Saturday, May 16, 2020

May 16: Old Testament Times, Daily Miracle, Poem from "Kyrie"

Miracles are not as common as they used to be.

In Old Testament times, it seems like angels sort of roamed around, knocking on people's doors, asking for food and lodging.  If you were smart and kind, you killed your last chicken, used your last scoop of flour, and made soup with dumplings.  You fed those strangers.  Then, you changed the sheets on your bed, tucked your guests in, sang them a lullaby, and wished them well.

If you did all that, you would be blessed.  If your wife was barren, she would conceive a child, and that child would end up being a king of Israel or a prophet.  If your city was about to be destroyed by God, you and your family would be spared (although your wife might be turned into a pillar of salt).  If you were ill, you would get better.  If you were poor, you'd come into prosperity.

That's how miracles used to work.

Not so much these days.  Miracles aren't as plentiful as dandelions.  At least not the kind of miracles you read about in the Bible.  Rain just doesn't fall from the sky and wash away plagues, and God doesn't show up on your doorstep with a bag of gold to help you pay your bills.  It would be great if He did, but don't count on it.

No, miracles take different forms now.  For example, one afternoon, I was grocery shopping by myself at Walmart, and I suffered a severe low blood sugar.  I've been an insulin-dependent diabetic since I was 13.  I was literally slumped over my cart, drenched in cold sweat, when my sister-in-law appeared, recognized my problem, and saved me with food from McDonald's.  Miracle.  Another time, I was unable to buy groceries one week.  I'd received no summer classes to teach, and I was in-between paychecks from my medical office job.  I had nothing to give my kids to eat.  A really kind friend found out about our circumstances and showed up with a pickup truck of groceries.  Miracle.

Miracles are all around us.  We just don't really notice them all that much.  Perhaps we have become blind to them in this social media-driven age.  

So, tonight I'm starting something new on my blog:  my daily miracle.  Every day, I'm going to write about a miracle that I've experienced in the past 24 hours.  Today, I had a miraculous walk with my puppy.  I ran into a coworker who went crazy for my mini Aussie.  I walked 4.2 miles in 60-degree sunshine.  An amazing time, listening to an audio book and getting exercise.

Saint Marty gives thanks for this miracle . . . 

And for this poem . . . 

poem from Kyrie

by:  Ellen Bryant Voigt

Dear Mattie, Though you don't tell of troubles there,
meaning to buy me peace I would suppose,
dreadful word goes around, families perished
or scattered.  I remind myself Pug's mother
died from having him and he thought orphans
saved themselves some time in the scheme of things--
won't a future happiness be ransomed
by present woe?  Dear Mattie, it's you
I think of when I say my prayers, your face,
it's you I'll want when I get back from this
just like the night that I said Marry me
and you said Yes, and the moon came
from behind the cloud as I had wished it to,
and I kissed your mouth, and then your chestnut hair.

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