“Now Gimli, you do magic,” Lucy directed.
I sat on a chair atop an elevated slab of concrete at the Albuquerque BioPark Zoo. Lucy and her grandmother (Tricia) sat on a bench facing me.
I did not think quickly enough to say that magic is Gandalf’s gig, not Gimli’s. I did recall my one magic trick guaranteed to impress everyone.
“Watch me pull a bald head from a hat,” I said.
Slowly and dramatically I removed my hat to reveal … a bald head.
When Lucy asked for another trick, wishful thinking took over.
“Watch me pull a head with hair from a hat.” Major failure as the revealed pate was once again bald.
“My head has hair,” laughed Lucy kindly as she came to stand beside me.
“Let’s see if this works,” I mused. I placed the hat on her head. “Abracadabra,” I intoned. I removed the hat and revealed a mass of hair.
“My turn,” declared Lucy. I went to sit with Tricia.
“Pocus-pocus,” Lucy chanted. I’m not sure what was supposed to happen. And in the end it does not matter.
The magic and wonder of the day lay not in any tricks we did or did not perform.
The magic and wonder lay in the imagination and love of a child.
The imagination …
… that transformed any elevated space into a stage where one could dance with abandon or direct a magic show …
… that realized the ramp to the observation deck at the monkey exhibit provided an entry point to a ship of some sort and we needed to help each other on board …
… that envisioned a chair as throne …
… and that made music with abandon on a suspended wooden xylophone.
The love …
… demonstrated by utter comfort and absolute confidence in her grandmother’s arms …
… shown in kindness to other visitors …
,,, and expressed in appreciation for the creatures with whom we share God’s creation.
As I give thanks for Lucy’s imagination and love, I hope I can recover some of that myself. For it is a joyful, joy-inspiring, joyous way to live.
The image is from Lucy’s coat sleeve.
I was walking down Fifth Avenue, heading to Rockefeller Center.
Along the Graybeard Trail 