Miracle, I have decided is a word whose meaning has been lost in its own ubiquity. I used that phrase in a recent blentry and liked it so much I am working it into the common vernacular. It will be right up there with "he is a parody of himself" and "six of one, half dozen of the other".
Miracle is like the words hero, and hate; we use them to too often and too lightly. It's true meaning being laid to waste by our casual usage. But unlike heroes, (I am of the opinion that most of the people we call heroes today are not in fact heroes), miracles happen around us all the time and we fail to recognize them as such.
So your ceiling caves in and you are unhurt... maybe even untouched. Miracle? It sure may seem pretty miraculous if it was you staring unscathed at the pile of rubble that was your ceiling. Is every person who survives a major illness a miracle?
At what point does a triumph of human spirit in the face of adversity become a miracle? I don't know the answer, but I know that I am the recipient of miracles nearly every day. And I have been all my life.
Now that you are done rolling your eyes, I am not going to launch into some prose and treacle about how bless-ed (spelled that way for effect) I am. Rather, I submit to you that miracles are where you find them.
I work for a difficult man. I don't know how else to put it. He expects a lot and makes it unpleasant when you do not meet those expectations. On more than one occasion within the last couple months I have had phone calls that either provide me with good news or mitigate the effects of bad news right before I am to speak with him and give my weekly report.
I don't believe in coincidence. I believe in miracles and I think it is a waste of time to ignore the small, every day things that happen to us while we are looking for the big things. I wrote something similar here a few weeks ago; and I feel strongly enough about it to repeat myself now.
In short- I am not going out to look for miracles, but I sure am glad they come looking for me.
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The outgoing senior class at my church is "my" first class... these are the kids that I have known since they were Freshmen. I am misty at the prospect of watching them go into the big world. I look at the kids behind them and see the day, too soon, when they will make the same rite of passage.
It's a damn good thing I'm not a parent because I think I would simply fall to pieces at every one of these milestones. But one thing is for certain, I am so glad I have had the privilege of working with these wonderful students. It is amazing how much I have learned from them and their shining examples.
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Two Tom Petty Songs fit my upcoming weekend, both of which are off the excellent Highway Companion album.
The first is "Down South" a farcical romp imagining Petty going back to the cradle of his Florida youth to make right all the wrongs he left behind and reconnect with his routes. I don't have any southern roots, but I lived in Savannah long enough that our weekend trip seems like a homecoming of sorts.
The next song is "Big Weekend". The lyric goes: "I need a big weekend; kick off the dust; I need a big weekend; if you don't run you rust."
It is no easy task, even for two relatively unattached people such as ourselves to just drop it all and go a significant distance for a short time. Yet somehow, I am energized and filled with antici.....pation at the prospect of the trip. I need a big weekend, indeed- and I think I need to bring Mr. Petty along for the ride.
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