I step out into what seems like a dark warehouse. There’s light shining on one spot in the center of the room, coming from something like a skylight. As I walk towards it, I hear my father’s voice:

What exactly are you looking for?

I don’t know, man…. It’s like… I don’t know what I’m looking for.

As I reach the light, I see a black spiral notebook sitting on the floor. I pick it up and open it. Inside it are the Christmas lists my brother, sister and I gave my parents in 1971. Mine, written in my crummy nine year-old handwriting, has the following items on it:

I look around me, but the warehouse seems dark and empty.

Dad… why do you still have these lists?

Because, as the songs says, you still haven’t found what you’re looking for.

What am I looking for? Is the answer in this list?

Owen, tell me: what is in the list?

Three toys and four books.

Did you get what you wanted for Christmas that year?

Of course, Dad, you know I did. We all did. It was the first year since any of us were born that Mom had a job, too.

So money is the answer?

No.

Look at the list again.

The Hardy Boys. I read these alone. Vampire Trail was the new book. Yellow Feather was one of the older ones I was missing.

Go on.

The Peanuts books Dale and I always read together. We had worn out the church library copies and I wanted ones of my own.

And the toys?

All three of us thought the Astrolite looked cool. Fighting Knights was so I could have something like that of my own. And a Giant Nerf Ball will be awesome to play with.

So…

I looked around me. The walls of the warehouse seemed to have receded away, and I could no longer even see the floor.

… So, I don’t get what this tells me, other than that, at nine years old, I knew what I wanted for Christmas.

Let me give you a hint. How you understand the world to be is the key to your desires.

Right now, the world just seems chaotic to me.

And so you don’t know what you want.

I’ve been really depressed. I feel like a failure as a father. The pathway to happiness seems blocked for my sons. When I was nine, I dreamed of adventure, of space, of ancient times, of laughter and of play. All of that seems like such a distant memory. Now the world seems to be one of emptiness and vain temptations.

So what do you want?

I want to see hope again. I want my children to be happy.

Is that possible?

Of course it’s possible. Hope is always possible.

The lights came on, and I was back in my bedroom.