I feel as though miracles are a regular part of my life. Maybe the older I get, the better I'm getting at recognizing them. Or maybe the older I get, the more my interpretation of 'miracle' has changed. Most likely, it's a mixture of the two. Whatever it is, it's a tremendous blessing to be able see the hand of the Lord so active in the small, the daily, and the life shattering events of my life.
Thanks to the New Testament, we have multiple accounts of the miracles performed during the mortal ministry of the Savior. There are those who argue that miracles of that magnitude don't occur today. But it's been my experience that they do. And I have every reason to believe they will continue.
When I think of the Savior turning water into wine, I think of the simplicity of miracles. This wasn't a mountain moving, life or death type of thing. This was a, 'Oh no! We've run out of wine at the marriage celebration, what do we do!?' type of thing. Could the celebration have continued? Certainly. A little differently than was the cultural norm, maybe; and the situation may have reflected badly on whoever was in charge, but the bride and groom still would have been wed. So the mother of Jesus turns to her son for help. Amazingly, he provides wine from water. Then the celebration continues; but continues better than a typical wedding because somehow the best wine was brought out last. This is the kind of miracle that happens when I can't find the keys. When I've checked everywhere at least 5 times before I finally turn for help, and then there they are in that obvious place I just looked in. It's the kind of miracle when on a particularly hard day the kids somehow sleep for an hour longer at nap time. It's the kind of miracle when the paycheck is just the right amount, or even more than what was anticipated. It's the kind of miracle that so often gets overlooked, because it's just a 'wine' miracle. And never mind where it just came from, wine should have been at this party all along.
When I think of the woman with the issue of blood, I think of the long awaited miracle, the one I had almost given up hope on. I think of that ever elusive answer to prayer that may never come. Sometimes the miracle is the stamina to wait it out. Sometimes I have to search out every last thing I can do, exhaust every avenue, even every hint of an avenue, and all while somehow staving off despair and sorrow when they are all dead ends. Then years later, suddenly I can see the blessing walking right there in front of me. But sticking to the theme of this unfair trial, it's still out of reach. It's in the middle of a crowd of people I will have to fight through with whatever strength I have left for just a touch of that which would heal me. The miracle is that I have the strength to fight. And then the miracle is that the touch is just enough. That touch is all I needed, and instantly, I'm healed.
When I think of the blind man, the deaf man, the crippled man, I realize that miracles can be instantaneous. All of these miracles were asked for and performed in a moment. With directness and precision the Lord provides that which is lacking, according that which is asked for. These immediate answers to prayer do happen. It's the job that worked out. It's the baby that's on it's way. It's the fever that broke when medicine and cold rags weren't cutting it, the surgery that went better than expected. What a blessing that sometimes what we want and what the Lord had planned for us are one and the same.
Then I think of Lazarus, and I think of the miracles that are kept just out of reach, the ones that are hidden behind the veil of mortal understanding. I think of his dear sisters; those precious women with the faith and knowledge that he could be healed. I think of their heart rending grief when the miracle they so yearned for was not to be. Their Lord could save him, and they knew He would save him, but now their brother is dead, and they can hardly accept it. Their Savior didn't come in time. If he had, their brother would not have died. Yet even through their tears, and though they don't fully understand, they trust that He is the Son of God, that death will be overcome through His resurrection. Then Jesus weeps with them, and together they mourn the loss of a brother.
We know the outcome of Lazarus' story. We know their grief was short lived. But we don't know the outcome of our 'out of reach miracle'. We don't know the duration of our anguish. Sometimes we have to accept that our miracle is our knowledge of God and His power and His love. Our miracle is that He weeps with us when He knows our current sorrows are not forever sorrows, and even though we may know the same. Our miracle is that we somehow trust that He knows best, even when we want to know the 'how' and 'when' and 'why'. Our miracle is clinging to these little pieces of hope and comfort when the miracle we wanted was taken out from under us.
I sometimes wish that miracles meant that life always went our way. I wish that the prayers of the righteous were always be answered how and when they are sent heavenward. But then, I think, like Mary and Martha, we would not know that there are miracles far beyond the ones we had every right to ask for but did not happen due to an unknown divine reason. We don't know when the Lord will finally appear to take our heart rending grief away. We just know that He will.
And one day, in this life or the next, that will be our miracle.
Thanks to the New Testament, we have multiple accounts of the miracles performed during the mortal ministry of the Savior. There are those who argue that miracles of that magnitude don't occur today. But it's been my experience that they do. And I have every reason to believe they will continue.
When I think of the Savior turning water into wine, I think of the simplicity of miracles. This wasn't a mountain moving, life or death type of thing. This was a, 'Oh no! We've run out of wine at the marriage celebration, what do we do!?' type of thing. Could the celebration have continued? Certainly. A little differently than was the cultural norm, maybe; and the situation may have reflected badly on whoever was in charge, but the bride and groom still would have been wed. So the mother of Jesus turns to her son for help. Amazingly, he provides wine from water. Then the celebration continues; but continues better than a typical wedding because somehow the best wine was brought out last. This is the kind of miracle that happens when I can't find the keys. When I've checked everywhere at least 5 times before I finally turn for help, and then there they are in that obvious place I just looked in. It's the kind of miracle when on a particularly hard day the kids somehow sleep for an hour longer at nap time. It's the kind of miracle when the paycheck is just the right amount, or even more than what was anticipated. It's the kind of miracle that so often gets overlooked, because it's just a 'wine' miracle. And never mind where it just came from, wine should have been at this party all along.
When I think of the woman with the issue of blood, I think of the long awaited miracle, the one I had almost given up hope on. I think of that ever elusive answer to prayer that may never come. Sometimes the miracle is the stamina to wait it out. Sometimes I have to search out every last thing I can do, exhaust every avenue, even every hint of an avenue, and all while somehow staving off despair and sorrow when they are all dead ends. Then years later, suddenly I can see the blessing walking right there in front of me. But sticking to the theme of this unfair trial, it's still out of reach. It's in the middle of a crowd of people I will have to fight through with whatever strength I have left for just a touch of that which would heal me. The miracle is that I have the strength to fight. And then the miracle is that the touch is just enough. That touch is all I needed, and instantly, I'm healed.
When I think of the blind man, the deaf man, the crippled man, I realize that miracles can be instantaneous. All of these miracles were asked for and performed in a moment. With directness and precision the Lord provides that which is lacking, according that which is asked for. These immediate answers to prayer do happen. It's the job that worked out. It's the baby that's on it's way. It's the fever that broke when medicine and cold rags weren't cutting it, the surgery that went better than expected. What a blessing that sometimes what we want and what the Lord had planned for us are one and the same.
Then I think of Lazarus, and I think of the miracles that are kept just out of reach, the ones that are hidden behind the veil of mortal understanding. I think of his dear sisters; those precious women with the faith and knowledge that he could be healed. I think of their heart rending grief when the miracle they so yearned for was not to be. Their Lord could save him, and they knew He would save him, but now their brother is dead, and they can hardly accept it. Their Savior didn't come in time. If he had, their brother would not have died. Yet even through their tears, and though they don't fully understand, they trust that He is the Son of God, that death will be overcome through His resurrection. Then Jesus weeps with them, and together they mourn the loss of a brother.
We know the outcome of Lazarus' story. We know their grief was short lived. But we don't know the outcome of our 'out of reach miracle'. We don't know the duration of our anguish. Sometimes we have to accept that our miracle is our knowledge of God and His power and His love. Our miracle is that He weeps with us when He knows our current sorrows are not forever sorrows, and even though we may know the same. Our miracle is that we somehow trust that He knows best, even when we want to know the 'how' and 'when' and 'why'. Our miracle is clinging to these little pieces of hope and comfort when the miracle we wanted was taken out from under us.
I sometimes wish that miracles meant that life always went our way. I wish that the prayers of the righteous were always be answered how and when they are sent heavenward. But then, I think, like Mary and Martha, we would not know that there are miracles far beyond the ones we had every right to ask for but did not happen due to an unknown divine reason. We don't know when the Lord will finally appear to take our heart rending grief away. We just know that He will.
And one day, in this life or the next, that will be our miracle.
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