"The world is full of magic things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper." — W.B. Yeats

I have come to fully believe in the magic of life. I thought that I always had, often the ethereal friend toting a pack of tarot cards in my bag on a weekend away. But it was my son Jonah who truly opened my heart to all that it means to truly believe. Two years ago, just before his second birthday we celebrated his second Christmas. My entire family was visiting from around the country and therefore present as Jonah and I crouched by the fireplace setting out cookies and milk for Santa Claus and carrots for the eight, flying reindeer. In a video we have from that Christmas, I can hear myself laughing nervously as I explained to Jonah about how Santa would be entering our home through our chimney and why that was ok. I remember catching my sister’s eye in that moment as she took this all in skeptically. At that time she hadn’t yet become a mother and later that night she teased me, questioning me about how I felt lying to my son for the first time. My sister is one of my dearest friends and I respect her immensely and so I could take her comments lightly and tease her back about, “just you wait until you have children.”

As Jonah’s second year unfolded, his inner world began to open exponentially. He frequently approached me or my husband, stuffed animal in his grasp, saying adamantly, “I want he to talk!” And so my husband and I mastered a wide array of animal voices. According to my husband, all of my voices sounded exactly the same — high pitched an squeaky. He had become more skilled than I, demonstrating a wider body of characterizations but Jonah was perfectly content with either of us as long as his animals were coming to life, making his world that much richer. Any difficulty convincing Jonah that it was time to go upstairs for his bath was easily put to rest when he heard that Panda had already started climbing the stairs and he was not alone. Beside him climbed Giraffe and Hippo and Elephant too. Later, the stairs transformed into Mt. Kilimanjaro. Two toy airplanes became brothers flying across the globe. I couldn’t help but notice that big brother airplane came to life just as Jonah was becoming accustomed to his new role as an older sibling. We traveled across the deserts of Africa, to Alaska, Maine and Aruba. When we weren’t flying to Aruba, we were taking our toy box turned motorboat there – that is unless we were taking that same boat to Mama’s favorite place – Coffee. Jonah discovered Coffee himself. I wonder how he knew?

In these cases, Jonah was often leading our journeys but then about midway through his second year we began telling him stories during dinner and baths. He liked it best when he was the main character or the main character was thinly veiled as an animal or vegetable that closely mirrored him. I watched in amazement one evening as I told him a story about a little boy who was able to become strong enough to do a pull-up at the park with his Daddy because he began eating his vegetables. Jonah gobbled up his spinach pizza eagerly as I shared this story. Later he would request that I retell this story when spinach pizza was on the menu again.

Through storytelling we’ve explored issues such as going to bed peacefully, treating other family members with love and exploring the excitement of adventure and learning. It has been such a surprise and gift to discover that I may be welcomed into Jonah’s psyche so readily simply by communicating in a way and to a place where I can be heard. It is so tempting as a mother to assume that our children are little adults, mirroring our inner thought process and therefore attempt to tell them how to be with a lecture or wordy explanation. I am still “guilty” of this at times but overwhelmingly I have discovered how wrong that assumption would be. I am so grateful for this realization and only wish that I had come to it sooner. I am not a psychologist and nor have I conducted any research, but I have observed my children closely and I am certain that my sons are more connected to the “other side” than we adults are. Through stories, through their imaginations and through an attention to the magic that surrounds us in our every day world, I work to preserve that other-worldly connection in them for just as long as I possibly can.

In recognizing the depth of their inner world, I have come to experience a renewed feeling of magic all of my own. I remember rocking my littler son Adrian in the night, after a long period of illness, and being enamored by the faint sound of bells ringing. At first I tried to figure out where the sound was coming from, but I couldn’t. I imagined that I was having auditory hallucinations from lack of sleep. After a few nights I decided to just enjoy this very slight — yet beautiful — music. I imagined that the love that I felt for Adrian, the love that kept me at his side for so many long nights, had offered me an opening to another, higher plane, where I entered and was refueled with images of Angels keeping watch over us in the dark of night. It wasn’t long after this experience that I was given an actual white, sparkly, decorative angel with a little battery-operated light inside of her — lighting up her heart. I found this not to be a coincidence at all. Never before in my life had I been particularly drawn to angels. I was then and I am now.

It was wintertime again and my what a difference a year makes in how we perceive the world. As Christmas approached again, and Jonah approached three years old, together we discussed Santa in great detail with much excitement and anticipation. My heart, like the angel’s, was filled with light and I was fully engaged in the inner world of my magical little boy. I had no qualms about sharing in the mystery of the season and knowing full well that the stories I was telling him were true. They were true to me. They came alive with my belief. They came alive with the love with which I told them. They came alive in the heart of my son.

The glowing angel became a favorite fixture in our home and graced our dining room table for weeks after the holidays, surrounded by an earthy wreath peppered with berries. She looked beautiful sitting there. I loved her and so did both Jonah and even our little baby Adrian who accidentally bit off her wax nose one day in a moment of excited expression. When he later accidentally pulled off one of her wings, I gasped in disappointment. Jonah saw my reaction and his little eyes also filled with tears. I worked to fix her wing with glue but I was unsuccessful. I knew what she had come to represent for our family. She stood for our connection to a higher place. She stood for our sense of wonder. She stood for our being watched over and loved. And so I went online and made my first purchase from QVC. I rushed my order and spent a pretty penny to replace our dear angel as quickly as possible.

To my surprise when I opened the box from QVC there appeared not one, not two, but three lighted angels! In my haste, I hadn’t realized that my purchase was for a set of three angels. I saw this as a sign of the abundant number of angels who are constantly looking over us. I chose one and placed her in the center of our table, encircled by her wreath of red berries. When Jonah saw her, he said, “you fixed our angel!” I explained to him that I had not been able to fix her wing so her sister had come to take her place and look over our family while she was away healing her wing. Jonah was completely content with this explanation, happy to have an angel back looking over us again. I was comfortable with this story too. I knew that it was true.