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  • I still remember the ridiculous amount of sunshine sparkling through the bookstore, where my father was buying his seminary textbooks. While he looked for the books on his class list, he let me wander through the shelves. This little book placed conveniently at kid level, caught my eye. This would have been in 1984 at Concordia Seminary. Perhaps it was a summer session.

    Though there were numerous contenders for the most meaningful object in my apartment, including My copy of The Lord of the Rings, or my copy of the book that got me into science fiction, fantasy, and space opera, Ender's Game, this tiny book and the memory of a young father, (mine obviously) buying a small and inexpensive book to make his tiny daughter smile, despite highly and rightly suspecting that when said tiny daughter actually read the contents inside, it would not be to her taste at all, had to be the most meaningful to me.

    I have always loved the cover and the promise of what might be behind it. Though expectations exceeded actual content, that is often the way with dreams and stories, isn't it? The excitement, is in the promise of the journey, never the end result. It is somewhere between departure and arrival that holds the promise of Fairie, of joy, and any attempt to reach, grip, or fabricate some end result will always destroy the fragile and beautiful illusion.
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