Magnets to Miracles
The other day, I looked out my window, and I was delighted to see a little bird’s nest, perched and nestled perfectly for my viewing, in the tree outside my window.
This brought me no small measure of delight. I’ve lived in this house for going on five years now, and never have I seen a bird’s nest in the tree outside, as much as I’ve tracked its many seasons and avian visitors.
Since then, I have witnessed the little round neighbor in her home (his? their?) again and again. As I write, presently, at 3:33 in the afternoon (cute!) - oh, stop the press. I looked out the window to check on her, and she is not in the nest, but you know what is?
Eggs. Little, round, green eggs. Baby eggs!
Perhaps such things are more commonly witnessed elsewhere, but here in Brooklyn, perched at the edge of my small village in the big city, it feels like an absolute miracle to have this friend so nearby.
So I’ve been tracking her: witnessing her day in and day out. I look out the window to see how she is; I peer through the glass to check on her visage. How miraculous, springtime! How incredible, the way life grows and gives!
Perhaps I am more tuned in presently to this given circumstances. I have made no secret of the fact that it is a turbulent and tough time in my life; a season of loss, as we walk my father into the beyond (though the timeline of such is, to us, unknown). Given the layer of sorrow laced atop much of my existence presently, having the presence of mind to notice miracles - be they minor or otherwise - has been a true gift, a balm.
Similarly, or in that vein, my friend and I went to see Moulin Rouge last night.
It was a spectacle! Made more fun by the fact that this would likely not be the show I chose - but my friend won last minute tickets, and away we went. We had marvelous seats, so close to the stars that I could see their sweat and pores, and I sang along to the familiar tunes (the show has changed, it seems, since the movie of my youth came out).
So these joys - these wonders - these miracles - right now, I cling to them. I savor them. I allow myself to truly steep in them. For they are necessary.
Necessary - and also, something to seek. When I went for a walk, I realized the nest is not visible from street level. Unless you were really certain of what you were looking for - and happened to be looking up at just the right angle - you would miss it.
Aren’t miracles, at times, a bit like this?
Some seasons bring joy to the forefront. It is bold, center stage, the star of the show.
But other seasons - we have to be adamant. We have to become scavengers, hunters of joy. We have to become magnets to miracle, seeking out the minor and major, like creatures catching stars.
We do this so we can weather. So we can be with. So we can walk - the storm.
If it is a sorrowful season - so be it. That I cannot change (in this instance). That I cannot control.
But I can … become a miracle catcher. Looking for them everywhere. Birb on the branch, eggs in the basket, the refrigerator in my house is cool, there are friends to speak to, jokes that make me laugh, the internet, the fact that I can write this to you, my IPad where I draw, drawing itself, and, always, love.
I can become an anthropologist of miracle: studying, finding, keeping, recording.
I can become a PhD of beauty, witnessing, immersing in, enjoying.
I can become a magnet to the marvelous,
Catching moments like falling stars,
One by one.
P.S. The bird is still there.
Go Deeper