Share Miracles : Read Miracles

There is something special about sharing miracles!

Usually, the more you share something, the less there is left for yourself. This is not the case with miracles. Whenever you share a miracle, it seems to expand not contract. There is even more gratitude, awe and excitement than there was before.

Remember ... Miracles don't come in sizes: Small, Medium, Large and Extra Large. All miracles are equally precious because they all point us towards God. Don't ever hesitate to share your miracle because you feel it isn't "big" enough. Your miracle may be the exact thing that someone else needs to hear. The fact that a miracle happens to any one of us means that it is possible for all of the rest of us as well.

We want to hear all about your miracles ... as will the other visitors to our site! Please submit your miracles to: rev.susan.sager@gmail.com

All messages will be monitored. Understandably, we reserve the right to edit any submissions to our site and to refuse any that might be inappropriate. You will need to submit your full name and email address before posting your message. This is so we can contact you if necessary.

Read Miracles

Subject: A Gift for the Holidays

It was December 25, 1979. For the first time in nearly forty years Christmas and Chanukkah fell on the same day. Our large apartment was a whirlwind of activity. Twenty-five people would be arriving to take part in the Holiday Project. Our plan was to visit several nursing homes and bring small gifts and some holiday cheer to patients and staff.To tell the truth, I needed a little of that cheer myself. We had always spent the holidays with our families and here we were several thousand miles away. In addition, I was pregnant with our first child. It felt hard to be so far away from family when we were getting ready to start our own.By the time we reached the last of the nursing homes, I was caught up in the holiday spirit and had forgotten my sadness. Our group walked into the recreation room where about thirty patients had gathered, along with relatives and staff. I was drawn to to this gray-haired woman sitting in a wheelchair somewhat apart from the others. Around her neck she was wearing a large "chai," the Hebrew letter that symbolizes life. I walked over and said "Happy Chanukkah." She looked at me but didn't answer. I spoke to her again. "Shall I wish you 'Happy Chanukkah' or 'Merry Christmas' ?" A broad smile spread over her face. "Either one's okay, honey." In her slow, thick speech, she started to explain how she been raised in a home with a Jewish father and a Protestant mother. She told a story from her childhood that had us both laughing.I excused myself to get us both some punch, when the activity director approached me from across the room. "Did I just see Ethel speaking to you ?""Yes," I answered, "She was just ...""That's incredible !" she interrupted. "That woman hasn't spoken a word in more than two years. Ethel had a major stroke. In fact, her doctors advised the family not to expect any more progress." She paused for a moment." And today of all days ... it's a miracle ! !"

I couldn't agree more. Around the world, Christians and Jews were celebrating the miracle of faith. Here in this nursing home, we were celebrating another miracle. A stroke victim had suddenly spoken after several years of silence. And for me, there was one more miracle, smaller but no less precious. The day had started out with me longing to spend the day with family. And, as it turned out, I did just that.

.................................................................

Subject: An Unlikely Place for a Miracle

An claim adjuster's office doesn't seem a likely setting for a miracles. But then again, a miracle isn't a likely event !

I was there trying to settle a claim on a car accident. Someone had run a stop sign and slammed into the passenger side of my car. I was eight months pregnant and driving my two year old daughter around at the time. Thankfully, our daughter had escaped injury, but the accident had left me a nervous wreck. I just couldn't seem to shake my fears of what might have happened. Add to that the stress of trying to pack up our household for a move and get everything else done, and I felt like a volcano waiting to blow.

Then, something strange happened. I was leafing through a magazine as I waited to talk to the agent, when I felt this slight sensation at the very top of my head. Perhaps "sensation" is not the right word. Whatever it was, it prompted me to put down the magazine and pay attention.

It wasn't like anything I had ever felt before. It was like the peace of God was flowing through me. It started at the very top of my head and spread downward, moving through my neck, across my shoulders, down my back and torso, through my arms and legs, and finally down to my feet. As this peace moved through me, my feelings of stress, anger and irritation lessened nd finally went away altogether. Where only moments before I had felt tense and irritated, I now felt this sense of calm and well-being.

It was obvious to me that something extraordinary had happened, so I looked over at a clock to check the time so I'd remember it. It was 2:10.

I could hardly wait to tell my husband what happened. That evening, I phoned my two best friends, Nancie and Bennie, to share my experience. You couldn't ask for better friends ! It turned out that both of them had called Silent Unity that day to ask for prayers on my behalf. Neither had known that the other called.

And the time of their calls ? ... Both of them called around two p.m.

...........................................

Subject: The Power of Love

As I was driving down the busiest street in my neighborhood, I saw an accident waiting to happen. A little fuzz ball of a dog was racing down a side street towards the traffic. There was no question the dog would be hit. I just hated thinking I'd be the one to do it.

I was hoping I'd miss him altogether when I heard a sickening thud on the side of my car. The little dog had run into my car at full speed. I didn't see how he could survive.

Heartsick, I pulled over and saw this little pile of fur laying in the middle of the street. A middle-aged woman who had been chasing him came over and and picked him up. "It's not your fault," she assured me. "Jerry had a mind of his own. He was always running away."
The woman tried to locate the dog's pulse but couldn't. I looked at his small body in her hands and gently lay my hand on his head. "I'm so sorry, little one," I said. "I wouldn't have hurt you for the world. Will you forgive me ? I love you."

What I saw next stunned me. The little dog seemed to move ever so slightly. Then he opened his eyes to half-mast and licked my hand several times with his small tongue. It was amazing that this dog survived at all, and even more so that some words of love seemed to revive him. But love does some amazing things.

..........................................................................................

Subject: Learning to Listen

I had just parked my car in our driveway when a car stopped in front of my house. A friend stuck her head out of her car window and called to me. "Mumi had car accident about a block from here. She hit a tree in the front of someone's yard. She's not hurt but I'm sure her car is totalled. I thought you'd want to know."

Of course, I wanted to know ! Mumi was our adopted grandmother and I'd want to help her if I could. I started up the car to drive over to her, when I heard the word, "Water." It felt like I should bring Mumi a glass of water, but that seemed silly. I heard the word again, "Water" and felt my throat tighten like it did when I was thirsty. I stopped the car and started to get out. "This is foolish," I thought. Certainly those people would give her water if she were thirsty.

I got back into my car and drove to the site of the accident. Mumi was standing by her wrecked car. The people who owned the house weren't home. "Are you okay, Mumi ?," I asked. "I'm okay," she answered. "But I'm just dying for a glass of water."

..........................................................................................

Subject: Giving Birth

The clock said 1:30. My obstetrician said he could only give me until 3 o'clock and then he'd have to start my C-section. There I was alone in a small, windowless hospital room laying on a guerney. My husband was driving back as fast as he could from a city several hours away. Who knew if he'd make it back in time.

Thoughts raced through my mind. Would my little son be alright ? What if he weren't ? How would I handle that along with raising three other kids ? I desperately wanted some sort of guarantee that things would be okay. And, of course, there was no guarantee of anything.

The last ten months had proved that. On the very first day of the year, I had broken my leg so badly that the bone protuded. Two surgeries followed, along with months of pain-killers and rehabilitation. To make matters worse, my mother was diagnosed with lung cancer shortly after my accident, and died six months later. And then, in the midst of everything, I discovered I was pregnant. While the pregnancy was unplanned, we very much wanted this baby. However, the after-effects of my accident put me in a high risk category.

So many bad things had happened during the previous ten months. I kept hoping I'd used up my quota. But what was I thinking ? What about all the women who had been unable to conceive ? ... the women who died in childbirth ? ... the women who lost their little ones to famine or war ? Who was I to feel that I was entitled to anything ? I felt humbled by my arrogance and presumption.

I was face-to-face with my darkest fear. Something could go terribly wrong with this birth and there was nothing I could do about it. I couldn't plea bargain, sweet talk or manipulate the outcome in any way. And the pretense that I could control things was only causing me anguish and anxiety.

There in the darkness, I surrendered to my helplessness. And, in that moment, my awareness began to shift. The loneliness slowly dissolved and in its place was a profound Presence. God was with me in that small, windowless room.

I still didn't know what the future would bring, but somehow that fact didn't matter as much any more. I knew that I wouldn't face it alone. And I sensed that whatever strength I might need would be given to me along the way.

It is now many years later. The baby boy who was born that afternoon is now on the brink of manhood. Many things have happened to me over the years, but few things more incredible than the events of that afternoon.

.............................................................................

Subject: The Car that Ran on Gratitude Not Gas

My old car was coughing and sputtering. However, I was under a major deadline at work and desperately needed it to hold on for two more weeks. There was no way I could afford to have it repaired or rent a replacement.

It occured to me one morning that I had really been at odds with my car rather than working with it. So instead of my usual complaining, I started to thank the car for its service. Before I started the engine, I said a prayer of gratitude and asked for a blessing for its continued use.

The two weeks passed quickly and we met the deadline at work. I drove the car home that evening with a big sigh of relief. The next day, the car wouldn't start. Nothing worked. So I called AAA and they sent out a mechanic. I told him about all the problems and also about my unorthodox approach. He opened the hood and looked around at the engine. Then he shook his head and detailed all that was wrong.

I'll never forget his final words because they weren't ones you'd expect from a mechanic. "Lady, you must have had a miracle. I don't understand how you were driving it at all. There's no basis in physical reality."

..........................................................................................

Subject: An Example of Faith

Mickey is one of the most moving examples of faith I have ever known. A cheerful octagenarian, Mickey is a devoted grandmother to Lindsay, an active member of her church and an avid golfer. Looking at her, you'd never know that she lost both of her adult sons to illness, one to heart disease and one to cancer. Within a few short years, she lost her husband and her only sibling within a six month period.

All that might make anyone's faith waver, but not Mickey's. Whenever I visit, there's usually a pile of rosaries on the coffee table. She participates in a project which involves her stringing together the rosaries and sending them off to a mission in Mexico. Mickey would work on the rosaries and we'd talk about many things, especially her faith.

One day she said, "You know, I almost get embarrassed asking the Blessed Mother for anything. She has come through for me so many times." Her words struck me. How could she possibly think that ? Here was someone who had lost just about everyone she loved. It could seem that none of her prayers had been answered.

Yet to Mickey, her prayers had more than been answered. Her initial prayers were for the recovery of her loved ones and then, for their safe passage into eternity. There were other prayers, too. There were prayers for strength and grace and the faith to face adversity. Where others might see cause for bitterness, Mickey saw blessing. While she had known more than her share of grief, she chose to focus on God's grace.

Mickey is someone who creates everyday miracles. Some days, it is a miracle just to keep one foot moving in front of the other. Mickey's miracles will never make headlines, but they are some of the most meaningful miracles of all. Of course, Mickey would be way too modest to admit that. She'd be the first to say,"Let's give God the credit."

..........................................................................................

Subject: A Last Good-bye

It was my last chance to spend the night in my childhood bedroom. After a quarter of a century, my parents had sold our home. In another couple weeks, they would be retiring to Florida. And so, I came back for one final visit.

Lying there in my bed that night, I thought back to all the times our dog, Fifi, had wagged her tail as she waited for me to pat the edge of the bed. That was the signal for her to jump up and snuggle next to me.

My parents had bought Fifi when my twin and I were seven, and fifteen years later, my Mother took her for a final visit to the vet. When Mom called me with the news of Fifi's death, I had to get off the phone because I was sobbing so hard.

Fifi had been dead four years. Yet, the more I thought about Fifi that night, the more I seemed to sense her presence. I don't really know why I did it, but I reached over and patted the edge of the bed one last time. It was an impulsive gesture that happened so quickly I had no time to think about it. However, I've had many years to think about what happened next.

The bed actually indented ! I could feel the mattress press down near my face and hand. Yet there was nothing visible that was making this happen. And there was nothing that I could feel. Was this Fifi, visiting me one last time ? My heart beat wildly.

"Fifi, I know it's you !," I whispered in the darkness. "I've missed you, girl !"The experience subsided after a few minutes. However, the warmth of that memory has staid with me for over thirty years.

.....................................................

Subject: The Brake That Didn't

I had driven to an unfamiliar area of town to pick my daughter up from her friend's house. Driving home, the traffic light turned orange, so I put my foot on the brake to slowly stop the car. To my horror, the brake wouldn't budge. In fact, it felt like there was something underneath the brake that kept me from pressing it to the floor.

My car ran right through the red light. To say that I was horrified would be an understatement. Fortunately, no cars were crossing at the green light. We'd been lucky to avoid an accident.

By chance, I took a quick look in my rear view mirror. Not two feet from my back bumper was a car driven by a teenage girl. She was driving so close that I actually could see her facial features and hair style. Then it occurred to me. Had I stopped or slowed down at that stop light, she would have slammed right into me.

As the young woman raced past, I pulled my car over to check out my brakes. There was nothing underneath the brake pedal that would have prevented it from pressing down. In fact, there were no problems that I could find then or that a mechanic could find later.

I will never know why the brakes failed that day. I'm certainly grateful they did. More than that, I'm grateful for the protection my daughter and I experienced.

..........................................................................................

Subject: A Lesson in Trust

House-hunting for our first house was exciting, but it was tense too. If we didn't find our new home in that time, we'd have to rent again. And with another baby on the way, I was hoping for only one move.

I wrote out a list of fifteen qualities I wanted in a new house and meditated on attracting just the right home. Week after week, the new listings came out. However, there was nothing in our price range that fit our needs. I was confident at first, but over time, my confidence started to waver.

Finally, there was just one week left. I didn't see how things could work out. Particularly since I had to leave town for a couple days to help my mother recover from surgery. I returned home on a Thursday.

When the new listings came out on Friday, I was almost afraid to look, for fear of being disappointed. I was nervously looking through the listings, when there it was -- the house we'd been hunting for ! It had all the qualities I really wanted.

In meditation that night, I asked the question, "Why did this wait until the last minute to work out ?" The answer I received set me straight."You got your home when you needed it, didn't you ?"

It was true ! We had gotten our home when we needed it. It didn't need to work out until then. So why had I doubted and let myself get impatient ? In the end, I found much more than a new home. I had found a deeper perspective on faith and trust.

..........................................................................................

Subject: A Friend's Intuition

It was devastating to my friend, Deb, when divorce broke up her home. Deb had no choice but to go back to work. But where would she find a job that allowed her to quality time with her two young daughters ?

The perfect solution would be teaching at a nearby elementary school. Her older daughter was already enrolled there and the younger one was about to start kindergarten. Unfortunately, there was a hiring freeze in the school district. So the chances of that happening were less than zero. It was only a couple weeks until school started.

Deb and I talked over coffee one afternoon when I had this odd feeling. It wasn't the first time I had gotten an intuition about something."I know this sounds silly," I said, "But I really see you teaching at the school this year."

"But how can that happen with the job freeze ?," Deb asked."And even without the freeze, I haven't taught in more than ten years. Why would they pick me over someone else."

"Because you're absolutely wonderful with kids -- that's why ! The school is going to want you. I don't know how it will happen, but I know that it will." I answered.

The weeks flew by and before we knew it, it was the first day of school. Deb didn't have the job yet. Could I be wrong ? And yet, I still felt something would happen.

A few days later, Deb called me excitedly. "You're not going to believe it ! The school has an opening for a teacher. They've used up the job pool, so they can hire someone from outside."

The next day, Deb put in her application and arranged for an interview. When she told me about her interview, I got another hit of intuition. I told her not to worry."You're going to get the job," I assured her. "You won't be their first choice, but you will definitely be the best choice."

And so it happened, just as my intuition indicated. The school initially offered the job to another applicant who subsequently turned it down. Then they offered the job to Deb. The rest, as they say, is history.

Deb got to teach in the same school with her daughters and loved the opportunity for closeness. You have only to see Deb with a group of students to know that this is her true calling.

As for my intuition ... who knows ? Maybe it was Heaven's way of giving Deb a nudge just when she needed it most.

..........................................................................................

Subject: The Handwriting on the Wall

Some moms from my kids' school were throwing me a baby shower when I decided to add to the fun by doing some handwriting analysis. I spent two or three minutes with each person and spent more time joking than analyzing.

Then it was Marion's turn. Marion was a new friend who had recently moved to town. She had a quiet and gentle manner that made her easy to be around.

Something in her handwriting immediately struck me. It revealed a hesitancy to think about the past or future. There was something in her handwriting that seemed sad, almost like grief. It felt to me like she was mourning a woman, perhaps a mother or grandmother. This surprised me because she had said nothing about it and she certainly didn't act that way. But then again, I hadn't known Marion that long.

Wait a minute. How could I know this ? None of the books I'd ever read on handwriting had ever dealt with anything remotely like this.

Standing there, I made up something funny to tell Marion. The only serious thing I mentioned was her hesitancy about the past and future. That intrigued Marion and she said she wanted to call me the following day.

When she called, I told her everything that I had seen in her handwriting. Marion acknowledged the hesitancy, but disagreed with the part about sadness or grief. There was no one in her life who was dying.

A few minutes into the conversation, it came out that we knew someone in common, a grief counselor. That caught my interest, since I knew him through my volunteer work with catastrophically-ill children and adults. So I asked how she knew him.

"From time to time, I go to this support group." She hesitated for a moment."You see, I have breast cancer. I don't talk about it a lot because I don't want that to be the focus of my life." Marion had had breast cancer for almost four years. Despite the prognosis, she wanted to believe she had a shot at beating it.

Now I knew who it was Marion was mourning ... herself ! She had a husband and young son she adored. Naturally, she didn't want her life with them cut short.

Marion and I grew close after that. There was no doubt that my intuition about her handwriting had opened up our relationship. I was grateful for our growing friendship.

A few months later, I drove Marion to the airport. She was going to join her husband for a trip abroad to a place they loved, where they had once lived. They got to spend several wonderful days together. Then, she abruptly took a turn for the worse and died. Marion was buried there. It was several days later that I heard the news.

The night Marion died, I was facilitating a course on spirituality. At one point, all the lights dimmed momentarily. No one else in the room noticed it but me. I sensed that something out-of-the-ordinary was happening, so I checked my watch. Later, I discovered that the dimming of those lights coincided with Marion's passage from this life.

..............................................................................

Subject: The Heart of the Matter

What makes you do something 'out of the blue" ? It was definitely out of the blue when I decided to take the Heartsaver CT Scan, which gives pictures of how your heart is doing. The scan indicated that I was in the 96% percentile for women my age for plaque in the arteries.

The doctor followed up with a nuclear stress test, which showed a false/positive for an abnormality when I was at the peak of exercise. This seemed odd since I could stay on the treadmill much longer than other women my age. In order to find out what was happening, the doctor suggested that I also have a heart catheter procedure.

What the procedure revealed was shocking. Two arteries were just fine, but the third one wasn't functioning. Half of it was blocked and the other half had broken off entirely. The breakage was an after-effect of the radiation I had had 27 years earlier for breast cancer. Miraculously, my body had compensated by creating a network of small blood vessels to do all the work that artery had done.

In part, I owe this miracle (as well as ones from breast cancer, cornea transplants, and other surgeries) to many years of exercise, both mentally and physically.

My way of exercise involved much more than just moving my body. It began with an awareness of how all my parts of my body interconnected. For example, I didn't just breathe; I'd open my chest and stretch my neck for length. I developed my core for stability. In fact, I found that using the plumb lines from my toes to my head gave me a greater sense of self-esteem and wholeness.

Looking back, I see that I have always had a survivor mentality. I put myself in charge, not the illness or the doctor's diagnosis. Being a victim has never worked for me.

I was determined to meet the challenge, no matter what the doctors said. I brought all of this into my aerobic work, as well as my daily life. It's amazing what your body can do, if you only give it the opportunity to do so

There was little doubt in my mind that a miracle occurred. In fact, I had been living with a miracle for more than twenty-five years without knowing it. That makes me wonder: How many other miracles are out there that we don't know about ?

Michelle Chasnoff
Austin, Texas

..............................................................................

Subject: A Gift of Grace

The 20th anniversary of my Dad's death was only days away. For the past several months, I had grown increasingly thoughtful about what this anniversary meant. I had lived most of my adult life outside my father's gaze. No one around me--not my husband, not my four children, none of the friends where I live--had ever met him. All they knew about him were the stories I told. And after that much time, even some of the stories had begun to fade. Where was my father to be found ?

I longed to reconnect with some piece of my past. But there seemed little chance of that happening. The best I hoped for was to steal away for a few hours of reflection. I also planned to light a candle in his memory. The ritual felt right, even though I was a convert to Judaism and Dad had been a lifelong Methodist. Yet, I wanted to do something more to mark this passage of time, even if I had no idea of what "more" meant.

Then, my older sister called with news that was to change everything.

Sara called to share that our Aunt Dot had died. Aunt Dot had been the widow of our Dad's only brother. She was going to be buried alongside her husband in the same sleepy little town where my father had grown up, in the same quiet graveyard where my grandparents, and my great aunts and uncles were buried.

As fate would have it, my two sisters and I would be together for this 20th anniversary after all.

Twenty years earlier, my sisters and I had come together for our Dad's funeral. It was a dismal affair. Only weeks before, our parents had retired to a place thousands of miles away from where they had lived for a quarter of a century. They knew almost no one there. Only a handful of people attended the funeral. The undertaker hadn't even set my father's face right. His mouth was twisted on one side; a parody of that sweet smile I had loved so much. The clergyman offered a few generic words of comfort, but called my father by the wrong name. Then he concluded the service by pressing a button on a portable tape recorder for a closing hymn.

Later that day, my father was cremated and several weeks after that, his ashes were scattered at sea. As Dad had wished, there was no tombstone anywhere.

Grieving my Dad's death had been painful enough, but worrying that his memory hadn't really been honored was even worse. I couldn't bear to think that he had slipped so easily from our grasp.

Sitting at Aunt Dot's service, I was reminded of the stories my father used to tell about growing up in a small town. Incredibly enough, the funeral home had once been his uncle's home. I couldn't help but wonder: Had he run across that yard as a boy ? Had the bright orange of the autumn leaves ever caught his eye back then, the way it did mine that morning ?

Later, at the cemetery after we buried Aunt Dot, we walked around and looked at the headstones of all the family members buried there. I burst into tears when I reached my grandparents' graves. I used my finger to trace their names, letter by letter. Finishing my grandfather's name, George Lawrence Hawkins, I noticed a small black mark underneath it. I tried to wipe it off, but it wouldn't disappear. Whatever it was had been formed by the specks that naturally occur in granite.

As I looked closer, I saw that the small black mark was actually a perfectly formed kaf -- a Hebrew letter. To my Methodist granddaddy, it would have meant nothing. But to me, who had converted to Judaism 15 years before, this little shape was alive with meaning. Every letter of the Hebrew alphabet has mystical significance. The kaf is associated with keter, the crown. It is considered a great tribute to have the inscription on your tombstone read,"The crown of a good name."

And that phrase, however foreign it would have sounded to Granddaddy, was a perfect description of who he was and what he had meant to that small town. And that was also my father's legacy to me. He had demonstrated what the "crown of a good name" meant: A life of decency, integrity and quite contribution.

On the 20th anniversary of Dad's death, we honored his memory by honoring that which was most important to him -- his family. We had supported our nephew as he mourned the death of his mother. And as sisters, we had reconnected with each other.

That kaf was a sign to me. Imprisoned in granite, the stonecutter's tools had released that small shape. And it had waited all these years for my eyes to interpret its meaning. The kaf''s rounded shape reminded me of a magnet, drawing together all the disparate peices of my life: a Protestant past and a Jewish present; the world of my grandparents and my own life; a funeral twenty years ago and this one. I had experienced something holy -- an opportunity to reach back in time to complete what was unfinished ... to restore what was lost ... to heal a hurt.

It was clear that the sequence of events that brought us all together that day was far more than happenstance. No doubt some will call it that. But for me, it was as clear as that kaf on my Granddaddy's tombstone. It was a gift of grace.

...............................................................................

MIRACLES ... PASS 'EM ON!

To get on our mailing list, email rev.susan.sager@gmail.com