Growing up, the phrase “It’s a miracle!” was either just another phrase about something happening the way it was wanted after so much trouble, or it was used out of sarcasm.
I went through phases with the word “miracle”.
It started out as just a word to explain the greatness of any outcome. I grew into understanding the word with previously mentioned added trouble that made the exclamation much more worth screaming. Then when my sarcastic sense of humor kicked in, I would use it when somebody finally got to a point I understood already… and it was probably used as a heated discussion was coming to an end.
I was opting out of religious beliefs in my teens and “miracles” to me then were limited to the idea of great moments of humanity that I thought we should be doing anyway.
In my darkest times in my early 20s, I started feeling like the power of the word “miracle” was fading. Even with my loss of being religious, I was throwing up things that were very similar feeling to prayers, hoping for something… anything… to bring me out of that period with minimal trauma.
I was understanding my environment was drastically changing and I had 2 options:
– Change me.
– Change the environment.
A little bit of both happened but while the environment changing was apparent, the changes of me weren’t so apparent especially from my own perspective.
See, my previous ideas of miracles were all the result of expectations finally, in one way or another, coming to fruition. They weren’t magic feeling… although after being so frustrated from slow-downs, obstacles, and detours, the relief felt magical by comparison.
These weren’t miracles.
Remember when I typed that miracles at one point in my life were “limited to the idea of great moments of humanity that I thought we should be doing anyway”?
Let me tell you about those great moments: They weren’t big. They weren’t grandiose. I didn’t even know what they were until later.
Every time a friend would listen to what I was going through and then decided to take me somewhere. Every time my cousins and I would do sing-along jams. Every time I was conversed with out in public about a similar appreciation. Every time my siblings and I created a new inside joke.
I was re-learning who I was one small, appreciated moment at a time.
At least I thought I was re-learning who I was. As I look back, in reality, I actually changed. I changed for the better. Most of me didn’t change but was enhanced with a better ratio of expectation to reality. Less expectation of the “perfect” outcome, but not gone as in my darker times.
The beauty of real miracles is also an interesting point where the greatest miracles as they are happening are overlooked as anything at all. It is in retrospect that we realize how great these small moments and things were actually a very big supporting piece of the bigger outcome.
It’s the hope that something quick, sudden, can take away the pain of a situation. With such traumatic events that happen in our lives’, there is no quick fix. There is no “miracle cure” that can light the darkness with a flick of the switch.
But with a little faith and an open heart, you can let the small things and moments that have you smiling, even for a blink of an eye of your day, in and collect them in your memory. It turns into a lesson of love, of how you love, and what love can do.
It can take a broken, chronically depressed guy like I was and drag him out of the dark. It can get him going to places he has always wanted to go. It can get him doing things he always wanted to do. It can get him to be an honest, unguarded version of himself. It can get him to apologize less. It can get him to be more appreciative. It can get him to try to spread love in a way he hasn’t tried since his naive teenage years only this time, he now knows the power of it.
It can change a man and he won’t even realize it until later.
I was a witness to my own miracle and didn’t even see it coming.