My Road—Never Ignore a Miracle

This is fast becoming my mantra in a life full to bursting with good, bad, and confusing realities. It’s not that I typically go around ignoring the dead rising from their graves, fruit ripening from winter dead trees, pshaw the sudden ability to speak Portuguese and read Sanskrit or shrug my shoulders as the sun and stars whirl through the sky. Never seen such amazing sights. Not sure what I’d do if I did. Probably figure I was suffering from heatstroke.

No, my miracles are more mundane but no less powerful in the great scheme of things.

Last week, my eldest daughter finished work and planned to head home when she discovered that her car wasn’t in the mood to start. Not being trained in the art of car-fixery, she looked up its choking sounds on Google and concluded that there was something wrong with the battery. How to manage on a late Friday night in the big city momentarily flummoxed her. But who should drive by at that moment? A mechanic, who had been diverted from his usual path, saw her car hood up and asked if she needed help. Before long, he was peering into auto innards, diagnosed the issue, and proceeded to use a handy wrench—which he naturally carried around in his toolkit—and soothed the car’s irritated disposition. Problem solved; he went on his way, probably a happier man. My daughter drove home, certainly more at peace with the world than she had been an hour before.

Three years ago, I happened to stop by the library to check out a book, and in walked an elderly man with a wriggling puppy in his arms. Apparently, a friend of the library had given him the pet, but as he complained to the librarian, he was too old to manage the little creature, and he wanted to give it back. Unfortunately, as far as the librarian was concerned, it had been a sealed deal and there was no backsies. But one look at the pup, and I was smitten. It was near enough to holidays that I could pass the puppy off as a present to the kids, though I knew all along, she was a gift to me from God. To this day, that bundle of joy in doggy form has been a faithful companion. She sleeps nearby as I work and leaps to her feet the moment I rise, to check out the next adventure in our shared lives.

It’s late August now, and deep green leaves on the trees, bushes, and farm fields hint at never-ending seasonal changes. Yellow highlights conjure colors yet to come. Heat and humidity will soon give way to cool nights, and clear skies will become cluttered with dark clouds. The relief from cold showers will be replaced with the pleasures of warm heaters. Each season is a glory unto itself, but the miracle is in the constant variety within consistent cycles.

On my second son’s birthday, two of my girls gave him original paintings, works of beauty as well as mementos of shared memories. Gifts of love, their skills, and efforts created not sentimental memes but a fresh joy that will last as long as their eyes can see.

Whether it’s the unexpected arrival of just the right person at just the right time, the companionship of a critter who can never speak with human tongue but shares the joys of life in no uncertain terms, the glory of natural beauty, the painstaking efforts of sisters for a brother’s birthday, miracles must not be ignored.

To refuse a miracle is to refuse happiness. For in this world, it is the hope to see, the faith to believe, and our ability to love, which are the greatest miracles of all.