In the wee, small hours of the morning

Dada, do you like clowns? They were her first words that morning. I was standing in the closet, getting dressed in the early half-light and she was in our bed, again. I was thinking of things - things to be done for the day, things left undone from the previous day, things that might happen in the future. But her words stopped the thing-ing. I bent down beside the bed to greet her eyes. FYI - Abbey has trouble with "th" sometimes and it comes out as "f."

Dada, do you like clowns?

Well, hi. Clowns? Yeah, I like 'em o.k.

I don't. They're scary. That red smile scares me.

Babe, were you dreaming about clowns just now?

I fink so. I don't like clowns.

The questions of my day were along the lines of Can I hit those editorial dates? Is there enough money in the bank? Did I send all my freelance work in this week? I wake with a whole family of questions, what the Bible refers to as legion. She wakes with one. I wake with questions that all have to do with the strategic mind - figuring stuff out, hoping to not forget something, and anxious in case I do. She wakes with simple concerns; not simplistic, mind you, but simple. And simple is good.

She awoke with a question that arose from her ability to dream. And still being a rather small person, she wanted to know what someone larger and trustworthy (Dada) thought about something she'd seen during the night hours.

I love this little girl. She teaches me so much. God, I long to dream. To dream in color, vibrant clown-smile colors. And God I long to awake with questions out of those dreams; better yet, just one question. And Lord, I pray that I'll immediately look to you, someone larger and trustworthy, for guidance. I'm still a rather small person and some of the things that don't scare other people, scare me.

God, do you like clowns?

Well, hi. Yeah, I think so. Do you trust me, John?

I fink so. But sometimes you scare me.

That's o.k.