In Praise of Everyday Miracles

We're surrounded by miracles. Ordinary, everyday miracles, that I'll bet you touched today without even thinking. Sometimes you need to lose them, even for a while, to recognize how precious they are.

We live out in the countryside, miles from any town. Our nearest neighbors, whom we hardly know, live half a mile down the road, and we can just see their light across the fields. Out where we are, we could be the only ones in the world.

Our first winter storm rolled in two days ago. The snow fell steadily all night, heavy, piling up, pulling down branches and wires. I woke up yesterday morning about 4 a.m. with the sense that something had changed. It was pitch black; the nightlight in the bathroom was off, the clock by the bed dark, no light on the stairs. The room was chilly; I listened - no furnace humming - no heat. I looked down the road - no light there at the neighbor's house either. My husband fumbled downstairs, groped on the closet shelf, found a flashlight. Not too big a deal - this happens sometimes in the country. But we knew it was going to be a long day - or several days, for that matter.

No water, no power, no stove, no furnace. No sound - a silent house in a silent world, with the snow still swirling down.

About midmorning the snow stopped, and Scott plowed out the driveway. I shouldn't complain: we had a fire in the wood stove, so I huddled by it, reading, watching the birds at the feeder. We ate a simple lunch, trying to keep the food in the fridge cold. The day felt suspended in time, endless.

There's something about lights, radio, the hum of the fridge, that brings a home alive. Cut off from the world, with the only sound the crackling of the wood stove, you start to feel like you're the last survivors at the end of the world.

Evening came, and still no power. Lonely, silent - it felt like weeks since we'd been washed up on this island. Finally my long-suffering husband gave in to my whining and we drove into town for supper, passing the dark houses of neighbors. But we did see a welcome sight: the truck from the power company, with the electricians at work on the downed wire. And further along, houses had their lights on. Christmas lights, too, their colors lovely to the frigid darkness. Finally we were in town - lights! people! talking! a busy, lively world! civilization!

By the time we came home, we were refreshed, and when we turned the corner, we saw our porch light shining through the trees. A warm home, humming and kindly and alive again.

You see? It seemed to whisper. You see how lucky you are?

What blessings - so many silent, ever-present, uncomplaining blessings in our lives. We never think of them, those everyday miracles: light at the flick of a switch, food in the fridge, a humming furnace, the quiet refuge of a home to retreat to. So many don't have those things, and long for them. Yet most of the time I take them for granted.

But not this Thanksgiving. I'm filled with gratitude. And I suddenly remember the email I got from the shelter, asking for volunteers. Maybe it's not too late to sign up, and offer, in return, a little of that blessing to someone less fortunate.

So, my friends, this Thanksgiving, let's all take a moment to say thank you to whatever God we worship for our homes, and for the everyday miracles that surround us. Amen!