Oh how painful it was to discover one day that a snowman melts in the sun. That bruised hearts do not heal as fast as skinned knees. That Sean Connery is unattainable. And that there is no Santa Claus!
The disappointments were much more when I was growing up emotionally, finding that happiness is fickle and pain so inflexible. That sex is just a consolation for not having love. The recurring disappointments of "Ah... I thought he was 'the one'."
However, paradoxically it also gave me the ability to never forget one thing in life, and that is my belief in miracles. I realised over the years that miracles have a strange way of coming into reality only when one trusts in their possibility. Miracle is akin to faith. Faith that breaks a heart, in order to make it whole.
As a child, I was repeatedly told about the story of Abraham in the Holy Book, and how faith surpasses all doubts. When Abraham was asked to make a sacrifice to prove his love for God, he walked into the woods with his little son to make an offering. His son asked him where the lamb is, and he answered that God will provide the lamb. He had undeterred faith, even when he held the knife aloft over his only child... he believed that God would provide the lamb in place of his child!
Let me confess, I don’t have this kind of unshakable faith in miracles. I am too chicken-hearted to hold a knife over my own child!
For me...
Miracle is when I look outside the window at the icy branches, and believe that there are new leaves under the mounds of snow, sleeping under those tiny nodes, and that they will unfurl when the spring comes. Miracle is that new promise in the crisp and scented air, that no matter how harsh the winter, the sun will come out. Miracle is when a ‘red-eyed’ day suddenly changes into a ‘red letter’ day. Miracle is a hurt healed by a kiss!
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