Note to the reader: this article references Disney’s 2010 animation Tangled. If you have not watched it, I forewarn you of spoilers.
I first watched Tangled, Disney’s version of the Rapunzel fairytale, during winter break two years ago. Rapunzel and the awe of her celestial lanterns evidently remained with me, for soon enough, the melody “I See the Light” began to echo deep in my soul whenever I turned on the Christmas lights that decked my room. The soft, colorful glow of my little multi-colored lights, combined with the meaning of this dear Disney song, brought me continual comfort and joy each evening throughout a winter rife with spiritual challenges. Yet part of me wondered: Was this aesthetic and soothing connection a mere fancy in my mind?
I soon realized that this warmth linking the song, the lights, and a profound peace within me was not merely a sentimental construct of my own. No. The significance of the little illuminations that appear everywhere each December and the significance of the movie Tangled do converge, because they originate in the same truth. It is all held in the reality of Christmas.
Image from fanpop.com. Used under Fair Use for Film Reviews.
A Father of Lights
Tangled is a love story. You might expect no less, as it is a Disney princess movie. But hear me out: This one is about a kind of love higher and deeper than mere classic romance. Tangled is all about rediscovering Father-love.
The disappearance of the baby princess had left the kingdom despairing and dark, and her parents absolutely heartbroken. Yet hope is so mingled with this heartache that her father, the king, launched thousands of lanterns into the sky annually on the lost princess’s birthday, not only in tribute to her, but also to help her find her way home.
Dear sister, you and I have a Father Who does the same. Our Heavenly Father bestows lights upon us too, as Scripture even tells us: “All good giving and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights” (James 1:17). Moreover, just as Rapunzel’s parents did not give up hope of her return, even beyond her eighteenth birthday, neither does the Father give up on you. He continually invites you to restoration, waits to welcome you, and lights your way back to Him.
Starting to see how the truths connect? But wait, there is more.
Rapunzel intuits, with inexplicable conviction, that the kingdom lights are somehow meant for her. Watching them fill the sky annually on her birthday, her soul soars and something profound within her awakens. She longs to go out and see this luminous display up close, but her manipulative “mother” Gothel wants to keep her in the dark of their tower. And so, despite the many activities that fill her day and keep her almost distracted enough, Rapunzel has an ache deep within, really for something more than just the freedom to leave her tower and see the lanterns up close. Although Rapunzel may not even realize it, she lacks her truest identity: daughterhood.
A Daughter First
Enter Flynn Rider. Ah, dreamboat (fictional, animated creation though he is). With his help, Rapunzel’s lifelong dream of seeing the lanterns gleam up close finally comes true! Flynn also helps Rapunzel to understand the deeper ache within. Intuiting that Rapunzel’s home situation is in fact toxic, he eventually risks everything to break the spell holding her captive. Why? For one thing, this pertains to Flynn’s own arc of growth and transformation. For another, he may have begun to perceive connections between Rapunzel and the lost princess.
So, once Rapunzel is freed (like, really freed) from Gothel, Flynn brings her to the palace, to the king and queen, her parents. The encounter of a daughter with her father and mother––not a meeting between lovers––is the long-awaited rendezvous moment of the story! Truly, this tale is more fundamentally about father-love than it is about the typical guy and girl romance.
Albeit inadvertently, this sequence of events in Tangled underscores an important truth: Rapunzel’s daughterhood comes first. Regardless of particular individual callings, each and every woman has a fourfold identity: daughter, sister, bride, and mother––the primary one being “daughter.” Sister, each of us must live absolutely convinced of God our Father’s personal love for us. We must confidently know who we are by being firmly rooted in this identity. Then, and only then, can we fully live our other callings. We may be tempted to look to spousal love for such fulfillment instead, yet seeking this security in human love or romance, as central as it is to our being, is to demand more than other mere human beings can provide. Our identities must be founded in the knowledge of how deeply loved we are as daughters of a good Heavenly Father.
I find this illustrated in Tangled’s ending because, as much as Flynn loves her, Rapunzel’s daughterhood comes first. Before she needs him, before their relationship, she needs something else even more. Some fairytales would be premised on him getting her and a happily-ever-after at the earliest opportunity; but in Tangled, what happens next? Flynn first reunites Rapunzel with her parents. It is only after this that the spousal happy ending can happen, but even then, the latter does not diminish or alter the fact that Rapunzel’s primary identity remains daughter to the king. This element in the story illuminates that spousal love must point a woman to the Source of her identity.
Flynn, however, has already begun to uphold Rapunzel’s daughterhood along the way to her parents. He took her to see the lights, where she could encounter what she knew was meant for her (and where she can quite literally “get in touch with” the love of her parents––notice which particular lantern floats down to their boat and her waiting hand). After gazing at the scene transfixed with awe, Rapunzel turns to find a new surprise: Flynn has brought lanterns for them to launch also. Whether or not he had already surmised the truth about her, it is beautiful that Flynn offers this gesture, for by it, they can together participate in honoring her daughterhood and her royalty.
It Starts With The Son
Before we end, rewind to the beginning. The story of the “girl named Rapunzel” begins where our stories do too. Flynn recounts in the movie’s prologue that “it starts with the sun”––with the magic flower that grew from a drop of golden sunlight, saving the infant princess’s life.
Our own story arcs of identity, daughterhood, Father love, and light begin the same way as Tangled: with the S-o-n. The lyrics of “I See The Light” apply to our stories as well. Christmas happened to “save what [had] been lost” to us. The Father of Lights sent the Word, Whose “life was the light of the human race” (John 1:4), into the world to redeem––what? Our lost relationship with Father. Thus, our own stories of discovering our daughterhood begin with the Son Who is the true Light, Who came to, as the song says, “bring back what once was” yours and mine.
When Christmas Just Is Not Your Fairytale
This, my friend, is why the gentle glow of my Christmas lights cues Tangled for me every single time. Perhaps Christmas has never been delightful or dreamy for you. It might be an especially lonely and heartbreaking time that feels like anything but a fairytale. Yet, feelings aside, in reality it is one––only better.
Christmas points to the love story between the Father and you. And, like the lanterns that illuminate the sky for Rapunzel, Christmas is about the Light Who is “warm and real and bright” that your Father sent for you, the Light Whose coming meant that everything in the world had “somehow shifted.” You are royalty too. Christ came to restore this identity in you, because God your Father delights in you and wants to give you everything that is good and beautiful. Believe it, sister. He came so that you would no longer have to be the lost princess.
Next time the peaceful glow of Christmas lights catches your eye, breathe deeply and remember the absolute love and delight with which the Father of lights cherishes you.
Leila Joy Castillo calls Florida home but left her heart in hill country long ago. An alumna of Ave Maria University, she freelances in Catholic communications and is a published writer, primarily on Blessed is She and Ascension. When not dabbling in the multitudinous Google docs of her articles, Leila delights in music, personalist philosophy, quality time with her younger siblings, and her literary trifecta: Austen, Lewis, and Dante. You can find her on Instagram @leila_joyinthejourney or follow her personal site here.
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