It is a little excessively exuberant to include my 7 year old’s first ever taste of vegetable soup on the list of miracles, so instead I will call it the miracle of the human being unfolding, the soul being revealed and maturing, of the incredible way we grow into ourselves. Perhaps that is the same work humanity is busy with in these tumultuous days…
The miracle of fighting for what is right. Every day, the world is filled with people working for justice and peace and the earth. I know what happened in Paris would not have been possible without the activists from every part of the world rising up together. I know that my work is to stay connected to hope through my hands and heart and doing.
The miracle of connection and the transmission of insight. Be it with my parents around the Sunday dinner table, wayfaring strangers invited in to our home (and who immortalized us on instagram here), a circle of women lighting candles in the darkness, or a phone call with a mentor, I find my way to myself through these relationships.
The miracle of songs that bring light and beauty into the heart’s chamber. My husband making a song from a poem, children singing in a Santa Lucia processional, these freely given Advent songs that bring fresh life into old melodies and truths.
The miracle of the quiet day. Like the snowday this week when the house was swept, the children busy playing with old ornaments, and I realized there was nothing more to do but sit down and spend the next three hours writing a handful of cards to people I love. No pressure, no rush, no distraction. Oh sweet quiet.
At least twice this week I’ve missed a walk, but at the end of the snowstorm, I covered the ridge with boot prints. And that was miracle enough for me.
Warmth and Light Be Yours!