The Honorary Tooth Fairy

Sometimes the call arrives before the readiness—and the wings before the understanding.

I arrived without warning in a town that felt pulled from the pages of a storybook.

The houses were cheerful, colorful—each one clearly home to a family with children.

I didn’t know how I got there, or why.

But I could feel something was about to happen.

It turned out I had arrived on the most important day of the year: the choosing of the honorary Tooth Fairy.

Before I could ask a single question, something stirred in the air. A flurry of excitement rippled through the village. Children pointed. Parents smiled knowingly. A gust of wind—or was it magic?—brushed past my cheek. And just like that… I was chosen.

There was no time to protest, no permission required.

Fairy dust sparkled around me, and I felt myself transforming. I looked down and saw a hospital gown had replaced my clothes. In my arms, a soft stuffed animal appeared—somehow both comforting and strange. Apparently, this was the traditional uniform for first-year Tooth Fairies.

Then my feet left the ground.

I hovered for a moment—weightless—before my body shot forward down the cobblestone street, zipping past homes and lanterns. Villagers ran behind me, laughing and cheering. “Go, Tooth Fairy!” they called. It felt like a parade, but I was the float—and I had no control over my flight path.

My arms flailed. My heart raced. I didn’t know how to stop—or steer.

Suddenly, my back arched—my whole body tense, bracing for pain. But instead… wings. Not painful, not heavy—just there. Soft and strong. Like they’d always belonged to me, only waiting to be revealed.

With the wings came control.

I could move. I could glide. I could fly.

That night, my first on the job, I waited until the sun slipped beneath the horizon and the moon took its place. As soon as its light touched the rooftops, I knew it was time. I didn’t need a list or a map. The knowing just came—part of the magic. Which children had lost teeth, where to find them, what to leave in return—it all lived inside me now.

House to house. Pillow to pillow. Tooth to coin.

It was gross, honestly. But also… beautiful.

As the year passed, I found joy in the rhythm of the work. In the quiet gift of being unseen, yet known. By the year’s end, I was proud of what I had done—not for recognition, but because it mattered.

Then—like a page turning mid-story—the dream shifted.

I was somewhere in Africa. The terrain was vast and golden, but the air held danger. People moved in silence, trying not to be seen. Something was hunting us. I didn’t know what it was—but I knew to be afraid. We had to stay hidden, keep moving, stay alert.

That’s where it ends—lightness giving way to shadow. The magic replaced by something heavier, ancient, and wild.

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What It Reveals

• This dream brings up the surprising weight of being chosen. Some callings come without warning, and they carry more responsibility than they first appear.

• It also reminds me that identity can be given before it’s understood. Transformation often begins not with readiness, but with surrender.

• The work itself struck me as both whimsical and holy: a mix of invisible labor and joyful service. From the outside, it might look silly. But within the dream, it felt deeply sacred.

• And then came the shift—from playful calling into shadow and danger. It makes me wonder about the dual nature of calling: light that asks us to serve with joy, and shadow that asks us to endure with discernment.

What It Asks

• What roles have I been handed without asking?

• Where in my life have I been “chosen” for something I didn’t understand at first?

• Am I resisting flight because I fear the pain of transformation?

• When joy gives way to danger, do I trust the same unseen guidance that carried me in lighter places?

What It Undoes

• It loosens the belief that calling is always voluntary. Some assignments arrive before we feel ready—and readiness comes in the doing.

• It also undoes the idea that transformation must always hurt. The wings came through tension, yes, but not through pain.

What It Plants

• A deeper trust in what’s unfolding—even when it’s fast, strange, or beyond my control.

• A reverence for unseen work: the sacredness of tending quiet tasks.

• A reminder that calling can be whimsical, even weird—and still holy.

• A quiet courage to fly into the unknown… and to stay hidden when needed.

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Seed for Thought

You don’t always get to choose the wings.

But when they come—don’t be surprised

if you already know how to fly.

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Holding Thoughts Captive

Theme: Chosen Before Ready

Dream Insight:

Before I could even understand what was happening, I had been chosen.

Biblical Alignment (NIV):

“You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you so that you might go and bear fruit—fruit that will last.” — John 15:16

“Now may the God of peace… equip you with everything good for doing his will, and may he work in us what is pleasing to him, through Jesus Christ.” — Hebrews 13:20–21

Further Insight:

Sometimes we’re assigned a task before we fully understand its meaning. In God’s economy, calling is less about readiness and more about willingness. He doesn’t just call the prepared—He prepares the called.

Even when we feel swept up, confused, or unqualified, the transformation has already begun. The wings are His gift, not our earning. And when they open, we’re more equipped than we ever thought possible.

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