Remembering a Christmas Miracle

When I was three years old, my father was in the hospital.

The prognosis was not hopeful. The doctors didn’t expect him to survive.❤

My mother decided we would bring Christmas to him; in the hospital lobby. Yet, the doctors granted the permission for him to leave the hospital for one night only ~ Christmas Eve ~ and then he would need to return. It was meant to be a brief, tender goodbye wrapped in holiday lights, prayers and forced smiles.

But something happened. Prayers were answered when he returned to the hospital on that next snowy morning in Michigan.....

His bloodwork came back normal. Against all expectations. Against all explanations.

It was a miracle.

Because of that moment ~ that unexpected turn ~ my father lived.

I have always selfishly looked at me; how this affected me.

I have a beautiful mother, four sisters and the family tree goes on and on.

Yet I always say, "He watched me grow up. He saw me go to college. He witnessed the woman I became. He was there when I got married."

He lived a life that once seemed impossible; for all of us.

So, as December returns each year, this memory gently finds me again. It reminds me that hope doesn’t always arrive with certainty. Sometimes it shows up quietly, without bells, whistles and bows. It may even show up when we’re most afraid to expect it.

And it makes me wonder…

How are we seeing miracles in our own lives today?

Not the dramatic kind we post about. Not the ones tied up perfectly in matching hues.

But the smaller ones ~ the ones that keep us going.

Maybe the miracle is your body is still carrying you through hard days. Maybe it’s a relationship that you still are choosing everyday. Maybe it’s waking up again when things feel heavy. Maybe it’s clarity after confusion. Or peace after a long season of survival.

When life feels dire, we often search for hope far away ~ in outcomes, in answers, in “someday.”

But hope often lives closer than we think.

It lives in breath. In presence. In the quiet courage to keep going even when you’re tired.

Miracles don’t always mean everything turns out exactly as planned. Sometimes they mean we’re given time. Or strength. Or one more moment than we thought we’d have.

And sometimes, the miracle is simply this:

We’re still here.

If you’re in a season where things feel uncertain or overwhelming, I invite you to pause and gently ask yourself:

• Where has life surprised me before?

• What strength do I own that has always carried me through?

• What quiet miracle might I be overlooking right now?

  
  

Hope doesn’t ask us to be positive or pretend things are easy. It only asks us to stay open ~ just enough ~ to notice what’s still supporting us.

This season, may you find your own quiet miracle.

May you recognize the strength already living inside you (I see you!).

And may you remember that even when things feel fragile, hope is not gone.

It may simply be waiting ~ softly ~ to be noticed.

May you find grace, peace and the never-ending miracles that God provides!