There is a a sanctuary within the world of a child, where unspoken pictures dawn its landscape. When we rush to 'improve' a child's imaginary or fantasy play by adding ready-made characters or even elaborate over moralized storylines, we unknowingly trade their own living seedlings for plastic flowers. This is because the fantasies that exist in the outer world are carried in adult logic, and yes, they sparkle and dazzle us. However, it can crowd out the half-formed images a child is still learning to shape, just as full-grown transplanted trees can disrupt a young wild meadow.

Recently, I attended a short workshop exploring the difference between a stereotype and an archetype. A stereotype sits outside ourselves in the material realm (an artificial idea, separate from the human being). It is a manufactured idea, named, claimed, and its label managed. It functions much like a branded cardboard box. Inside that box, nothing can deepen or grow—the lid snaps shut. And eventually it collapses.

An archetype, by contrast, lives within us and it is always growing toward the light. It is recognizable through our shared human experience. It carries itself through every culture, every time period, and yet, still astonishes us with its mystery: the 'evil witch' who warns against distorted power, the 'brave knight' who crosses thresholds, the 'curious child' whose questions beckon a new dawn. Each holds shadow and light, failure and redemption. These experiences relate to every human being, inviting us deeper into the whole human experience. 

When bringing numbers to young children, I notice how easily the moments drift toward chalk and symbols. The symbol of five is drawn tidy onto the blackboard, and the class recites the multiples of five with perfect dictation, yet, they have not met its true gesture (this number's quality is still a stranger). Then something inside of me realizes that numerals only settle when the soul has an embodied experience. 

Where does education come from? In my years of studying, I came across a thought that helped me answer this question more clearly. Steiner spoke about how each small community carries its own impulse—something that grows from within the lives of the people, from their language, their land, and the festivals they share together. He spoke of how each collective carries something that must unfold from within (rather than being artificially shaped from the outside).

When I first decided to become a teacher, I believed passing on other people's ideas was enough. I thought that if I loved children, if I enjoyed story telling, and if I gathered enough ideas (and presented them well), surely that was teaching. But I underestimated the value of my own original ideas and understanding. And it took time to understand that something deeper was being asked in the service of an education that is founded in truth, beauty, and goodness.

Like any teacher, when I first heard the phrase "pre-writing," I assumed it meant tracing letters. I imagined little hands gripping pencils, following dotted lines until the shape was memorized. But in the Waldorf kindergarten, pre-writing is far deeper than pencil and paper. The first lines are not written, they are held.

When I first encountered form drawing, I didn't yet understand the soul experience behind it. At first, I simply drew a curve, crossed the midpoint, and mirrored a shape until the form felt whole. I hadn't quite understood that I was stepping into the history of humanity—each line holding a memory: the stars, the earth, and the human beings attempt to speak their language.

In the early years (ages 0-7), before the child's thinking awakens, they live in a world of sensations. The young child absorbs the world through color, gesture, shape, rhythm and sound. Everything they see and every tone they hear enters their inner world and gently awakens them day by day. And so it matters deeply how we speak to them.

It's here that I realized the young child (between 0-7) is not meant to passively learn about the world, they are meant to become a part of it actively. This lived experience typically consists of natural activities—done by real people who bring clear purpose and meaning. And, for very young children, these sorts of experiences are best given through natural rhythm, warmth, movement, and stories (both oral and read aloud).

Long ago, when beginning my journey in Waldorf education, I once believed that following others (or following a detailed lesson plan), would surely lead me closer to the mysteries of Waldorf education (yes, they seemed just beyond reach, and I was reaching ). But soon, I found that this "following" of others was quite contrary to understanding. Something was missing and luckily, I kept at it... determined and longing to understand this great mystery. And step-by-step it was revealed to me.

It is in these words that Steiner asks something radical of us: to trust the child's own capacity for discovering the truth. How? Rather than handing the child suggestive conclusions, we offer pictures—living images—and wait. What are we waiting for? We are waiting for the child's inner activity, for their thinking to begin its journey. And then we trust their questions and wait for the moment when understanding ripens from within. 

When I first encountered Waldorf education, it felt like discovering a secret garden. There was beeswax, woolen toys, and lantern walks. Verses were spoken by candlelight and everything felt magical. But I now understand that what stirred me wasn't this novelty—it was depth. Something ancient moving from under the surface. Something real.

Each Christmas calls us to remember, and also to renew—for within the silence of the heart, the inner child waits to be born.  —study from The Christmas Thought and the Mystery of the Ego

Christmas is often pictured as a story long concluded—a story told again and again. On the surface, the season is adorned with memories and old traditions, but inwardly it whispers a harder truth: that each must welcome its own inner birth. It's here that Steiner reminds us that the Christmas Story lives in the present as a living picture of the soul's rebirth. For within the human being is a quiet place that is waiting to receive the light. ​

​“What once was known instinctively to humanity lives on in signs and symbols, even when the original knowledge has faded from consciousness.” —study from Signs & Symbols of the Christmas Festival ​

​“What once was known instinctively to humanity lives on in signs and symbols, even when the original knowledge has faded from consciousness.” —study from Signs & Symbols of the Christmas Festival ​

​“What once was known instinctively to humanity lives on in signs and symbols, even when the original knowledge has faded from consciousness.” —study from Signs & Symbols of the Christmas Festival ​

​“What once was known instinctively to humanity lives on in signs and symbols, even when the original knowledge has faded from consciousness.” —study from Signs & Symbols of the Christmas Festival ​