Miracles Matter

Miracles matter. My favorite definition comes from A Course in Miracles that calls them a shift in perception. Although they need not be bells and whistles and lightning flashes across the sky, they can be.

I hold a memory from several years ago of a conversation I had with a dear long-time friend. I was asking him to help me remember any miracle and Divine Intervention stories I had told him. Even though we were on the phone, I could ‘hear’ him smiling as he said that since I see miracles everywhere, there were too many to remember. I will embrace that as I enter this day. This article started immediately brewing. I find that miracles are always present, asking to be noticed.

A few days ago I was talking to my neighbor about a message from the Beyond I had received from my husband Michael who had died in 1998. She knew him but had never heard this tale. I still get goosebumps each time I share it. Two years after he passed, my 42nd birthday was approaching. I had asked him for a message to let me know how he was faring. I was disappointed that there was no such delivery and then bowled over by what occurred a few days later.

I was standing with my then 13-year-old son and a landscaper neighbor, sadly eyeing three decidedly shriveled and parched evergreen trees that hadn’t survived a drought. I asked him what he would charge me for removing them. He meandered around them and then gazed up to the top of one of them, reaching in between the brown needles and pulling out an L.L. Bean sports watch (pictured above). I asked my son if he had put the watch there as a joke. He looked as puzzled as I did and shook his head.

The watch had been quite a distance up the tree, too high for my 6-foot tall husband to have gotten it caught in the branches. It was not waterlogged or rusted as I would have imagined it to be had it been exposed to the elements. I had been mowing the lawn for the few years prior to Michael’s death and would have noticed it had it been there before. The time on the watch when it stopped was the same as the time of death on 12/21/98.

Another wraps itself around an unexpected encounter with someone I met seemingly by chance but reminded me that there is such a thing as Divine timing.

I had been one of a half dozen or so speakers at MoMondays which is a storytelling event like TEDtalks in which people share delicious tidbits and slices of life. Some sad, some tickle your funny bone humorous, some profound; all deeply personal. I had the experience three times over the years. One included a man named Jay Murphy who was born in Ireland but moved to the states later on. He was regaling us with tales about his father and the effect he had on his life. At dinner after the show, I told him that going to Ireland was on my bucket list and I inquired where a nearly vegetarian teetotaler goes in Ireland. He smiled, and replied in his delightful accent, “Darlin’, a vegetarian teetotaler doesn’t go to Ireland. She goes to Ohio.” By the way, Irish accents melt me and I have two friends Colman and Jacinta who hail from there and I love to hear them speak. She assured me as someone who fits into that category, that there were indeed places that would meet my culinary needs when I was to eventually make the journey and she would be glad to direct me.

Fast forward five years and I was eagerly anticipating my trip across the pond to Ireland to celebrate turning 60. Two weeks prior to boarding the plane, I found myself on a train heading home from Philadelphia to Doylestown, PA. Behind me and to the left sit a father and his young son. The little boy is tired and crying a bit. I walked back there and offered him a colorful feather. I always carry them with me for all sorts of occasions and this one seemed to fit the bill. He wasn’t having it, so I gave it to his dad who was doing his level best to comfort him. We started casual chit chat and I asked, “Do I detect an Irish accent?” He confirmed that he was born there and now lives in this area. I told him about my upcoming visit to his homeland. He wished me a good time. Before he and his son get off the train, we introduce ourselves by name. Guess who it was? What are the chances that five years later, two weeks prior, I should run into one Jay Murphy? Only 100% since it happened. As it turns out when I went to Ireland, I did indeed find many vegetarian options and I enjoyed going to pubs with my fellow travelers and drank water, seltzer, tea, and juice as I enjoyed the foot-tapping, body swaying, soul-satisfying music.

And still, another took place on the 4th of July several years ago. I was on my way home from visiting friends in New York and was about to get onto the George Washington Bridge. I saw a car sideswipe an armored truck, which caused it to skid to the right and jump up onto a railing that hovered over a 50 foot or more drop to the street below. Horrified, I held out my hand and shouted with all my might “NO, STOP!” At that moment, I watched, astonished as the truck balanced on two wheels and then landed safely on the side of the road. The three men climbed out and one reached for the gun in its holster. “Whoa”, I called out and reminded him that they were safe and he need not draw his gun. My heart was already racing, without that to step it up. At that moment, I was certain that another invisible hand had brought them from the edge of the precipice. A firetruck had been on the street below and hightailed it up the ramp to intervene. Once they showed up, I went back on my way.

I don’t take any of these encounters for granted and in fact, go looking for them. I invite them to come and visit me and they oblige.

I am a miracle magnet and so are you.

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