Mood Rings and Magic

My daughter has been begging for a mood ring. An introvert caught between a social director of an older sister and a baby brother/class clown beloved by all, she holds space sixteen months apart from the other family introvert. They huddle together like two sensitive little peas in the middle of the pod of four. 

She’s highly perceptive. She takes in so much about her surroundings, is an empath consistently tuned in to the needs of those around her. She feels deeply and she believes deeply. She’s always struggled to communicate her emotions, finding it difficult to articulate what’s going on in that beautifully complex heart of hers. Some days she’s prickly and reminds me of a cat. The more you want her to love you the more she makes you work for it and I kind of love that about her. Every day she is tender-hearted and quick to defend the underdog. She frequently defers to others, doing her best to keep the peace which is a pretty monumental task around here.

Simply put, the girl is magic. 

So, she wanted a mood ring. Had her heart set on the glory that would come when she didn’t have to verbalize her mood, but could simply flash a ring, and the people around her would just know

She had it all planned out, already counting on the convenience, the time saved, the anxiety relieved from having the magical ability to just show a ring instead of having to grapple with her feelings and express them to the people around her. She was counting on the power of the mood ring, so when she got not one, but five, shiny new rings in her boot for St. Nicholas day, she was thrilled. 

She tried them on, reveled in the truth that it was blue proving that she was happy! She looked up all of the colors’ meanings, working hard to decipher the intricacies of the ring and plumb the depths it would reveal.

And then her helpful older sister told her how mood rings work. 

The spell was broken. She was crushed. She was angry and annoyed, but didn’t let it ruin her day. However the disappointment was still there, simmering under the surface, lying in wait until the tenderness of bedtime broke the dam. 

Gracious, it’s hard to be 8. It’s hard to believe in magic when the world is out to prove you wrong. It’s harsh and humiliating to have believed and to have the rug ripped right out from under you, to have put all your eggs in a basket of hope only to have them dashed by reality. 

First mood rings go and then fairies. Before you know it, it’s Santa Claus and humanity as a whole. 

We’ve been studying the catechism together, this sweetheart girl and I. We go over the questions and ponder the mysteries of our faith on the most fundamental levels.

As I work to teach her about our faith, I can’t help but see all the ways we humans long for easy. We’ve evolved to look for ways to expedite, to simplify, to cut corners, to avoid the work. But what we can do for assembly lines and long distance dissemination of information, we can’t do with our hearts. There’s no escape from the messiness of the human condition, no magic ring to make it easier to be a human being with a broken heart living in a broken world. Sometimes we just have to do the work. 

But still we cling to the hope that there’ll be a quick fix. And the world is only too happy to offer any number of potential solutions for us. And just like gullible children, we believe the promises the world offers every single time. We buy the magic pill because it’s so alluring. It seems easier to cover our pain with a better body, with new shoes, with the right fill-in-the-blank. If we eat these Oreos or drink this cocktail, if we purchase this workout system, or watch the porn we’ll feel better quick and then things will be fine. It’s easier to patch our pain up with a bandaid than to do the hard work of actually finding healing. We’ll be comfortable without having to delve into the ick of our humanity. Easy peasy.



But God doesn’t want fine for us. He doesn’t want easy because he created us for more. And the mind boggling paradox is that while there’s no easy fix, there is magic. I don’t mean the cheap version of magic that the world tries to pass off in mood rings and quick fixes, or even the magic ball, cast-a-spell, witchy kind of magic that seems fun on the screen. I mean that deep kind of C.S. Lewis eternal magic that I believe pulses through the world: the magic of light and goodness and beauty and truth. Truth that outshines mood rings and empty promises. Truth that offers eternity. 

There is no simple way to be a human, but there’s magic to believe in if you want it, magic to hang your hopes on. Perhaps it’s not the glitzy magic the world promises but it’s magic nonetheless. It’s supernatural magic of the little when they’re chosen, of the Virgin when she delivers, of the baby come save us. It’s the bizarre ability to believe in a power that doesn’t operate on our timeline or within our understanding, but Who chooses to be Incarnate on our plane because


If you’ve been burned by the treasonous nature of mood rings and betrayed by belief, I’ll tell you what I told my girl:

You are too intricate a creation to be summed up by rings or jobs or things or even your own body.

You were created by Love, for love, to love.

You were created to be loved. You were.

You in all your messy, inconvenient, uncommunicative glory, you are worthy and good and lovely.

Remember who you are.

Remember Whose you are. 


After a good cry, and a pep talk, and a good night’s sleep, she slipped the mood ring on again. I can’t be certain, because I certainly have no power to decipher the mind of the 8 year old, but I’d venture a guess that she was able to see the truth that the magic doesn’t come from the ring or the emotional ease it offers, but from a deeper power within. The belief isn’t in the ring, but in the confidence that comes from knowing and trusting the one who made her, who gifted her with eyes to see his love for her and eyes to see the magic in the world, ring or no ring.

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