Creating Magic

Creating magic: one step toward healing.

One gift of living a long life, or at least a life that seems long, is becoming a survivor, one who has journeyed through the valley of the shadow of death—a shadow that clings to us. Those journeys may be the death of my loved ones, or the loss of a job I loved, or the loss of a dream I carried—these were all journeys. These I have survived, even when I did not think it possible, by waking up in the morning, walking through the day, doing what my hand found to do, and finding my bed at night. Long journeys, one day at a time, and at times, one hour at a time, and in the hardest times, five minutes at a time, then another five minutes, and another, until evening had come, again.

Choosing to move forward, even for five minutes at a time, is choosing life. That choice creates magic—it creates life.

Letting our hands find things to do when in the midst of loss leads to healing. The things we find to do may be simple. I remember scrubbing tiles, one tile at a time, and then the next, and the next. Cleaning for me became rote, a routine. I could count on the next tile to be there. I didn’t have to think about it or make decisions. I just floated from one tile to the next and my world became tile after tile after tile.

When I had begun to breathe again, I found I could focus on a puzzle. Like tiles, there was one piece and another until the fragments began to take shape, albeit very slowly, and I could see what the whole picture could be. One puzzle after another, my brain began to see that things could be put back together, they could take a shape, they could become whole again.

When I could venture outdoors and feel the sun on my skin, on my face, and just walk around the yard in the quiet hours of the morning, a friend gave me a plant and told me to plant it somewhere where I would see it every day. She said it was now my job to care for this one plant, to help it survive. And I did. I dug a small hole in the dirt by the back door and nestled it carefully in the ground. Every day I poured a glass of water on it, around it, as I pulled up the tufts of green weeds nearby, making sure my plant had room to grow.

When I could see again, I found some paper and pencils and began doodling. Shapes built upon shapes and strange little creatures appeared on the page. They didn’t have to be good. Or like anything I knew in life. They could have their own perspective on things, and they helped me to see life through their eyes. They helped me to consider life from different angles, from new options, into new opportunities.

Many, many have made that journey back from the valley of the shadow of death and they know it can be long and hard work: it is a journey back from the void to the fullness of life. It is possible. It is a choice. It is a daily choosing of life. If only for five minutes at a time.

There are many other journeys back, many paths back to the magic of creating life with us again. If I could bundle up a gift to give a friend who faces such a journey, that so many, many, many others face this morning, it would be those five minutes. I would put it in a box, and wrap it with a bow, and place it in her hand. With love.