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.

August 24: Until the Last, Tiny Tim, Feeling Sentimental

But, they were happy, grateful, pleased with one another, and contented with the time; and when they faded, and looked happier yet in the bright sprinklings of the Spirit's torch at parting, Scrooge had his eye upon them, and especially on Tiny Tim, until the last.

This moment is the first where Scrooge connects with Bob Cratchit and his family.  Scrooge views Christmas dinner at the Cratchit's house with the Ghost of Christmas Present, and, for the first time, becomes aware of Tiny Tim and his health issues.  Some may call this little scene sentimental.  Justifiably so.  It's a Christmas novel, and therefore a certain amount of sentimentality is expected.  However, sick and desperate children are not unusual in the works of Charles Dickens.  Think of all the homeless orphans in Oliver Twist or Little Nell in The Old Curiosity Shop whose death set off world-wide mourning.  Tiny Tim is just one in a long line of such kids in Dickensian novels.

I'm feeling a little sentimental myself this morning.  Before I sat down to type this post, I spent a few minutes gazing at a picture of my three-year-old son.  In particular, I was staring at his tiny hand.  It's so perfect.  The skin is smooth, and each finger is a little pudgy.  Baby pudgy.  I got a little choked up because, over the summer, my son has grown into this little boy, tall and sweaty and covered in dirt.  He isn't a baby anymore.  (Don't get me wrong.  I'm happy to be almost out of the diaper stage of my parenting life.)  He's just this miraculous creature, full of curiosity and adventure and happiness.

There's a reason Dickens uses Tiny Tim as one of the biggest catalysts of Scrooge's redemption.  Aside from Tim being a Christ figure (Tim's crutch is a little cross he carries everywhere), he is a symbol of innocence and vulnerability.  He represents the delicacy of childhood and the future.  Of hope.  That's why Tiny Tim effects Scrooge so strongly.

I think that's what children represent to most people.  Hope.  I look at my kids, and I see potential.  My daughter dances and sings and makes videos and does gymnastics.  My son loves cars and music and books and computers and running.  They are limitless right now.  That's a daily miracle, even when they're irritating the crap out of me.

Forgive Saint Marty this morning.  He's having a happiness moment.  It will soon pass.

A future President of the United States