I’m craving magic.
Haven’t we all been craving magic since we were small? Since we saw the little magician’s tricks people would do for us? When I first discovered books, I think something in me always knew they were special. Why do we think I spent so much time playing in the backyard, conjuring my own worlds from Texas dirt, bare feet, and decaying leaves?
C.S. Lewis writes in his beloved novel The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe about the Deep Magic. He is talking about something else — or is he?
I remember when I first read the words Deep Magic. I probably wasn’t even ten. I didn’t know what those words meant. They felt like a deep pool, so deep I could never reach the bottom.
Now I know both more and less. Sometimes it feels like I can maybe touch the bottom of that clear pool -- and then it recedes again before my eyes. And I am drowning in order to hold the magic in my hands, press it to my face and breathe it in, because I am craving the Otherworldly.
I am drowning in mundanity.
I am choking on dust that did not come from fairies, but from west Texas dust storms.
I am bowed by the weight of the tension rising in my sternum because I am so obviously not good enough. I am disenchanted with myself and with all the things I have tried to use to fill my tired heart.
I know all that can fill me is the magic. I've been searching for it since I had an inkling of what it could be. I'm searching for it in nature and in the metaphors and in words and in music, and let me tell you, it isn't there.
I have looked.
And just when I start to despair, when I start to think my life will always be this way, that I will be consigned to mundanity forever, that I will always be a vassal of my own ravenous, starving perfectionism --
Like a breeze through my hair, refreshing my scalp.
He calls my name.
He tells me that He loves me.
And my skin is on fire.
All I can say is Who are you, Lord? and, at the same time, Hello, Daddy, and better still, the only thing my soul really knows in response to Him: Yes.
He is the Magic.
I keep looking for the positive in my days, what is special, what I can cling to so I won't lose myself in the despair and the ordinary. But none of the straws I'm grabbing at have any power to lift me up out of myself the way I'm dying to be lifted and carried.
But Him... He is the Magic. He is the fairy dust that is sprinkled on my little faith, on my tired, searching eyes, and transforms my dreariest day into pure, sparkling gold and silver.
He is the One Who shows me the opportunity and potential for communion with the sacred and the divine at every turn.
He is the One Who turns my water into wine, my mourning into dancing with tears running down my face, tears of joy and of deep pain -- because the Magic does not eliminate the pain, but it reminds me that the pain has purpose, that it is not wasted, that it is sacred, too.
He the One Who nudges me forward in courage, in denial of myself, because there is potential for close, cheek-to-cheek dancing with the divine in every encounter, even encounters with people I don't like. And I cannot live, cannot breathe, without meeting and falling ever deeper in love with the Divine.
Lewis speaks of the Deepest Magic through the Lion, Aslan. Deep Magic: the love of a God Who created the universe and filled our bodies with souls. The love of a God Who scattered the glittering stars across navy velvet but did not desire His children to be even a moment away from Him.
This Deepest Magic is undefinable, inexplicable, mysterious -- that's why it's Magic. It has a musty smell, like holy breath blew into the crevasses of my mind that have forgotten who I am, clearing away my cobwebs, reminding me that I crave magic, and He is here.
He is here to turn my mourning into dancing, my lead into gold.
He is here that I may have life and have it more abundantly.
He is here, now, that I may be utterly enchanted with Him again and again and again.
Because, you see, I'm craving magic, and so I am craving Him.
And He answers every desire of mine and brings it back around to answer it again thousandfold and more besides.
Your hunger is filled.
Your soul is satisfied.
You are full of magic and you never will run out.
The main image was taken by my friend and fellow singer Elizabeth Zito.