Have you ever heard of the magic trick where you put a tiny neon pink Polly Pocket shoe up your nose and it comes out your ear? No, I hadn’t heard about that one myself until this week, when the delightful and determined Elizabeth Holiday tried to do it. While my vague memory from tenth grade biology suggests that our nose and ears do have some kind of connection, it’s more likely the tiny pink shoe would end up in the lungs or stomach, rather than the ear canal. Fortunately for Lizzie, the shoe in question lodged in her nose, and her mom was finally able to extract it (with the obligatory screams of terror from my favorite six-year-old).
Christopher Moore reminds us that “Children see magic because they look for it.” I think that’s so for our dear Elizabeth. Her interest in magic was evident at age three, when she performed a magic trick with a blanket. She got her signals crossed a bit, calling out “cock-a-doodle-do” instead of “abracadabra” as she made an object disappear. I’m afraid this most recent failure could mark the end of her promising career as the next David Copperfield, but we shall see.
Master magicians are incredible to watch, as their sleight-of-hand maneuvers can make believers out of the most skeptical of us. But a bad magician? I’ve sat through a display or two I wish I could forget. Before we send Lizzie off to study at Houdini University, I hope to shift her focus from magic tricks to the magic of our world. Instead of attempting to influence the course of events by using mysterious or supernatural forces, I want her to be able to see the wonder of the world around her: the magic of a glorious sunset, fireflies dancing in the twilight, a waterfall splashing into the rocks below. As master children’s writer Roald Dahl explains, I want her to “watch with glittering eyes the whole world around [her] because the greatest secrets are always hidden in the most unlikely places.”
Charles de Lint writes in the modern fantasy genre. He says, “I do believe in an everyday sort of magic – the inexplicable connectedness we sometimes experience with places, people, works of art and the like; the eerie appropriateness of moments of synchronicity; the whispered voice, the hidden presence, when we think we’re alone.”
Those magical moments can come between the pages of a book, in the quiet of the forest floor, or on a late-night walk along the beach under a golden moon. Yet they also are unveiled as we move within our family circle, as our connections with friends are renewed and as our faith is expressed through worship and celebration. I felt that sense of wonder recently as our church family began to gather together again. As the beloved stood in worship, singing Chris Tomlin’s “How Great is Our God,” there it was, that shiver of wonder that seldom came in front of a computer screen.
When we recently celebrated Lizzie’s sixth birthday, she blew out her birthday candles in a Covid-safe manner without spraying saliva all over her cake. Her wish, as she has articulated from time to time throughout the last year and a half, is that she wants the Corona to be over. We all do, Lizzie, we all do. That nasty Corona has been a thief, stealing life from those we love, robbing us of a sense of security in our daily interactions, and often keeping the magic of wonder at bay.
The Corona is still hanging on so we can’t fully let our guard down yet, even if vaccinated. But as it retreats, I’ve been singing an old gospel chorus with these words: “I went to the enemy’s camp and I took back what he stole from me.” We don’t have the power to summon back those who have been slaughtered by the virus, but I am claiming a new sense of wonder in these in-between days. Welcome, magical summer. Welcome, tomatoes fresh from the garden. Welcome, the joy of faces reflected in the campfire. Welcome, shiver of the divine. We are watching with glittering eyes.
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