My last post ended with a truth of mine that miracles happen. I’ve had a few in my life. And in my life there is no doubt they ARE miracles.
But I find when I try to describe them to others, people just sort of blink and nod. Uhhh, okaaaay, if you say so, Charise.
My miracles certainly do not involve a parting of the sea or burning bush.
But that got me to thinking. I think God must perform miracles on a more personal level. Did everyone who had a an extra glass of wine at that wedding know where that wine came from? Or was it just the guys in the back hauling the water jugs and Jesus’ Mom?
Let’s take the burning bush. I live in a forest. A burning bush would not be considered a miracle. We have hoses and fire extinguishers for such things. Some guy with a beard and a flock of sheep talking to the bush rather than stomping it out would be cause for concern and a 72 hour hold.
That parting of the sea? We’re near the ocean. That looks like a tsunami and I don’t know if the harbor’s fixed from the last one.
I think about the folks Jesus healed. The person who used the mud on his eyes. The guy knew. He knew it wasn’t the mud, but what about when he told his story? Did people believe it was a miracle or just some damn good dirt?
So, my miracles are mine. They came about in a way that I find as crazy and unexpected as a burning bush in the desert, but also in a way that exactly fits. I can’t share them all with you in a way that you might believe they are miracles. But as for me and God. We know. And in the quiet of the night, my eyes glitter with gratitude and awe.