There’s a beauty to the little miracles. The ones that, to someone else, may not even seem like a miracle because that’s how personal they are.
These are the moments that show me who God is. These are the moments he speaks into my heart: I’m listening. I know you. I love you. I’m here. These are the moments that form the foundation that enables me to say, I know God.
Does that sound crazy to you? Reading what I just wrote, it sounds crazy to me. That I don’t just know about him. I haven’t just read the stories. My life is one of the stories.
I flew to California the other week with baby Isaac, now (!) 6 months old. (And isn’t he delicious?)
In the Uber on the way to the airport, just a few minutes into the trip, he started crying. I took a deep breath and popped a pacifier in. Instantly, peace.
Does this story seem unremarkable?
It would, if you didn’t know that Isaac had tongue tie and, when his frenulum was clipped at 3 months old, he stopped taking a pacifier.
It would if you didn’t know that I’d been trying to get Isaac to take a pacifier for weeks in preparation for this particular trip–and failing. I’d put it in, he’d spit it out. Repeat. Pretty much, there was no way I was convincing this kid to like it again after a 3 month lapse.
It would seem like nothing if you didn’t know I’d been praying about flying with an infant, which despite having 3 kiddos I’d managed to avoid until then, and specifically praying that Isaac would not cry at all during the flights. (I know–an ambitious prayer. I like praying ambitiously.)
It would seem like nothing if you didn’t know that Isaac, when tired and ready for a nap (which happens after a mere 90 minutes of being awake), became a shouter. A non-pacifier-loving, shouting baby.
Add those things together: a shouty baby who would absolutely not take a pacifier, on the way to the airport for a trip I’d been anxiously praying about, suddenly begins to love the pacifier. And proceeds to get through both flights with no crying.
Like, no crying. None.
Isaac taking that pacifier ten minutes into our big trip was a little miracle. Specifically given to me. That meant something only to me. Because God is the God of the big and the small, the whole world and also each moment in my life.
So . . . yes. There’s a sweetness to the little miracles. The personal ones, that no one else will quite get. Like this one–or a hundred other examples I could give you. And, I’ve been thinking recently, the needier I am, the more little miracles seem to happen. Maybe because being needy drives me to pray more–or maybe because my eyes are just more open.
It’s the little miracles in my life that have made me cry, and smile while I’m crying, and know–it’s going to be okay. He’s here.
“Praise God from Whom all blessings flow,….”
I love your posts Jenna and love how they point me to God time and time again! Your writing of your answered prayer is God reminding me to give my ambitious and heartfelt prayers to him too.
Thank you.
I’m so glad to hear that Harriet.
Jenna, your blog popped into my mind and so I came here to see if you are still blogging…and you are! This post is so beautiful and so poignant. As I have heard so often, “God is in the details of our lives.” I think that little miracles are the most meaningful miracles because they are so personal and private; something just between you and God.
I’ve had some of those in my life, too, and they are remarkable experiences for me. One night about 10 years ago, I was taking out the garbage. It was a mundane task, being performed late at night. I was only a few months into my illness and was depressed. As I lowered the lid to the garbage can and turned to go back into the house, I stopped and looked up at the sky. Although I live in the suburbs, the city lights still block out much of the starlight. However, on this particular night I could see so many stars, even tiny faint ones. I stood still, staring at the stars and thinking and quietly praying. Slowly it dawned on me that that moment was a gift – a miracle. Aside from the fact that the city lights normally blocked the starlight, my eyes had been damaged by my illness and I shouldn’t have been able to see the stars as well as I was then seeing them. The thought came to me that this was a blessing from God, meant just for me. To any passerby I would have looked like some strange woman staring at the night sky. They never would have known that it was an extraordinary moment just between God and me.
Your little guy is absolutely adorable. Congratulations on having three children now! They are lucky kids to have you as their mama. I need to read through your blog and catch up on your life – not in a stalking way, haha. Oh, and just to answer your previous post about being able to take a decent photo of meatloaf, forget about it. Ain’t gonna happen. Cameras loathe meatloaf and casseroles. lol
Aw Terri! So good to hear from you. I loved reading the story of your personal miracle. What a beautiful moment between you and God that–you’re right–no one else would have gotten just by observing the moment from the outside.