I recently had a conversation with someone where, for some reason, I was cataloging my woes: cancer, loss of money, loss of work, loss of family, blah, blah, blah. She responded by saying, “I don’t know what I’d do if I were in your place. I’d just hope for a miracle.”
Being the cynic(?) I am, I said: “I don’t expect miracles. I’m more of a realist. I hope for the best and prepare for the worst.” Then she said, “I’ll pray for you.”
What she meant was that I was not alone; I was part of a community (that’s what “prayer” meant to her: her gift to me was just her sitting beside me).
What I meant was that I learned from cancer that the miracle IS the sickness. It teaches one about pain, about everyone’s pain, about being awake to pain (unlike comfort, you can not ignore it!) The miracle is being in the middle of my life and realizing that these losses are part of life. They ARE my life. Not bad. Not good. Just what is: little everyday miracles!
Pools of water in the dents on the air duct
outside my window after a rain.