There’s a beauty to the little miracles. The ones that, to someone else, may not even seem like a miracle because that’s how personal they are.
These are the moments that show me who God is. These are the moments he speaks into my heart: I’m listening. I know you. I love you. I’m here. These are the moments that form the foundation that enables me to say, I know God.
Does that sound crazy to you? Reading what I just wrote, it sounds crazy to me. That I don’t just know about him. I haven’t just read the stories. My life is one of the stories.
I flew to California the other week with baby Isaac, now (!) 6 months old. (And isn’t he delicious?)
Does this story seem unremarkable?
It would, if you didn’t know that Isaac had tongue tie and, when his frenulum was clipped at 3 months old, he stopped taking a pacifier.
It would if you didn’t know that I’d been trying to get Isaac to take a pacifier for weeks in preparation for this particular trip–and failing. I’d put it in, he’d spit it out. Repeat. Pretty much, there was no way I was convincing this kid to like it again after a 3 month lapse.
It would seem like nothing if you didn’t know I’d been praying about flying with an infant, which despite having 3 kiddos I’d managed to avoid until then, and specifically praying that Isaac would not cry at all during the flights. (I know–an ambitious prayer. I like praying ambitiously.)
It would seem like nothing if you didn’t know that Isaac, when tired and ready for a nap (which happens after a mere 90 minutes of being awake), became a shouter. A non-pacifier-loving, shouting baby.
Add those things together: a shouty baby who would absolutely not take a pacifier, on the way to the airport for a trip I’d been anxiously praying about, suddenly begins to love the pacifier. And proceeds to get through both flights with no crying.
Like, no crying. None.
Isaac taking that pacifier ten minutes into our big trip was a little miracle. Specifically given to me. That meant something only to me. Because God is the God of the big and the small, the whole world and also each moment in my life.
So . . . yes. There’s a sweetness to the little miracles. The personal ones, that no one else will quite get. Like this one–or a hundred other examples I could give you. And, I’ve been thinking recently, the needier I am, the more little miracles seem to happen. Maybe because being needy drives me to pray more–or maybe because my eyes are just more open.
It’s the little miracles in my life that have made me cry, and smile while I’m crying, and know–it’s going to be okay. He’s here.