There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle. (Albert Einstein)
A technician from our security alarm company will be arriving this morning. Soon. Grandchildren have been through the house. The living room looks as if it hasn’t been cleaned since the turn of the century. I have a good imagination; I vacuumed two days ago.
Paul H. arrives with his toolbox. He doesn’t look at anything except our misbehaving security box. I don’t notice much about him until he has almost finished with repairs. One of his eyes doesn’t align with the other. Nevertheless, he knows what he is doing and answers questions with ease.
“Would you like a cup of coffee?” my husband asks. “Sure,” he answers. I add a little milk per his request and the three of us talk. About travels. About life.
“I fell off a ladder,” he says. “Thirty-three feet.”
I gasp.
“Multiple injuries. Broken bones. Surgeries. More surgeries. Funny how kids stare and say exactly what they think. No holding back. They say I have a crazy eye. I just tell them it is artificial. I can’t see out of it. At all.” He turns toward me. “I’m a miracle.”
I think about my earlier petty concerns and smile. This man chose to see us with the vision he has left. Not a marble under the TV or a crayon on the couch. A little shared coffee sounds great. I add warmth to my cooled mug and warmth to my spirit.
Time to sign on the dotted line. Job completed. Thanks, Paul. May the story of your miracle help others see through their own times of darkness.
terrypetersen 