The ice cream truck that came down our street dutifully every summer was magical. What a saint, that ice cream man, for thinking of the hot, sweaty children that could really use a special ice cream treat that day. He always had mine and my brother's favorite ice cream pop in stock. He never failed us, and we always seemed to be able to scrimp and save enough change for when he came. What a saint, that ice cream man was.
The garbage truck was a thrill as it came early every Monday morning. The sound of the truck beginning its course on the opposite side of the street meant the garbage truck was only 10 mins away from being right in front of our house, lifting our own garbage can! The thought of someone being inside the truck, operating and controlling the truck was absurd. How could a human know exactly how to line up with every garbage can without ever missing it? Pffft.
The moon was magical. It was my moon because at night time, I could peer up through my window and it was always there, seemingly in the same place every night. I knew I was the only one who was looking at the moon during that same moment. The moon and I had a special bond. I knew that moon like I knew the back of my own hand.
The dark green mountains that loomed miles beyond my house but were always in sight from my house were the gateway to my future husband. I knew that behind those mountains, my future spouse was living in a perfect little town (that oddly resembled Park City, UT). I knew my future husband could feel that I was just on the other side of those mountains he lived behind, and that I could feel it too.
Every TV commercial that I watched was perfect. The timing, the products, and the jingle were always perfect. How nice it was for commercials to come on to show us new things that we didn't know about before! How comforting they were, knowing in just a few minutes my favorite show would be back on.
My house. Oh my wonderful, perfect home. The teal carpet was perfect because my dad's favorite color was teal. What great odds! The wooden shelves that were built into the wall in the unfinished basement provided a place for me and my brother to create libraries, ladders, miniature houses for Ben and Misty, and even sleeping spaces. The framed area just beyond the stair landing was perfect, because the huge extra rolls of fuzzy teal carpet laid up against the wall, forming an automatic slide. How lucky we were to have an indoor slide!
My family was magical. I was supposed to be the oldest, with three younger siblings. It was perfect that there were two boys and two girls. It was magical to me that I was the only child (blessed?) with red hair, because having red hair was unique, special, and rare. That's how I was supposed to be -- unique, special, and rare.
My first kiss was magical. At age three, with my cute downstairs 3 yr old friend named Jordan, with the sweetest and purest intentions -- was perfect. It made for a cute story for when I was older, and of course my mother captured it on film. That's how my first kiss was supposed to be.
My name was magical. Malae was supposed to be my name, and I was unique because of it. I also was supposed to have an unique last name, Sales. Of course, both names were always slaughtered when pronunciation was attempted by others, but I didn't mind because that was the way it was supposed to be.
The church I belonged to was magical. It felt perfect, it always felt right. My parents were both members and I could plainly see the blessings our family received from being active members. The ordinances didn't cross me as weird or wrong. I knew the church was the only true church because I felt it, and didn't really need to examine it. I felt love from God. It was perfect. I was born into the church cause that's the way it was supposed to be.
As a child, my world was magical.
I don't consider knowledge to be a bad thing. It's natural to have a yearning and craving to learn more about the things around us. But let's be honest, remembering the times when not knowing how or why things are the way they are is refreshing. Being innocent and naive gives everything a magical touch.
The thought of advertising agencies orchestrating every detail of every commercial that I watched as a child never really crossed my mind. If it did, well, commercials wouldn't be so magical. I took an advertising class a few semesters ago and learned everything there is to know about advertising. I fell in love with the creative thrill and effort exerted for every advertisement produced. That became magical enough for me. Knowing that advertising is mainly powered by the will and desire for money.....wasn't as magical.
Every detail of my home was perfect to me as a child. I never considered the time and planning it took to create my home. I never considered what my parents wanted, but couldn't afford, or maybe had their heart set on a different plot of land, but lost it. Maybe they wanted to live in a different city, but couldn't. They didn't have complete control over their choices, and it may have not been perfect for them. But it was perfect for me. It was perfect that we lived in a south facing house so that we could have lots of snow in our backyard to build forts with every winter. And maybe my parents planned it that way. :)
However, as much fun as magical living can be, there is one thing I know for sure that I am more grateful to have knowledge of, rather than just feeling it was right. I remember when I first felt pure knowledge of that fact that I knew the church that I belonged to was true, instead of feeling that it was true.
A trip to the Sacred Grove and the Kirtland temple when I was a teenager left me in such awe and amazement, because I KNEW the sacred, sacred events that occurred in those places were in fact TRUE, and if those were true, then the church must be true.
My feeling-based thoughts about the validity of the church were not diminished, but strengthened. They strengthened me to my core. My soul was on fire and I knew the church was true without a flicker of a doubt.
Knowledge about the truthfulness has only expanded. I know that God exists, not only because I can feel it, but because I KNOW. I know that it wasn't a science accident that brought us into existence. It's a miracle that we are created the way we are -- we can reproduce, heal ourselves, feel emotions, and have adapted to our surroundings for our survival. We are built with minds that can think for ourselves, because a loving God would give us such rites so that we are able to have our own agency and find out things for ourselves. A loving God created such a breathtaking world for our pleasure. A world that is placed a perfect distance from the sun. A perfect world that provides it own natural resources for our survival.
It is not chance. It is not science. Everything we have is from God, and I know that for myself.