Perhaps no other words from my childhood (save for magazine collage) rang with that same promise of colorful magic:
Fuzzy technicolor stories sprung from the mouth of a grownup onto a giant board where they stuck.
It was amazing, simply amazing.
As a child of five, six, seven, sitting in a circle of kids on carpet, I could hardly contain my glee at characters barely three-dimensional, but real.
This week, I watched Lala dress her own felt girl in a fiesta dress, then a ski outfit, then karate uniform. I watched her make fish, butterflies and fairies frolic through fuzz sky and sea on her felt board (as we call them now). I listened to her tell tales of girls allergic to snails and lobsters hoping for more tea and cake.
As I listened, I remembered other stories.
Adam and Eve walking among wild animals that shouldn’t have been safe, but were. Jesus turning a few fish and loaves of bread into meal enough for a one-piece crowd of five thousand.
I recalled the few treasure moments with the pastor’s daughter after Sunday School when we mixed together disciples and joyful Jesus and the stern men of the Old Testament.
Maybe those straight-faced guys would climb the tree with short Zaccheus. Maybe they’d play with sheep or dance with the little girl Jesus healed.
You never really knew.
On that felt board everything felt safe somehow. And exciting and really, really good.
This weekend, may you too enjoy what is safe in all the right ways, and good.
And may color, texture and the company of good playmates spring to joyous life before your very eyes.