On the way to town, I often talk to God while driving. Yesterday I asked God to open my eyes and my heart and show me a miracle.
I am surrounded by miracles every day, but I know I probably miss 90% of them. Thinking along that line, I asked the Lord to show me one.
I waved to my friend at the café in the library where we planned to have lunch together, but first, I returned my library books. When I reentered the café, not twenty feet away, stood a man I admired, but he was not in a black wheelchair. My mouth dropped open. Both of his legs had been amputated, but there he was, standing tall. I made a bee-line for him.
All I could say was, “Jerry, I am Pat Durmon. You are not in your wheelchair!” He responded, “Oh, I know who you are! Look at me. I’m standing!” I cried as I stood there listening to his story about one leg being amputated, then the other, then cancer. He said, “I thought I was going to die. But look, I am a miracle!” I was in the middle of the café, crying and smiling with my hand resting over my heart. I’m just wired that way: tears and joy go off at the same time! After a few minutes, I left him and walked over to my friend who was waiting patiently.
But can you believe it?! I saw a miracle fifteen minutes after I had asked for one!
I said my apologies to my friend who’d waited. We ate and then found a quiet nook in the library to talk about poetry, computer issues, family. It’s just what we do when we get together.
Her husband has Parkinson’s. She lives with a man with a hard-to-diagnose disease. It spills over and affects her life, too. For treatment, he became a boxer, and she, his corner person. Hard to take in. Three days a week, this bright and talented woman is a corner person for her husband who is working out in a boxing ring. This was not her plan for her life. Nor was it his.
My friend is a capable poet, can create magic with a sewing machine, and is probably the kindest person on the planet. Her goal? To help her husband slow down the progression of Parkinson’s. Then she said the word. “It’s a miracle that Rock Steady Boxing is in Mountain Home, Arkansas.” She recalled, “All the fighters stood taller after two weeks, and the corner people shared a camaraderie needed. We immediately understood each other.” After six months of boxing, her husband had improved on balance, voice, energy, purpose. A miracle, indeed.
As if that were not enough to keep me floating on clouds, my son, who’d decided he and I had a values conflict months ago, called and talked for an hour. He closed by saying, “I love you.”
Three miracles in one day. What a generous God.
Photo by Alec Phillips, grandson of Joe and Diane Stefan, in Mountain Home, Arkansas, September 2016.