The magic secret is simple . . . it’s hard work and lots of love

Connor

wanted to be a magician when he was little.

Eventually, he became a computer games designer.

Now he has a new game out and he is loving the online comments from people who are enjoying his digital adventure, loving the characters, and actually missing the land he created when they aren’t playing in it. “They have no idea the work that went into it,” he told me.

Raymond and his wife adopted a boy from a troubled background.

That unhappy history occasionally shows in the sevenyear-old’s behaviour. Raymond was in sole charge when I saw them, and his son was acting up. I watched as he tried discussion and gentle persuasion, tinged with frustration. Eventually, he put his arms gently, around the lad and hugged him until the hug was, lovingly, returned. And peace reigned once more. “You look exhausted,” I said, shortly afterwards. “That hug was all I had left,” he sighed, and then he smiled.

Surely, in times when all our other resources have proven worthless, we, each of us, will have a hug left. And so often the last thing we have left is the only thing we need. Like, when we take a medicine we can’t comprehend the research that went into it. Like when we look back on a happy childhood, we have no idea how hard our parents worked to make it so.

“And maybe that’s fair enough,” Connor added.

“Maybe that’s what creates the magic – sheer hard work on behalf of others.”

Looks like Connor got to be a magician after all!

The little lady in front of me looked quite distraught as she asked: “Where are you taking the princess?”.

I knelt down, in the midst of the Spring Fair so I was on a level with the big, boxed doll and its three-year-old protector.

“I bought it for a little girl who is feeling poorly,” I explained. “I’m hoping the princess will look after her.”

She bit her lip and looked wistfully at the doll. Then, after a moment’s thought, she nodded and said: “That’s good. She will.”

Well… I couldn’t just leave. So, I sought out her mother and bought a different toy for my new young friend.

And I left the fair, satisfied that no princesses of my immediate acquaintance were being left uncared for that day.

“You would think,” Bobby said. “That working with the public all the time would harden you, make you a little cynical, perhaps.”

Then he told me how he had been to a holiday park at Easter and the place was full to bursting. In among all of that, his wife lost her phone. It had some cash tucked into the cover, but it also carried lots of family photos, cherished memories.

“I don’t suppose we’ll see it again,” he said to a park attendant.

“I’m guessing you will,” the attendant replied.

“I’ve worked with the public a long time. There are some bad ones, but it’s my experience the public are overwhelmingly good folk.”

And guess what was waiting for them at park reception – the phone. And the cash. People. If we give them the chance, they almost always rise to the occasion.

May you feel on your face, The soft, gentle breeze, Capture the sound,

Of the wind in the trees; Relax, close your eyes, Hear the small rippling stream, Be at peace with yourself, And follow your dream.