When I was still small enough to take a bath in the kitchen sink, my parents rented a cottage on Long Island Sound, and we sailed to a small island for a picnic. Once we made landfall, my mom prepared the lunch, and I led my dad down the beach telling him, “This is where the leprechauns live,” confident of finding a wee magic man wearing knickers and a waistcoat perhaps behind a piece of driftwood.
When I was a bit older, we often visited my Memaw’s farm where my cousins and I were put to bed with a picture book featuring stories like Sleeping Beauty where a princess and her kingdom were put to sleep and hidden in thorns only to be awakened and put to rights by the kiss of a prince. And Peter Pan where children never lost their wonder and fairies flitted about on gossamer wings in gauzy garb that looked like flower petals.
Photo by Alice Alinari on Unsplash
By fifth grade, I knew full well there was no Santa, but I wanted there to be, so I still put out cookies and a glass of milk for Mr. Claus and carrots for his reindeer. By sixth grade, I was watching the Twilight Zone and reading stories by Alfred Hitchcock that delved into sci-fi, ghosts, and the supernatural.
Looking back, I see my child’s heart stubbornly unbounded, no line of demarcation yet drawn between the mundane and the sublime. Although I couldn’t have articulated it at the time, I was sure there was more to existence than met the eye. Sure, there was something, or someone invisible, yet obvious. Something, or someone, expressed in the blink of a firefly on a summer night, the hoot of an owl in the darkness, the cold breath of a snow cloud blown across the face of the moon. Something or someone I knew was there yet could not see or express except as magic.
Yet as I came of age, the magic seemed to fade. Something was obviously wrong with the world. My government was bombing children half-way around the globe with napalm. The President was a proven crook, and citizens were divided over politics and civil rights. Something was also desperately wrong with me. I did things I didn’t want to do and didn’t do the things I knew were right.
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That was a long time ago, but not much has changed in the world, citizens are still divided, no president is above the law, and half a world away children are still harmed by vicious wars. And yet I still see Christmas decorations that read, BELIEVE! Believe in what? Santa? Fairies?
I am no longer a child, but my belief in the supernatural has never been stronger. In fact, it has matured in light of the Word of God.
Are there invisible kingdoms we cannot see? Absolutely, thrones, dominions, rulers, and authorities. (Colossians 1:16) And our fight is not solely against each other, but the powers of darkness. (Ephesians 6:12)
What is wrong with the world, and what is wrong with me? I was alienated from God by my hostile mind and evil deeds as is all mankind. (Colossians 1:21)
So why doesn’t everything just fall apart?
Because Jesus not only created all things but holds them together. (Colossians 1:17)
And who is the prince who will lift the curse and set all things to rights? Jesus who was betrayed by a kiss yet reconciled all things, whether on earth or in heaven, by making peace with God by the blood of the cross. (Colossians 1:20)
Photo by Miguel Bruna on Unsplash
So dear reader, let me ask if you believe in fairies? And let me assure you, if your answer is or ever was in the affirmative you are not necessarily a fool. Perhaps you are still doggedly on the hunt for the divine just as I’ve been ever since I was a child. And may you find the true magic—the grace of God through Christ—the image of the invisible God. (Colossians 1:15)
Copyright Ann C. Averill 2023
Cover photo by Cederic Vandenberghe on Unsplash
