The blending or interweave of dimensions––threads of creation in my view––whether it’s physical (length, breadth and depth), cosmological (time, matter and space), human (physical, mental, spiritual), or experiential (real, imagined or mystical) has always been a source of fascination for me.
However, it’s the mystical aspects of our experience––the realm of miracles––that I find so intriguing. Especially when one enters this realm and a life’s trajectory changes as a result.
First, my definition of miracles. I characterize subtle miracles as the wonders that filter through happenstance––only understood when connected retrospectively. Something that is beyond circumstance and clearly demonstrates God’s touch. The mind-blowing, heaven-rending miracles are for Moses, Padre Pio or the Fatima visionaries. As grand and faith affirming as those are, I’m going to tell you about a subtle miracle. Mine.
Due to a strange compulsion to pick up a book, I never would have begun the necessary introspection to discover and accept the grace of God. Because of one incredible woman’s courage, I did not jump into the void. By virtue of God’s introduction––His mystical hand––I began to turn away from self and look to Him as the source and summit of life.
Inspiration is multi-faceted. It can apply to a muse, to creativity or even blinding revelation. In those dark, God-denying days, as I was falling into terrible hopelessness, God chose a person of faith to inspire me.