I was reminded this morning how miracles don’t always arrive as instantaneous lightning bolts and flash floods of relief. The small, fleeting whispers of the miraculous echo of thunder in the distance, rain on the distant horizon. Still, I must keep watch, keep Hope.
Years into our own personal version of Plan B, it is easy for me to forget the details of what’s missing- for her, for me, for our family- and in weariness just beg God to make it all right. “And on the double, Lord- please and thank you…”
Four familiar words, offered effortlessly and in abundance by her siblings, yet largely absent from her vocabulary. But on a Saturday morning in August, as I sit on our deck admiring the reflection of trees against my black coffee, little feet dance by, headed back inside to sneak more grapes from the kitchen counter.
Is that thunder I hear beyond the hill?
And there as the door closes, the weather shifts for just a second. Pushing past heart’s survival armor, out of her mouth trickle four little rain drops,
“I love you, mom,”
and she’s gone. No lightning, no downpour, just an echo and a promise of rain- our Miracle in the making.