My Magic Wand

I don’t think I’m the only who wishes they had a magic wand these days. For years, I carried a small one in my purse to remind myself that magical moments do indeed happen. I think that it’s time to put another one in my purse, as I’ve found myself spiraling into the pity pit lately. 

            Sure I try to be positive, but the negative vibes spewing out of our world and our country are getting the best of me. Add to that the fact that Father’s Day marked a year since mom was in our house and ten months since her death, and you can imagine how much fun I am to be around right now. 

            My parents, especially my dad, always told me growing up that “your problems are your problems.” They weren’t trying to belittle whatever I was going through. They just wanted me to understand that yes, there are people who have far worse problems and there are others who don’t have that many troubles, so whatever is bugging you is your own particular set of difficulties. It was more of a recognition exercise that let me know it was okay to be sad, but not too sad. 

            Well, here I am at 47 years old squeezing that bit of advice for all that it’s worth. Everything seems to be a complete mess right now, and it’s so easy to start taking up residence in the pity pit. That’s where I was setting up shop until a Wink of Goodness walked by my house this morning. 

            I had just finished working out on our sidewalk (wouldn’t you like to have tickets to that?), when a man carrying his baby walked by. As the mother of grown-up 10 year olds, I jump at any chance to make goo-goo eyes at a baby, so off I went to say “hello.” This man was visiting his future-in-laws, who live in our neighborhood. I spoke to him a few weeks ago when he walking, so I could get yet another baby fix. (I really can’t get enough of little people.)

            This time we talked more, and our conversation quickly jumped from pleasantries to real dialog when he told me that he lived in Brooklyn. I talked about how bad things must be up there because of COVID-19, and he said that they were getting better. Then our talk morphed into race relations and what’s all going on in our country right now.             

He’s a black man, and he told me that he had been raised to love people for who they are, regardless of skin color. I told him that I used to tell my kids that we don’t see color but that I had learned a couple of years ago, that that’s not the thing to do. Not seeing color is not seeing what black people have been through and are still going through. It’s not seeing who they are. 

            While we talked, his little girl (just about one, I think) shied away from looking at me, preferring to play with her father’s necklaces instead. Regardless, we kept talking about how we think things are going to get better and how we’re going to have to work at it, take baby steps (both black and white people, together). And then he said something that stopped my post-workout sweat. He said, “We spend so much time focusing on God that we forget to be Godly.” Boom!

            If you get anything from this entry, please take that gem with you and put it in a safe place. Being Godly, whether or not you’re a believer, means loving each other and taking care of each other, living your life with grace, which happens to be his daughter’s name. I stood there frozen as I absorbed his perfectly powerful statement. I’ll never forget it. 

            Love is the most powerful tool that we have, and it’s what we need most in this world, which is obviously not happy with any of us right now. We are all humans. We’re all made with feelings. We’re all given talents. And we are all capable of love. What would happen if we used our superpowers for good?  I think we’d be acting pretty Godly. 

            Before he left, Grace began smiling at me, and I slowly started climbing out of the pity pit. Even though she can’t talk yet, she is a force of optimism. That’s what I love about babies; they’re such beautiful capsules of hope. 

            As they walked away, I felt the comforting zing of possibility. No, things aren’t great right now, but they will get better. And with that, I knew I had found my magic wand.