Christmas Eve Magic

Karl, Maximus, Tiffany, Sage, Sarah and I took a moon and starlight walk earlier this evening. It was weird to have the luxury to engage in such an indulgence and enjoy the brilliant night sky. It brought back vivid memories of riding home in the back seat of my parents’ car after midnight mass on Christmas Eve, with my head leaning against the car window, staring up at the stars, yearning to see something magical streak across the sky.

I’ve always believed in magic. I might not see it very often, but I know it exists.

And not the magic that comes with top hats and card tricks. Real magic. The magic of magi, of wisdom, of the power of love.

Christmas Eve always reminds me of my mother. I miss her exquisitely on Christmas Eve, probably because, as a mother myself, I’ve realized through the years how much work it takes to coordinate ‘life’ to make magic real for our children.

And not in the manner that you might think. Not in making sure wished-for toys found their way under the tree or in the stockings.

Rather, in cultivating an attitude of wonder and possibility.

No one in my family ever definitively told me I was ridiculous to feel the magic of Christmas. And yet no one ever made a big show of pretending in order to foster the magic, either. I grew up with an attitude of possibility cultivated by my mother; an unspoken acknowledgement that if you rule out any hope of encountering the unexpected, you very well may make yourself blind to it.

I never want to be so sure of anything that I make myself blind to the possibility of magic.

And I have my mother to thank for that, as well as a dad and siblings who never felt compelled to douse the light in my eyes; the light that will always believe in and search for evidence of enchantment and hope, love and kindness.

May all of you keep searching for evidence of what you know is true in your hearts.

(T-1068)