He zooms across the floor with that two-year old toddle run. Feet slamming hard with each jolt and he's made it to his damsal in distress.
I'm heeere to help!
His eyes light up as he surveys the damage and decides how best to get his mama out of the scary dragon-infested dungeon.
He's such a little tyke. With little feet, and little arms, but a smile for days, and eyes that brighten with innocence and wonder. To him, he's big. In his eyes, he can rescue. He can save. He can help. And that he does.
When he's not being the superhero, he is playing with them. And his sudden development of imaginative play has just delighted my heart. Today, his superhero was eating lunch with Boots the Monkey. And instead of dessert, they rescued Dora from the snares of Grumpy 'ol Troll.
And just as quickly as I've seen this new world emerge for him, I remember the day it died for me.
I loved to draw. Crayons, markers, paints. Everything. Then one day, I suddenly couldn't think of anything to draw anymore. I had overused the flowers, trees, smiley suns, and butterflies - and nothing was left. It must have been the day that imagination left.
And now - I'm rediscovering that little lost girl from behind the eyes of a two year old. I'm seeing it all over again for the second time. And I desperately want to bottle it up so that when the day comes that he doesn't have any superhero left in him, I can open it up and release the little boy again.
Because everyone needs that spark of creativity. That burst of imagination. It's at the very heart of God.
Don't worry. Little Love and I play along, too.