Oh so quietly she whispered, “I just heard the invisible horses, Gramma. I heard them!” She took my hand and we stood together in a moment of wonder.
As she became older, I could see the common sense of the world intruding on her belief in our invisible horses. Each time we went out to the barn was a decision for her – a choice to believe what her growing knowledge told her to deny. And this past Christmas I watched our now-eight-year-old grandaughter take her four-year-old cousin by the hand. As she led him out to the barn, I could hear her telling him about the invisible horses…and I saw the growing awe on another young face. I knew her belief was not absolute – she had outgrown that kind of absolute faith. Her belief was a choice, and she was choosing to share that choice and all the joy it had brought her with another.
Our four-year old granddaughter came to visit our new home – an old farmhouse surrounded by hundreds of acres of fields. At the back of the property stood a huge weathered barn, battered by unceasing winds and decades of hard use. As we walked toward the barn, she asked me if we had horses. Starting to answer her question, I had a moment of inspiration. “Well,” I told her, “we sort of have horses. I think we have invisible horses.”
Our beautiful granddaughter built an entire fantasy around our invisible horses, and each time she came to visit we walked back to the barn to see if – that day – we might catch sight of them. One summer day we stood peering about inside the barn, while our dog Jack wandered in the tall grasses outside. Suddenly Jack coughed and sneezed, and sounded remarkably like a snorting horse. The little girl at my side froze. Her wide blue eyes widened even more, and she turned to me. Oh so quietly she whispered, “I just heard the invisible horses, Gramma. I heard them!” She took my hand and we stood together in a moment of wonder.
As she became older, I could see the common sense of the world intruding on her belief in our invisible horses. Each time we went out to the barn was a decision for her – a choice to believe what her growing knowledge told her to deny. And this past Christmas I watched our now-eight-year-old grandaughter take her four-year-old cousin by the hand. As she led him out to the barn, I could hear her telling him about the invisible horses…and I saw the growing awe on another young face. I knew her belief was not absolute – she had outgrown that kind of absolute faith. Her belief was a choice, and she was choosing to share that choice and all the joy it had brought her with another.
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