Living for Miracles
One of the first groups to drop Green Bay Packer Aaron Rodgers like a hot potato after he lied about whether or not he had received the coronavirus vaccine was the Catholic hospital system of Northeastern Wisconsin. The sticking point for the locals has less to do with being vaccinated and more with being honest.
My family has been in the Green Bay area since the middle 1800s. With a history of working class towns, farms and factories, it’s a conservative, traditional region. A man’s word is expected to be good. The locals aren’t known for their patience with liars. Even if he continues to play football there, it would take a miracle on the order of Moses taking the Jews across the Red Sea to restore Rodgers’ name.
It could happen.
Every day we see miracles. Every day we get to be miracles.
But it’s a choice.
If we choose to live up to standards of decency, honesty and morality, miracles are easier to see. When we fail, we need miracles to restore our personal moral order. To put us back on track. Whining about our fate does not accomplish anything positive.
A person who waits for miracles is an idiot. A person who works for miracles is a realist.
The miracles in our lives, the ones that happen to us and that we see in our world, are the ones we work to make real. Unlike seeing angels or demons, most miracles are very practical. Putting dinner on the table each day is a practical miracle. Cooks hear all about the many likes and dislikes from those who do not cook yet have the temerity to express unwanted opinions. As a cook, I appreciate the men and women who put the meal on the table and inform others how much they will enjoy it.
A practical miracle is performed by the person who can hang a door straight, catch a fish, tune up a car. Practical miracles are practical matters.
The more difficult miracles to accept are the ones where people ask if miracles happen because we believe or if we believe because miracles happen.
The miracles of mending broken hearts or recovering from the death of a loved one are — contrary to popular belief — not done because some one waves a wand. Nor because of some pie in the sky nonsense. When our hearts break, when we suffer great loss, the miracle of time helps us recover. The recognition that we must get on with life or live as shrunken, withered versions of ourselves, brings the moment to moment knowledge of learning how to live again.
It’s a miracle to learn how to live as a new person, whatever our age. The oddest thing of all is that it can become easier with age. After we suffer enough losses, we may develop the capability to pick ourselves up and go on with life.
Today a friend was asking me about parts of my life which he considers miracles and I consider ordinary. I think flipping a switch and getting light is a miracle. He thinks it’s a miracle that while he and I were speaking, I was simultaneously carrying on conversations with his guardian angel and mine. That is a lifelong habit for me. A revelation for him.
He wondered if I really speak with angels and saints daily. Yes, I assured him. He spoke about Padre Pio seeing devils and being tempted by them. That sort of thing always amuses me. Padre Pio was a showboat, to my mind. Seeing a devil is no great thing, but the foolish man entertained their presences. I tell them to get out of my way and go to hell.
Where’s the miracle there?
To me, all of you who do not see and have daily conversations with God, angels, saints and demons are miracles. How do you do it? How do you manage and not go bonkers?
You who have faith are miracles. You who believe in what I see and you cannot see are miracles. You have such tremendous gifts of faith that I will never have.
All of you are miracles.
