The Season of Magic

 

When I was 7 years old I was so excited about Christmas I could barely contain myself. The Sears Christmas Catalog would arrive and my sister and I would study it intently, oo-ing and ahh-ing at all the wonderful presents Santa might bring. Christmas Eve we put on matching red velvet dresses and went to midnight mass at St. Joseph’s Church. The church smelled of candles, evergreen boughs and incense. Red poinsettia's created a wave of color around the altar. The carols we sang were familiar and sung with gusto. I fought to stay awake so I would not miss a single moment. Magic was in the air.

When we returned home, we rushed into our pajamas to prepare for the arrival of that jolly man from the north pole. We carefully placed a plate of cookies on the kitchen counter along side a glass of milk. My parents tucked us into bed but our excitement made it hard to fall asleep. We listened intently for sleigh bells and reindeer hoofs on the roof until we finally drifted off.

In the  morning we leapt out of bed, ran down the stairs squealing with delight as the Christmas tree lights glowed and we examined the colorful packages of all shapes and sizes. Mom and Dad were groggy but smiling as they pulled on bathrobes and started the coffee pot. It was then that I heard my father exclaim “They were here. Come look”. We ran into the kitchen and could not believe our eyes. Surrounding the plate of cookie crumbs were tiny elfin footprints. They were everywhere! Across the counter, on the floor and out the door. We were giddy with excitement, animatedly asking questions while carefully examining the tiny footprints. It was proof that the stories we heard were true. Magic was real. The tradition continued for a few more seasons until one year Dad took me aside to confess that he was the elf. In shock, I refused to believe it until he showed me a rubber gum eraser carved into the shape of a tiny footprint, dipped in ink and stamped around. I felt sad, disappointed and a tad bit embarrassed because I have been talking up the reality of magic elves with my friends. But in spite of Dad's confession, I never doubted the magic of Christmas. Even now, I still believe.

It has been a hard year for many of us. Yet magic is still there showing us the way like tiny footprints wandering through life. It might be a moment of remembrance, a nanosecond of joy, or a card from a long lost friend or loved one. Whatever your magic is, welcome it, nurture it and encourage it to grow in your heart. The magic will not take suffering away but it will balance the books and remind us there are also blessings.