Missouri winters are strange. Since moving back from California, I am still adjusting to the great variations in temperature! On a recent February day, the sun was beaming bright and the air was hot against my skin. The daffodils had emerged from their long winter nap signaling to me that it was time to get in the garden and begin weeding the beds and clearing debris to support the welcomed arrival of Spring. Bucket in hand filled with the various tools I needed to tend to my land, I felt full of doubt.
I had just received a rather scathing critique of my first draft of a query letter; a letter you write to inspire a literary agent to read your work. My editor told me to completely rewrite it and I felt as if my wings had been clipped. Here was my chance to advocate for my work Tragic Magic, to “sell” my story and myself and I had failed.
As I judged myself, I thought how ridiculous it was that I somehow felt unworthy of my own story. Tragic Magic is my memoir; a vulnerable share of my tumultuous life and how I learned in time to heal by accessing divine love and guidance. Yet this morning it all felt out of reach somehow. I wanted more than anything to get my story out so people could ideally be inspired to begin to do the deep work to heal. Yet that morning it all felt so out of reach.
With my gloved hands, I began grabbing bunches of weeds at the root. As I gazed at the garden bed overwhelmed by weeds, I thought to myself it was a perfect metaphor for how I was feeling. Weeds of doubt had taken over my system. I began to pray, asking my divine helpers to help me shift. I continued to grab weeds at the root and then happened upon a stubborn bunch. Not being able to get to the roots I grabbed my shovel and began to dig. Immediately, I hit something hard.
Curious, I continued to dig deep, trying to dislodge whatever this was that felt like a rock. Then with one last dig of my shovel, the rock came loose. I could see faintly that there was something white underneath the dirt that covered the stone. As I wiped away the dirt with my hand, I could read on the rock’s face, “I AM MAGIC!” Spirit finds a way! I continued to gaze at the rock and felt my doubt melt away. My story is full of moments similar to this. How sincere prayer, when held in the heart, can create the miraculous. We are all magic. We just need to remember the truth of who we are.
