I don’t post the title up there like it’s supposed to be “thank goodness for small miracles.” I actually do believe there are small, miraculous things around us all every day. My own little version of “stop and smell the roses,” I suppose, though a bit more spiritual in its virtue. I am not trying to tell you to believe in God, Yahweh, Vishnu, Odin, or the giant turtle your flat discworld floats on, either. The reality is that miraculous things, either by grace or other people, are happening.
I take solace in those little things.
Just a year ago my son, Noah, was suspended for his behavior at school. Most of it was his fault, but I can say with a decent amount of certainty that much of it wasn’t, too. Sure, he’s a kid who doesn’t fit the norm. He looks at the world through his own skewed view. He doesn’t necessarily want to be the center of attention, just the center of your attention. He’d rather work at something than play something much of the time.
But he still, as of the beginning of this school year, had not come to terms with losing his Mom. In March of 2011 my wife, Andrea, passed away and it made things very hard for all four of my kids and myself.
But I’m proud of his progress. Where a year ago he’d jump out of the car and jet off like he’s being dragged to the yard in Shawshank, he now stops, turns around and waves good-bye. Every morning.
Sam, who was always Andrea’s shadow, used to cling. He always wanted to make sure where we were and if anyone lagged behind on a walk or what have you he would freak out. He hated being alone, didn’t want to lose anyone. Now, however, he does the school play by himself, does video games, and doesn’t look to make sure I’m there any more. He still checks, but the days where he would come to the corner every 10 minutes saying “hey Dad? Love you!” (Although I do kind of miss that!)
Abbi is stabilizing. Prom, high-school, social interaction aside, she’s slowly coming to terms with going to college soon. She even came out this evening in her cap and gown that just arrived singing the whole graduation song.
Hannah just loves her guitar and, like her Dad, I think it’s her sanctuary.
These may seem little things to you, but to me they’re small miracles. Every step forward is positive yardage on the road we travel. Yes, each step takes us a bit farther away from Andrea, at least to a degree, but for the most part her legacy rides with us.
My point is that when I say we take our own small adventures, looking forward, trying to get to the end of the day by enjoying the great things and sloughing off the bad…those are miraculous times. When so much was so hard for so long . . .
There can be miracles.