The Truest Kinds of Magic.

Lately my life has taken to feeling what I can only describe as straight-up magical.

In a way which makes me stare at the golden carriages just lined up in my driveway waiting to take me to new and exciting places, and wonder how and why I never saw them as anything more than pumpkins before.

It’s the kind of magic that is so much deeper than the kind that comes from a tune which holds in words like “bibbity boppity boo.” It is spun right out of the Hands that never needed a wand to carve oceans and continents and miracles out of nothing. It’s the kind of magic that makes me feel as if I will wake up tomorrow and find that it was all a dream. But I can feel God’s hands gently lifting my chin up as He presses the weight of a tiara of blessings onto my head. It’s a weight which feels so undeserved to a girl like me who has never slept in cinders, but who has lost shoes and sought princes and faced fire during her time here.

It’s the kind of magic that is teaching me what real magic is. And I will tell you that it isn’t on a broomstick, chasing a golden snitch. It isn’t a wooden staff which makes caverns impassable. It has never been in Disney movies, and it will never be on TV.

It is deep; deeper far than the fairy tales we learned to love as little girls when we didn’t know yet that one day we would long for the pain of Mama pulling our hair back into braids.

And I am lost in finding it in so many moments of my days lately.

Like the moments when I realize that despite the time when I truly believed I would always be stuck, I am moving forward again. And I’m not being pushed by my life anymore. I’m moving with it, dancing with the days as they pass by, falling in love with the movement of time.

And the moments when the arms of the little ones I love so dear wrap around me in a too-tight hug which can never be tight enough. When I hear them murmur words like “Come back to play, okay?” and “I love you, too.

And the promise of the moment when I held a dandelion up between us three and we caught our wishes up into the air and used the force of our wishing to send the white bits of fluff and seed and hope of new life whirling and floating and spinning out into the sunlit spring. The moment right after the first seed landed when I looked at you and wondered what would grow in the wake of the wishes we had made. The moment when I tucked the stem of the plant we used  to sow wishes between the pages of a book, because even then I knew I would want to remember when we stood together and breathed our hopes out into the day.

And the moment when I was filled with pride at what I’ve learned to do with my body. The moment when I held a belt of yellow in my hands, and knew full well that it was not made of fabric. It was hours of practice held together by sweat and tears and bruises and dedication and aching legs, wound tightly around a core of strength and the encouragement of others and the patience of the ones with black stripes sewn carefully along the edges of their white uniforms. It was a sense of accomplishment I’ve never had before, and it was one of the few moments in my life which I will carefully set down into the box in my mind labeled strength.

And perhaps the most unfamiliar and lovely stretching testing glowing magic of all has been in the moments spent with you. Although I could write of this kind of magic for pages and days, I will say that I find the deepest kind of magic when I see you at your edges. Moments like the one where I could see only the side of your face as it crinkled up into your genuine smile while you read my words, or when you looked down and away from me as you fought back tears, or the profile of you as you held a blood-soaked tissue up to your nose while it bled and still found a moment to glance and me and smile. The moment when I could only see your silhouette as you stopped and stared at me, and though your face was wrapped in shadow, I somehow felt that you were wrestling with emotion and something deep inside of you that stole the words you never needed anyway because I already knew. And the aching magic of the moments when I feel your absence like a presence. I feel you being away from me and though it stings and smarts against my newly awakened heart, I can’t help but feel the magic in it.

Right now, magic is coloring my life in the manner of a two-year old. Messy and lovely and outside the lines. And I am staring in wonder at the jagged gentle sharp caressing beautiful picture that is starting to show up. I am overwrought with wonder and I hope it never, never stops.

My life is magical, and I feel that I am watching a million flowers unfurling their petals, so long held in tight, into the warmth and love and life. I feel myself uncurling like a flower, doused in the highest notes of joy and all the truest kinds of magic and brightest kinds of light.


-Jessi Sanders 2013


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