Opinion with Michael Coren The world recently became a bigger, more gorgeous and much more exciting place. Because in July, our granddaughter was born. As I say, the world became a bigger, more gorgeous and much more exciting place. At a time so cruelly volatile and dangerous, and in a culture increasingly unforgiving and judgmental, a small example of purity and hope has joined humanity. Why, some people ask, would your daughter decide to have a child now, at a time as grim as this? Those people, if only they knew it, are part of the very problem, because the antidote to despair is optimism and nothing gives us more optimism than new, pristine life. The mother of the child is our daughter Lucy, the second of our four children. Back in 2018, she got married and I wrote her a letter for her wedding, to be read on the special day. Among other things, I recalled in the letter how, when she was four years old, I took Lucy to see The Nutcracker at Christmas in Toronto. There she was in her party dress, all smiles and anticipation, sitting on her booster seat and leaning in as if magnetized to the ballet, its music and its glory. Then the music ended, the audience applauded and we left. At which point she began to cry. The tears bisected her miniature cheeks, and she was nothing but weeping and sorrow, and it was as if my life were collapsing before me. Why Lucy, why? She had seemed so exquisitely happy. “Because,” she said, in between gulps for air, “because it’s stopped and it’s finished” – more agonizing gulps – “and I don’t want the magic to be over. I don’t want the magic to end.” Now it was my turn to feel tearful. But I managed to hide my tears and reply: “Darling, I promise you, I promise you with all that I have, the magic will never end.” What a promise that was, what a grand and great commitment that surely couldn’t be fulfilled. How dare I say such a thing? But it’s what parents do. As I’ve aged, seen our wonderful children mature and seen them become adults themselves and take their places as good, kind and productive members of society, I’m convinced that the magic, while perhaps not of music and dancing and fantasy, is as strong as ever. Because that magic is love. Call me naïve and foolish if you like, but I speak of an authentic, all-consuming love that binds us together, enabling us to put others first and to turn dreams into reality, and aspirations into achievements. Love may be a term that is overused, misunderstood, even exploited, but that doesn’t change its true, sparkling nature. For me as an Anglican priest, it informs – it must inform – all that I do and all that I am. When I was ordained, I took an oath “to serve all people, particularly the poor, the weak, the sick, and the lonely.” That calling is a joy and a privilege, but I can’t pretend that it’s always easy; at times, it’s frustrating and even dangerous. It’s love that sustains me. In my case, the love of Jesus Christ who taught that his followers should be known to the world by this very quality. God in heaven, if only that were always the case! But it’s also love as a father and grandfather. A love that delights in every word, every step, every smile that my children and now my grandchildren took and take. A love that makes me a better, brighter person. The immaculate symbiosis of love, shared and joined and relished. Because of that love, I will hold my granddaughter in my arms and whisper in her ear some of the things that I said to her mum so many years ago and make no apologies for doing so. “My darling granddaughter. I’m 66 years old now and I will only be here for a part of your life, but my love will be with you forever. I know that your life will be extraordinary because your parents will be your guides and guards. Please know that this foolish, flawed, inadequate man can promise you that you are loved by so many people, so deeply, so completely, and that because of that love the magic will never end. I give you my word my darling, whatever else happens, the magic will never end.” CSANews | FALL 2025 | 15
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