Just through the red door lies a mystical place where live the little known creatures, the ones the world looks upon as myth and legend.  In this realm, they live and breathe, just the same as you and I.  Journey with me through the red door, to the place of imagination and we will find a new dimension of reality.

The new day calls out with an invitation from those beyond the door.  It is they who wish to meet us and share their tales!

I hear Grandpa Ansel, a respected elder, calling now, his voice strong and commanding.

“Hark, noble ones of the realm!”

I see the red door just a bit further up the path and it is open, welcoming all of us.  I’m not sure why I am excited for today’s visit to Rehoboth, but I am.  I just know it is where I want to be right now.  Come with me into our story!

Crossing the threshold, heading for the fallen log that Grandpa Ansel favors, a movement catches my eye.  Grandpa is scurrying around the base of a grand old oak tree.  He hasn’t seen us, nor called out.  How peculiar!

I thought to call out, but didn’t.  Perhaps today isn’t a good day for a visit.

At that precise moment, Grandpa turned and saw us approaching.  Unsure whether he heard us trampling through the woods or merely sensed our presence, his usual greeting rang out as he waved, “Draw near dear ones.  Gather close and hear the wisdom of age, for you have just begun and have much to learn.”

We did as he bid us, meeting up with the gnome children, their arms full of small logs and fat branches.  As we sat ourselves in the sun, Grandpa perched upon a mushroom stool, picked up a piece of wood and proceeded to ignore us.

Whistling quietly, Grandpa stared intently at the wood in his hand, seemingly having forgotten our presence.  Not one of us moved for fear of breaking his concentration, though I am sure none of us knew what was quite so fascinating about a piece of fallen branch.  We waited and we wondered, but remained still, not sure what to do.  As the younger gnomes began to squirm, impatient for a story, little Aved broke the spell.

“Grandpa Ansel, whatever are you doing?  It’s just a stick, Grandpa.  It doesn’t do tricks or work magic, but it seems to have you spellbound!” Aved said.

Looking up, Grandpa’s countenance softened as he recognized the voice of one of his favorites.  Not that he would ever admit to having a favorite, but little Aved’s smile could melt a polar bear’s heart.  “To you, little Aved, this is a run-of-the-mill branch.  To me, this is a pheasant!” explained Grandpa.

“Are you pretending it is a pheasant, Grandpa?” asked Svend.  A worried frown accompanied Svend’s question because he didn’t know any grown-ups that pretended.  Pretending was just for the little kids.

“No, I’m not pretending, Svend.  I am, however, using my imagination, somewhat like a child does when pretending.  As I look upon this wood, turning it this way and that, I see more than just the branch.  I see what is under the bark, hidden, and waiting to be revealed.”

“Grandpa, are you all right?  You aren’t making any sense.  First you said you weren’t pretending and then you said that imagining is like pretending.  Should you go lay down and do you want me to run and fetch Grandma Elena?” asked an even more worried Svend.

“There’s nothing wrong with Grandpa,” piped up Aved.  “You’re just not smart enough to understand what Grandpa is saying.  You don’t go getting Grandma, either.  She’ll be upset if she thinks something is wrong.”  Looking back at her favorite sage, Aved asked, “Grandpa, how do you look at that branch and see a pheasant?”

“I’ll try to explain.  First, I need all of you to close your eyes.  You too, Svend.  I won’t play a trick on you.  Good.  Now, I want you to picture in your mind, an apple.  Can you see an apple?”  Many felt hats bobbed up and down, in unison.  “Now see it as a big, red apple.”  The nodding continued.  “Alright, now picture a worm coming out of the top of the apple.”  Giggles ensued.  “Okay, now open your eyes.”

“Who of you can show me your apple?” Grandpa asked, looking at the group.

“We don’t have any apples,” explained Lisbet.

“Yet you all saw a big, red apple with a worm coming out of the top of it.  Am I right?”

“Well, yes, but it wasn’t a real apple, Grandpa,” answered Lisbet.

“In your mind that apple was real.  It doesn’t really exist, but you could see it clearly.  That is your imagination.  It isn’t pretending to see an apple.  Each of you had a picture of an apple, that doesn’t exist, in your mind.  Let me see if I can explain it better.  We hear words which create pictures in our mind.  We can see things that don’t really exist.  We see that which is unseen.  Now, when I look at this stick, I see a pheasant in my mind, though it doesn’t exist . . . yet!”

Flipping open his pocketknife, Grandpa began whittling at that stick with his tongue clenched in in his teeth, in concentration.  The tiny wood chips flew and before our eyes, the head of a pheasant emerged.  In Grandpa’s hands, it was like the stick did hold magic!

Holding the stick up for all to see, Grandpa said, “If you can imagine it, see it in your mind, you can do it, build it, create it or uncover it, like I am doing now.  Nothing you can imagine can be withheld from you.  It is a powerful force if you don’t give up on it.  Dream, envision, imagine.  Never let anyone steal your dreams and visions.

Like all things in life, you’ll have to apply time and effort to bring forth your vision, but always remember, if you can ‘see it’,” he said, tapping the side of his head, “you can do it.”  Believe in your vision, for what you ‘see’ can be!

The imagination is limitless which may well make it the most powerful force in all of Rehoboth.  Dare to dream, Dear Ones.  Then chase what you see with all your heart!”