Everyday Miracles

We've likely all experienced what we call a "miracle" in our lives. Someone recovers from a grave illness, the job we wanted comes through or the deadly storm safely passes over our house...all good reasons to celebrate and declare a "miracle" has occurred.

I experienced a miracle today.

My husband and I get up a little after 4am most mornings now. He gets ready and starts his commute by 4:30am. I get up, pack his lunch, give him a kiss and the cat and I start our morning meditation. This morning, I was still a little sleepy and accidentally spilled bright red liquid B12 syrup on his clean beige shirt...less than five minutes before he was to leave for work. 

Oh. My. God.

He's not a "morning" person. He hates to be late for anything, much less his job. He's timed his daily routine so each second is orchestrated to allow maximum sleep and minimal time to get ready before he heads for the car.

And I just screwed up his process. To make matters worse, the only clean shirts were downstairs in the laundry room. I prepared for the well deserved retribution in response to my crime. I certainly would have been upset if the situation was reversed.

That's not what happened. As he saw his stained shirt and heard me gasp, "OMG! I'm so sorry!" he calmed replied, "That's OK."

That's OK???

My husband is a loving man but, again, he's not a morning person and in the past this would have been a HUGE deal for both of us. Guilt, blame, resentment and fear would have all been part of the scene and it would have come from both sides. But not now.

This was my miracle today and it came in two parts.

First, my husband chose not to succumb to the fear of being late. He chose to react in a loving way. My go-to spiritual source, A Course in Miracles says, "Miracles occur naturally as an expression of love." That's what I experienced this morning. An expression of love. 

The second part of my miracle was that I recognized it. I recognized we both have grown and aren't triggered by the same experiences that would have trapped us in a needless spat just a few years ago. My perspective has shifted deeper into love and so has his. Now that's a miracle. An everyday miracle.

While I'd still love to win big bucks with a lottery ticket, I'm not focusing on those types of "miracles" anymore. I'll take an everyday miracle anytime.

My Seven Days of Silence

I’ve signed up for meditation classes where I spent significant time in silence. I’ve attended retreats where silence was a part of the program. I planned for these times, understood the purpose and made sure my family knew the schedule. I made sure everything was neat, tidy and effective.

I’m finishing up a seven day period that has been anything but planned, neat or tidy. Has it been effective? 

Try mind blowing. Life changing. I’ve experienced pain, healing and an honest to God epiphany. Yeah, I’d say it’s been effective.

Early last week I returned from a trip to Toronto with what I thought was severe laryngitis and flu like symptoms. I was diagnosed with a particularly nasty “bug” that sometimes effects travelers and was given heavy duty antibiotics with steroids. And ordered to be on “total voice rest” for seven days. SEVEN DAYS WITHOUT TALKING. This seemed impossible but since I could barely speak anyway and was in such pain, I agreed. I had to teach in 12 days and couldn’t have my voice compromised long term.

I believe physical symptoms are a result of internal issues and I tried to go to work figuring out my psyche. I was too ill. I decided to surrender to the experience and asked for guidance. I got it.

The first few days I was weak and stayed mostly in bed or on the couch. I began to notice a few things. Because I couldn’t speak, people stopped talking to me. I could text and had a small wipe off board to communicate with my husband, but he even stopped talking to me besides an occasional, “How do you feel? Need anything?” By the afternoon of day three, he took me for a ride to get out of the house and we went to a couple stores and to dinner. I had a note from my doctor that stated “total voice rest” that I’d show to store clerks or people we saw. To a person, when they realized I couldn’t speak they stopped talking to me. They’d gesture the way I had to or simply nod. What was THAT about?

My daughter tried a video chat with my beloved 15-month-old grandson but he was confused and uninterested when his GiGi couldn’t speak. He’s used to my voice and didn’t seem to connect to my image on the screen without sound. I missed talking with my kids and my cat was downright traumatized. Evidently, I usually talk A LOT.

My dear sister did her best to cheer me up with a visit on day four. We’d both been on trips and as she did her best to talk to me, it was obvious our normal communication style was severely altered. Bless her heart, she stayed for several hours as she told me about her trip and tried to interpret my gestures and the short hand notes I wrote on my board. We laughed, and I felt better.

The magic of the experience came as a result of looking at the events that had transpired in Toronto and keeping a small journal of my thoughts and feelings during the seven days. I did understand the emotional reason for my illness but didn’t yet realize the gifts that were in store.

As a result of not speaking, I felt terribly isolated and alone. I felt like no one understood or was “listening” to me. I felt like a burden to my husband, although he never did anything to insinuate that. It was all in my head.

I realized something. While this experience was only seven days for me, millions of people live with the feelings of isolation and loneliness every day, sometimes their entire lives. 

That realization was a physical blow to my heart. I felt it. Who could live this way? I saw the image of someone I know who recently took their own life. For a split second, I felt the agonizing pain of this person before the final event. Suddenly, in my mind’s eye I saw a cascade of pictures…elderly, refugees, prisoners, struggling parents, children in abusive situations, addicts, the terminally ill. The images went on and on. I couldn’t get them out of my head. 

I realized each of these haunted images were children of God, just like me and those I love. Suddenly they seemed more real. A part of me. Since I believe that we are all part of the energy of an intelligent Universe, of course they are each part of me. And part of you.

So what do we do? I asked that question and heard the answer very plainly, “Be love.” 

How does that work? Be the love you are. Live from your divine core. Start by being more kind and loving to yourself, your family and everyone and everything you encounter. Open your heart to hear divine guidance and you’ll always know what to do. Read about divine love, study it and talk to others about how to implement this in your own life. The divine intelligence within you knows exactly what to do. I was shown that by creating these “ripples of love” we can absolutely change our world.

Can these individual actions ease the pain of the people I saw? It’s a start.

I’m amazed by the changes and insights this quiet week has “gifted” to me. I know this level of understanding couldn’t have come about without the silence that allowed me to learn these vital “heart lessons.”

On day six of my seven days, this passage began my daily reading from Eileen Caddy’s “Opening Doors Within:”

“Every soul needs to withdraw from the world from time to time 

to find the peace which passes understanding.”

Perfect. Now to do my best to “be love.” Join me.

It's Gonna Be a Wet Christmas...

One recent Friday evening my husband and I went to the annual Christmas Parade on Main Street. It had been several years and I had forgotten how magical it was. 

We were huddled against the cold with hundreds of others in our small Virginia town as we watched elves dance down the street, enjoyed holiday classics performed by the high school marching band, saw decked out fire engines, smiled at the creative local business floats and laughed when we saw live goats dressed like reindeer.

I love living in a small town.

I began to reminisce about other times spent on this very street. In my mind’s eye, I saw my father, dressed in his best long black wool coat, walking down Main Street as he stopped to laugh and talk to everyone he knew during a Christmas parade long ago. It took a while…he knew everyone. My eyes started to tear up at the memory.

My husband looked at me and said, “You OK?” 

“Daddy,” I answered softly. 

“Oh,” he said. Since my dad’s death three years ago, he’d become accustomed to my “watery eyes” when I think of my dad.

As I looked down the street, I saw a grandmother helping her daughter juggle a toddler, bulky stroller, hot chocolate and an armful of packages and my eyes started to water again. I remembered the hundreds of times my mom had been with my kids and me for spring festivals, Halloween parades and our then weekly trips to church all on this very street. 

“Oh no,” my husband sighed as he glanced at me again.

But he misunderstood.

I wasn’t sad. 

I was overwhelmed with gratitude. 

Gratitude for the memories of growing up and raising my family in this precious little town. Thankful that my parents and siblings were active participants in the lives of my children. Grateful for the holidays spent together, in good times and bad, as an extended family. 

Waves of gratitude flowed over me as decades of memories flooded my mind. And then a new thought emerged. A new realization.

Next year, it would start all over again. 

At that exact moment, a tiny head peeked over the shoulder of the man standing in front of us on the street. I was staring into the eyes of a beautiful baby and could instantly see the pure innocence and immense wisdom in this tiny little being.

My own daughter is pregnant with our first grandchild, due early next year. 

Next Christmas, family traditions will begin anew. 

I was again overwhelmed with gratitude as I imagined my perfect grandson, little Emory, cuddled in my arms as I introduced him to our Main Street Christmas Parade. I thought of all the wonderful memories yet to come. My eyes watered again, my chin began to quiver and tears spill down my cheeks. Just then my poor husband looked my way.

“When are you going to stop crying?” he asked gently.

“No time soon…” I answered.