I spent the last four days in a place of magic. It was a
place where song and laughter flowed as freely as spring rain, where words and
wit flipped and tripped and eyes sparkled, where food was art that enriched all
the senses. It was a place where the Spirit of the Great Magician hovered,
warming us with His presence.
It was a place I entered with trepidation. The dark magic of
fear and self-focus taunted me with lies: "You won't fit in like you think you will. That anticipation you feel now? It's just headed for a crash." I had to draw the Sword of Truth
to fight off this darkness and to remember that I was loved by the Great Magician no matter what I
discovered in this place. I knew that most of all I wanted to experience the
magic the He had for me, not concoct some mediocre potion of my own
dreams. And Truth won, and dark magic was defeated, and joy reigned.
And then it was time to come home.
But the magic did not disappear.
I shouldn’t have been surprised. Why do I think the Great
Magician only holds sway in one lovely corner of the world? There is magic
wherever I go. There was magic in the conversation I had with a college student
on the plane ride home—a fellow Truth-follower who saw with clarity the joy of
trusting the Great Magician. There was magic in the simple joy of opening the
back of our minivan and seeing the glowing smiles and golden hair of my
daughters, in the thrill of my son’s squeal of delight, and in the richness of
my husband’s kiss. There was magic when I learned that though my sister’s flight home was delayed she dined with new friends, and didn't sit alone for
all of those hours.
This morning I still saw the magic. I could see the
Magician’s touch in my response to a cranky son who didn’t know what to do with
Mommy now that she had come home. I relished the beauty of our walk to school
with the windswept sky that stretched wide over a green field, and I reveled in
the brisk air that tickled my nose. The magic of a
tractor mower enchanted my son, while my girls and I breathed deep the scent of
mown grass. There were friends to greet, and the world was overflowing.
It was harder to find the magic this evening. Tempers
flared—including mine—but I was still able to step back and remember. The Great
Magician hadn’t left. I could still see His work if I looked. I held out my
hand to my kids and asked, “What is this made of?” Distraction, wonder. The
Magician was still speaking and we lived and breathed.
I am sure that in the days to come I will have many moments
when I forget that I live amidst this good, good magic. I hope that in those
moments I will take the time to step back and look and really see.
And if all else fails, my children will remind me that a
dinosaur named Henley lives in the creek by the school, the evil giant Chompchucks
lurks in our neighborhood, and if I’m not careful, the lava between the
sidewalk cracks may explode on me.
After the magic I saw last weekend I wouldn’t be surprised
if even this were true.
