E-couragement: Miraculous
“Here is the test to find whether your mission on earth is finished: If you’re still alive, it isn’t.” Ralph Waldo Emerson
“Daddy passed peacefully at 4:30 pm—life will not be the same. The world just lost the funniest man I know” read my friend’s Facebook post. Her heartfelt words immediately transported me to late December 2011. My wife, Ivy, had been in Palliative Care for two weeks. Her sister had come to sit with her. Tears welled up in her eyes as she gazed upon Ivy sleeping in the hospital bed. She defiantly stated, “I still believe there’ll be a miracle.” No additional words were necessary; I knew what she meant. With her voice still resonating in my mind, I headed home for my daily shower and change of clothes.
Arriving home, I was keenly aware that a thin slice of solitude was available before returning to the hospital. I said out loud, “Okay God. We’ve got two hours here alone. Whatever you need to say, now is the time.” Then, right on cue, the conversation started: Rich, I guarantee there will be a miracle. I knew God was referring to my interaction with Ivy’s sister. The voice continued: Not the type of miracle you might be hoping for. You see the transformation at the end of a life is as miraculous as the transformation that begins a life.
Standing in a cascading shower, shampoo lathered in my hair, I contemplated what I had just heard; I wondered about its truth. If death, like birth, really is miraculous, why don’t we refer to it that way? I can’t recall anyone every proclaiming, “I just witnessed the miracle of death!” Then it hit me—emotion. Birth is associated with feelings of gain and joy while death is connected with loss and sorrow. The more I opened up to this new thought, the more sense it made. Both transformations are truly miraculous. Showing up in human form and returning back to spirit are absolutely amazing bookends to our life journey. They’re both every bit as miraculous as a caterpillar emerging from its cocoon, transformed into a beautiful butterfly.
Driving back to Ivy’s hospital room, I felt encouraged. Whatever the outcome, Ivy and I were sure to experience a miracle. A few days later, after her transformation back to spirit form, I contemplated my learning. Here’s what I’ve come away with: Showing up is a miracle. Living is a miracle. Returning is a miracle. Regardless of the moment-to-moment random emotions, which accompany each of those stages—our journey from beginning to end is totally and fully miraculous.
Leave your comments: How might you live miraculously today?