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In my youth - which is now the same as “once upon a time” - a few movies were annual television events. I dialed them in accidentally, so it often took a few years to catch the whole story. My favorite was Peter Pan.

For me “Think of happy things and your heart will fly on wings!" was a deceptive Peter Pan promise. No matter what happy frenzy I worked myself into I couldn’t fly. Feeling good didn’t make my cape flutter above the earth.

In the book J. M. Barrie offered a tremendous truth with “All the world is made of faith, and trust, and pixie dust.” Faith and trust are among the greatest building blocks in our lives. The pixie dust is just a fun bonus, the residue of our imaginations. My wife doesn’t need to know I said that, but I do believe it can make our hearts fly.

Wisdom that was not scripted in the movie or book is “Stop the habit of wishful thinking and start the habit of thoughtful wishes.” Mary Martin - the actress who played Peter Pan - said it, and I carry that in my ponder bag. After some heavy-duty deliberation, I think she’s saying that day dreaming is not enough. Thoughtful wishing involves action goals. In other words, having a game plan might be more effective than relying on luck.

A part of my weekly planning involves church. The sermon this morning offered a test or two. The bulletin cover stated, “Faith can move mountains, but don’t be surprised if God hands you a shovel.” Then the homily emphasized that we just don’t know when we will be nudged to help someone. I could feel a test coming on. Playing with the building blocks of faith and trust is a catalyst for constant examination.

Like Jonah, I tried to escape whatever assignment was coming, but instead of traveling to the ends of the world, I headed to the Brown County State Park to hide out for a while. The challenges, however, arrived before I could get out of town. I gave in to the first when I stopped at the DQ for a shake. The second was more troubling.

As I returned to my truck with an ice cream treat, I encountered a lady, maybe 35 or maybe 50, standing beside the tailgate. Gaunt. Pale. Nameless. She wore baggy clothes and a white knit hat with side flaps. Almost cute but totally unsettling.

Then came the interrogatives. “Are you a professor? Do you want to take me to out to eat?” The words were slow, faint echoes from within a fragile frame. She was there but distant. The effects of whatever drugs she had taken were as evident as her hunger.

So, the morning sermon said to be ready to help. Mary Martin implied that wishing someone else would feed her probably wasn’t a good thing. And the wife might not be interested in my having new dining plans. The dilemma was short-lived. I put the chocolate shake in the cupholder and walked back in for the chicken sandwich and fries that she requested. Overall, it was a band-aid plan, but it addressed an immediate need.

Afterward she started towards the homeless shelter with the bag in hand but turned and explained, “I’m God. Well, actually I helped God get some things right. I invented women and cars for Him.” She departed again at a snail’s pace, but her speech had been even slower.

I definitely didn’t move a mountain, but I didn’t avoid the situation either. I don’t know if pixie dust had taken her to a new plane; but my new acquaintance was clearly floating somewhere, and it wasn’t because she was happy.

Mary Martin was a woman who portrayed a charismatic, magical boy. Our imagination made it almost real. The woman I met was as lost as the ageless young men who followed Peter Pan. She lives in her own Neverland, and so do we if we think her story is a unique fantasy.

I am grateful for a community that works hard to address our problems with thoughtful wishes. Maybe someday we won’t need so many shovels.