To be a better writer, be childlike. See the world with wonder and joy. Laugh. Be delighted by small things. Look for beauty and extraordinary in the ordinary: the shape of clouds, a woman and her “slightly” overweight bulldog, the routine of walking to the mailbox and back.
Don’t be naïve. That isn’t what childlike means. To be childlike is to be filled with hope, to hope, even when reality is hard and threatens to suck you into despair, leaves you weeping into a pillow at night. That is what it means to be childlike
What the photograph doesn’t show: this girl with the fit of giggles was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes last year. Her life is filled with finger pokes, insulin injections, and doctor visits. She gets blood drawn regularly. Her mom and dad have had to hold her arms and legs still so that they can stick and inject her. When her blood sugar goes low, low, low, she’s given an orange-juice-and-two-tablespoons-of-sugar cocktail.
She’s had a rough year, this girl, but she’s laughing at something. She is childlike. She still sees the world as a great adventure, runs out the door to play on the swing set with her younger brother. She sits in the sandbox and makes up stories for the cars and whatever other toys they’ve brought with them. She plays and delights in the playing, the creation.
This is what it means to be childlike. To have faith. To look for the good and wondrous. To enjoy the life and gifts one has been given and to use them to bless others. To rejoice in the One who gives good things. To see the world as it is and to remain steady, to hope.
Be a better writer. Find your inner child again. Be childlike. Hope.