I have a magician in my church. Her name is Carolyn Baumgartner. She can make a handkerchief disappear and then reappear again. I’ve seen it.
She can also make some books disappear as well. For their sixtieth wedding anniversary, instead of gifts of more stuff they don’t need, they asked for donations and bought a book for every student in the local elementary school.
When we had the Baumgartner-Book-Give-away, class after class came in, child after child watched her in awe, her wonders to perform. Then they went and got a book of their choice from one of the tables. When she goes with me to Compton to visit, some know her as The Book Lady, some The Handkerchief Lady, some Mrs. Baumgartner, and some don’t recognize her. (It is, after all, elementary school. How much did you pay attention?)
Across the Atlantic, our daughter, Cayla, in her own way, has been working hard to connect to people she meets in Morocco while being a soft-spoken agent of change. She doesn’t make handkerchiefs or anything else disappear, as far as I know. She does, however, slowly, as patient as a drip of water creates a canyon, win one heart after another. She always has. That’s her way.
In Morocco, the children they relate to the animals as they have been related to, rather roughly. They tend to walk them by pulling on a front leg. Unlike 
her preacher father, she does not lecture much. Cayla, in her mode of world conquest, has adopted two dogs. Their names are Tucker and Finn. She takes authority over her pets, does not let anyone do unto them in ways she wouldn’t do, and not only teaches others how to relate to animals but to one another.
As St. Francis of Assisi said, “Preach the gospel at all times, and if necessary, use words
