State fairs and magic

It’s no secret that I live in Iowa. Or, perhaps it is, since I often call this area “my little swath of the Midwest” on this blog and in other place. But yes, I live in a state where there are more vowels than consonants. I happen to live in the capital city of Des Moines, even though I work and go to church in one of the suburbs of Central Iowa.

Any who, I digress.

Iowa is known for a few things, like corn, pigs, being part of flyover country, and being the land of friendly people. It is also home to one of the larger and crazier of state fairs, which just closed this past weekend and broke record attendances. And the tiny church that I attend in that suburb of Des Moines goes a bit crazy for the fair, with a state fair hymn sing on a Sunday morning and after church fellowship with food on a stick. The sculptor of the famous butter cow used to be a member and still is a friend to several. A handful of members enter things into the state fair, ranging from art projects and photographs to antiques and collectibles. And the pastor is kind of a state fair fanatic who is known for spending his birthday (which falls often during the fair) at the fairgrounds, consuming copious amounts of fair food and posting about it to his friends and family. And while I am not a fan of the state fair (as it’s often too hot, too expensive, and too crowded for my liking to attend), I still enjoy hearing about others who have their own adventures there.

There are a great many lessons that can be learned from the fair. The fair gives the notion that anything can be possible and any challenge can be fulfilled if one just steps out in faith and hopes. While many enter things into the various categories hoping and having faith that they might win, not every entry will be rewarded that coveted blue ribbon. Not every goal will be met, despite the best of intentions. Not every day will be great, even if there is good. Not everything will have a happy ending, though there might be happy moments. But at the end of the day, adventure was had, magic was made, and that story keeps on being written.

This past Sunday, after the hymns were sung but before the food on a stick was consumed, a story was told. Jacob, also known as Israel in the book of Genesis, had finally passed away, having seen his favorite son Joseph not only come back to life (though he was never dead to begin with) but also as second in command in a foreign land. But as their father passes, the other sons of Jacob begin to worry about what will become of them. After all, they were the ones who sold Joseph into slavery to begin with. They did him wrong. But Joseph offers forgiveness. He offers them another chance, saying to them that what they intended for harm, God used for good instead. Joseph could have done harm in return, but instead he takes the adventure he has had and uses it to do good. His story becomes one of magic, of hope, of love, of forgiveness.

But there are layers there.

I often have wondered about this entire story of Jacob and Joseph. I wondered what the brothers had to tell Jacob when they came back from Egypt knowing their brother was alive. They were excited to tell Jacob that Joseph was second-in-command, but did they hesitate to tell their father that they lied about him being killed in the first place? They were overjoyed that Joseph forgave them and accepted their apology, but how could they look their father in the eye and tell Jacob they sold Joseph into slavery to begin with because they were jealous of him? What words had to have been spoken then? And even though Joseph was able to forgive them, having seen the good that came of his struggles and his story, I wonder how Jacob felt about the scenario when he finally learned the truth. Or perhaps…. just perhaps he saw the good in the story that was written just as Joseph did. Perhaps he say the joy in the moment, the love that exuded because of that forgiveness, the hope for his own family’s future, the peace that came from knowing, and the faith that his favorite son continued to hold on to.

That kind of magic is contagious. It’s the kind of magic that steps out, even when the world tells it that it is illogical to do so. It’s the kind of magic that keeps people entering the fair every year with everything from antiques to farm animals, hoping for a chance at that ribbon or even for a chance to place. It’s that kind of magic that means marching to the beat of your own drum even when the world wants you to toe the line and tell only the story it wants you to. It’s that faith that is not certain and still doubting yet continuing to move along all the same. It’s knowing that there is good even in the darkest of moments, peace when the din is the loudest, hope when all seems lost, and love that shines brightly even when nothing seems to be good.

State fairs, faith, and magic all seem to bring out the good in people.

Stay magical, friends.

Write your own story.

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