This morning I pushed back the covers, peeked at the clock and decided it would be all right to rest awhile longer. I pulled the blanket up to my chin, closed my eyes and whispered a prayer. Nothing out of the "ordinary" - just requests for the miraculous. Some of them so often repeated, I wonder if I've become a bit of an annoyance. But I believe despite the shadow of doubt that tries to push its way into my heart.
So it always goes. But this morning a tiny shaft of light sliced through the darkness, and I saw what had been there all along - the miracles:
My prayer, my unspoken words, heard by the God who bends down low and listens. The One who is indescribable in His greatness listens to me. With more voices than I can count mounting to heaven, He hears mine. Miracle, miracle.
I opened my eyes and saw rays of sunshine peaking around the edges of the blinds on the living room windows. The sun, making its routine appearance. Miracle, miracle.
I pressed my hand against my chest and felt the rhythmic beating of my heart. The same heart I had seen during an echocardiogram - marveling at what I have taken for granted for nearly seven decades. Miracle, miracle.
For three springs in a row I've watched a pair of cardinals skillfully weave a nest and raise a family. Miracle, miracle.
The world spins, the seasons change, the seas rise and fall. Seeds are buried beneath the earth far from the sunshine and rain. At just the right time, new life pushes its way up through the darkness. Miracle, miracle.
They abound around us. So we pray: when it seems futile, when doubts threaten to overwhelm faith. The God of miracles is with you. Sometimes, for me, the miracle is in the knowing that whether or not I'm given the specific miracle I requested, I will be given what is best. Miracle, miracle.
*from the book Remember Me by Mary Higgins Clark