Magical Moments

Magic is made great by surprise.  And life is made great by moments that seem almost magical.  The most magical moments of our year here in Florida are those that took us by surprise.

Mother's Day 2013 started with breakfast in bed, balancing trays dangerously on my lap as children bounced around in anticipation of their hand-made treasures opened by mom.  At some point in the morning we decided to take a drive.  When 2/3 tiny heads began to bob in slumber we turned up the Mumford and Sons and cruised our usual routes of historic neighborhoods.  These "slumbering drives" are mini-dates for us.  We talk, we hold hands, we listen to music, we tackle decisions and problems put off to needy hands and night-time routines.  On this particular Sunday Tony pointed the van towards ocean and sand. 

We ended on Amelia Island after criss-crossing bridges over wetlands peppered with red kayaks.  Upon first arriving on the island we were greeted by the typical beach shops of souvenirs and frozen yogurt but even these were subdued and minimal.  As we drove the main drag shops and houses gave way to tropical forests and bike paths.  Where was the ocean?  Somewhere behind the forest? Somewhere beyond the bikers and palms?  It seemed  as though we were the only ones out that day.  Magic is feeling as though you are experiencing something truly unique.  We found public beach access after stopping to stock up on picnic fixings.  Soft pita bread, Gouda with its gritty texture and sharp bite, fancy sodas.  Later as we picnicked there would be sand on our fingers, caked to our thighs, sprinkled in our hair as we tore bread and sliced cheese with the handle of our plastic fork. 

 To arrive at the beach we walked on a path overgrown with trees and palms dwarfing us in size.  Tree branches snaked and curled overhead in beautiful tangled knots.  Mansions with plantation shutters and with as many rooms as a hotel stood silent to our right and left, partially hidden in the trees surrounding our path.  We arrived at the dunes surprised to find ocean in the midst of forest.  Shells were everywhere, whole and pure, crunched and broken.  Tiny shells smaller than a fingernail, giant shells bumpy with barnacles and black as night.  Later in the afternoon I would take a solitary walk as ocean lapped my feet and find a perfect sand dollar.  Magical.  Unexpected.

Magic gives us a break from reality.  And when reality is especially brutal.  Exhausting.  Overwhelming.  Those magical moments seem like a gift from God.  Like a gasp of fresh air after swimming underwater on a trek that never seems to end.  Across the English Channel.  As fast and as hard as your burning limbs can take you.  And at that moment when you feel as though your lungs may burst, you pop your head up and see the beautiful world around you.  You gasp and turn your tired body over to a float.  You rest, for a short time.  We floated on Amelia Island that day.  Then as the day ended we reluctantly flipped over, held our breath, put our heads down and continued the strenuous journey to the shore on the other side.

Our family is tired in a way we have not been before.  10 years of post-graduate training, a total of four moves, 100+ work weeks, and to-do lists never completed, whining in the back of our minds as we prioritize family-time.  Blogs and scrapbooks and Facebook and Twitter, they capture the magical moments in word and pictures.  We are fooled into believing these pictures are someones reality.  But the truth is, they are only snippets of the moments we find most precious.  Reality is found in the parking lot of the supermarket on the way home as the baby melts down from too much beach, too much sand, and throbbing teeth.  Reality is found in the perfect, delicate sand dollar shattered in the breast pocket from a child kicking while atop Daddy's shoulders.  Should we take more pictures, talk more of reality?  Maybe.  Or maybe we should view blogs and Facebook, not with envy of our friend's "perfect" life but with celebration of our friends' magical moments.  Capturing and sharing them brings a completeness.  It brings joy.  But let's not forget that reality lurks on the other side of the digital image.  

The skeptic might say magic is only a trick of the mind.  Sure.  Maybe.  But I don't mind being tricked in this way.  I don't mind believing for a few hours that my reality is endless time with family.  My head on his shoulders.  Their rosy cheeked faces and long limbs racing across the sand.  Cheese and bread and fancy cola and ice cream without worry of caloric intake.  Because reality can wait.  I will not worry about reality and ruin this moment.  I will bottle up this magic and open it on the screen when reality threatens to drown me.  If real-life looked like our magical moments, would they cease to feel magical?  Yes, I believe so. So we need brutal reality to make marvelous magic, don't we?

I am thankful for all those magical moments here in Florida that offered us a break from the reality of fellowship year.  When we reach the shoreline at the end of December, when our real-life waters become less choppy, I pray we will not miss the magical moments because we are less desperate for them.  May my Instagram feed and Facebook updates reflect the magic found in the everyday.  The bubbles blown in the backyard.  The taste of a savory dish.  The quiet moments of naps and reading and flowers in a vase.  Let's capture them all, those magical moments.  And let's rejoice with our friends, not envy them.  They are simultaneously gasping and celebrating as they post their own magical moments.

 via here