I want to wring every potential miracle from every fleeting moment.
I don’t mean the biblical style miracles or the stuff of fairy tales.
I’m talking about the real ones.
Miracles . . . like life where once was none.
An empty vessel that suddenly houses a being that kicks at my heart from within. The warmth of a tiny body and the grip of ten tiny fingers. Eyes that blink up at me from my breast and greet me with a familiarity bred within my soul.
Miracles . . . like love that gives without motive.
Love that says tell me what you want. Listen to what I’m hearing. Share with me what I have. See all that I gaze upon. Drown with me here in this bed. Let the sun fill our lungs with a new day.
Love that says ride this out in my arms.
Miracles . . . like friendship that feels like family.
People who come along and recognize in you something they feel in themselves. Moments where they turn their backs to their own lives to share with you in yours. Then invite you to share with them in theirs. Histories that weave themselves together so completely that the whole world can see you were cut from the same cloth.
My miracles . . .
. . . like the sun on my face . . . or words that seep into the air in my lungs . . . or a photograph that captures a memory I’ll never have to say good-bye to . . . or music that makes me soar . . . or ache . . . or dance . . . until the world falls away and I’m just me.
Not a mother or a wife or a friend or a label. I’m just me, smiling, and breathing, living that one moment. And loving it.
My miracles aren’t yours. But I want you to find yours. And love the fuck out of them.
It isn’t always easy. At my lowest point it became next to impossible to find one in any day.
But I’d hear a giggle from a loved one.
I’d feel his warmth at my back.
My phone would ring and I’d hear a smile. I’d hear it. A smile from a friend because she was happy to hear my voice.
Sometimes I’d have a hard time finding my miracles.
But they’d always find me.
I’m not here for any one purpose. I’m here to live. And maybe my way of living isn’t balls to the wall. I’m not traveling the world and jumping out of planes or rocking stadiums.
Those miracles are for someone else.
My miracles are here for me and I love living them.
I’m not here to achieve any one thing. I’m here to achieve as much as I can. To live every day cognizant of how miraculous it is that I’m here, that I’m healthy, and that I get to smile as much as I do.
I don’t worry about what will happen when I’m gone. What I’ll achieve or not achieve before my time runs out. But, if asked, I’ll tell you what I hope to leave behind.
A reminder.
Not of me or what I achieved. Not of who I was or what I did. Not of where I went or what I left behind.
A simple reminder for you who still lives . . . to keep living for as long, and as true, as you can.
A reminder for all who still live to keep finding your miracles . . . and keep letting them find you.
allison writes 