I am reading the book “Dying to be Me: My Journey from Cancer to Near Death, to True Healing” by Anita Moorjani. I first heard of the book through Marianne’s blog. Monday night, at the township meeting held in extreme frigid temperatures, Doris’ brother slipped me the book.
It shows you good can come even when we’re complaining about treacherous driving conditions, because I am thoroughly enjoying reading about Anita’s miracle. She suffered four years with cancer until her organs shut down one winter day.
They rushed her to the hospital and she slipped into a coma, appearing to the world that her life dwindled quickly. Her perspective, however, arose differently in the depths of her coma. She perceived everything happening with clarity and joy. Her awareness expanded; she felt pure love.
I won’t spoil the story by telling in detail what happened, but you can probably gather that Anita experienced a miracle. She returned to Life and embraced a journey of healing. Her tumors disappeared. She shares her story with hundreds of thousands.
Yep, dear readers, miracles are possible.
They sometimes exist. Not always, not every day, but sometimes they happen.
May I share a personal story of a miracle?
I was ten years old, a wee shy curly-haired glasses-wearing sprite. Our family loved a dog named Chopper in our ranch-style home in the Thumb of Michigan. Chopper, a wire-haired terrier, cringed in thunderstorms and ran helter-skelter around our apple orchard in the backyard.
One fine summer day our Chopper ran away. Disappeared. Vanished.
My parents searched and searched, but no Chopper returned home. My two brothers and I were heartbroken.
That night I kneeled in my bedroom and sobbed and prayed and sobbed and prayed. It seemed like hours passed. I begged God for help. Pleaded. Wept some more. Finally crawled beneath my pink bedspread and slept, exhausted, scared for dear Chopper out there somewhere missing in the dark night, yet hoping God might miraculously hear my heartfelt prayer.
The next day–no sign of our dear pet.
My friend, Pattijo, called and asked: “Would you like to go for a bike ride?” Four of us would ride our bright and shiny Schwinn bikes out in the country where she lived.
Why not? It felt agonizing to continue to wait at home for news of Chopper.
We rode into the sunlit morning. We pedaled and pumped through the flat country dotted with farms. Cows mooed from fields and horses clattered away as we approached.
We pedaled farther and farther from her country house, turning this way and that. Pattijo seemed to know our destination and we followed, feeling freedom for one of the first times in our young lives.
Maybe five miles from home we turned again to the left. We were in Unknown Territory now. I never even knew this place existed so far from my in-town ranch-style home.
We pedaled up a driveway when there–
–no, it couldn’t be–
Chopper came running toward us.
Five miles from home.
Chopper ran exuberantly toward us, waving his stubbing tail, delighted, seeming to say, “Oh, yes, here you are, thank you for coming!”
In that moment I believed in God. I believed in miracles. I believed.
And that belief in knowing that Life pulsates beyond our five senses never ceased.
Have you experienced a miracle? Did a single event propel you into this landscape of divinity and grace which sometimes reveals itself like a gift?
What are your thoughts about miracles?