When I first moved to our small rural town forty-one years ago, it was in ways both positive and negative, a culture shock.

A friend from church, originally from near New York, decided to start a community theater. One of our first endeavors was taking a humorous version of Cinderella to the elementary schools. These children had never seen live theater. I played the elderly, somewhat flaky and forgetful, fairy-Godmother.

At the first school, which had fifth and sixth grade classes, when I asked everyone to close their eyes, I was supposed to find someone with their eyes open. I couldn’t find anyone, even the teachers, with their eyes open. It threw me for a minute, until I caught the principal opening his and could scold him.

At one of the schools out in the country with second and third graders, after talking about what Cinderella would need to go to the ball, I asked everyone to close their eyes and wish. Then I asked, “What are we wishing for?” A tiny girl with her eyes squinched tight, shouted with all her heart in her voice, “A bicycle, a bicycle!”

But the most disconcerting experience came with kindergartners and first graders. At the conclusion of the play, they spontaneously stormed en mass onto the gym floor to try to capture my magic wand. At five foot-two, I was in danger of literally being knocked down and trampled and had to be rescued by the prince and the king. It was actually scary.

Such is the vulnerability and power of belief without the balance of  understanding.