Miracles

I’m a believer in miracles.

By definition, a miracle is “an event that appears inexplicable by the laws of nature and so is held to be supernatural in origin or an act of God.” (American Heritage Dictionary)

Pope John Paul II has one miracle attributed to him, and is on his way toward sainthood. Has one, needs another.

The births of each of my children, and now grandchildren, were miracles, each and every one. There’s just no other way to explain it.

That my wonderful wife has put up with me for as long as she has is nothing short of miraculous. Really, it is.

My best friend ejected out of a stricken Marine F-4 Phantom jet at an altitude of less than one-hundred feet. He was so low that his chute couldn’t deploy, and he tumbled violently across a freshly plowed field sitting atop a rocket-assisted ejection seat. Had there not been a divine intervention, I would not have had a 20+ year friendship of such quality that one is lucky if one has 2-3 such friendships over an entire lifetime. He got lucky, and consequently, so did I.

I believe the recovery of Rep. Gabrielle Giffords will be seen as miraculous before all is said and done. Actually, it seems like a miracle that she has survived at all, given her injury.

There are miracles among my fellow church members, ranging from organ transplants to sudden awakenings from deep comas.

“Do you believe in miracles?” shouted announcer Al Michaels as the young USA Olympians beat the vaunted Russians in ice hockey in 1980 Lake Placid Winter Games.

The 33 Chilean miners trapped for more than two months, and then dramatically rescued. A miracle? I certainly thought so as I watched in utter amazement.

I’m a believer in miracles, and as I finish my next novel and prepare to take it to market, guess what I’ll be hoping for?

Yep, you guessed it.