SMALL MIRACLES | PART TWO
“While I am looking for something large, bright, and unmistakably holy, God slips something small, dark, and apparently negligible in my pocket. How many other treasures have I walked right by because they did not meet my standards? I'm learning to let go of my bright ideas about God so that my eyes are open to the God who is.”
Barbara Brown Taylor, Learning to Walk in the Dark
I will stay on the topic of “small miracles” for this week, as it continues to draw energy for me. Last week, I mentioned my obsession with “fast.” What was implied was also an illusion of chasing after “large, bright, and unmistakably holy.” The small miracles (I would not have used the word "miracle" in the same sentence with "small") would have been too frivolous and not worth my time and focus.
I texted my son, Michael, to wish him a happy 32nd birthday, his first as a father, with many more to come. His reply made me pause with tears in my eyes: “I think about you every time I watch the Lakers with Jaelen.” That was and is a small miracle. We had Michael when I was 31. Even as a toddler, he was always more interested in balls than any other toys. As he grew up, I wished we could watch and follow the Lakers together. That wish came true as Michael became a passionate Lakers fan, thanks to Kobe. Over the years, we celebrated all major victories and championships together and endured the heartbreaks.
Just this morning, while still in bed, I was texting with my oldest, Elizabeth. She asked whether we would subscribe to the MLB TV package so we could watch the reigning champs, the Dodgers. Her last message was, “Miss watching games with you!” That brought a tender smile to my face and reminded me of a time when our family bonded over the Dodgers. When our children, along with my son-in-law and daughter-in-law, visited us in Malaysia in the fall of 2024, our mornings often started with watching the Dodgers in the postseason. We shouted, groaned, and high-fived our way to the championship over the Yankees.
Then there is the “big” miracle about to happen. Our third, Hannah, is pregnant with a baby girl. The baby is due in the middle of July. Hannah and the baby are healthy. My boy just had a baby boy, and now my girl is about to have a baby girl. Words fail to capture all my emotions and thoughts. We have circled the date and just booked our tickets, as we would not want to miss the arrival of our second grandchild.
Our youngest, Brad, has just moved out on his own for the first time since his college days. He was merely six months old when we moved into our current house in Pasadena. Understandably, it was a big deal for him and a small miracle. Using my words, he is thriving. “I feel like I'm finding a good rhythm, and I think I'm taking care of myself decently well. It's been fun figuring it out.“
As I mull over small miracles in the context of my family and adult children, particularly, as our family is unapologetically a foodie family, I think of preparing and sharing meals led by the renowned in-house chef, Brad. I cannot fail to mention playing Mario Kart on Nintendo Switch 2. For a fleeting while, I enjoyed blowing them by when they were little; now I am being left in the dust by everyone. I miss the midnight In-N-Out Burger run on the weekends. My miracle-seeking heart also traces back to a time when we did the “ritual of leaving,” right before our children left for the US. In recounting some of the small miracles surrounding my memory of our children, there is an unmistakable, tender aching in my heart, both because I miss them and I want more. I can sense and concur, “My eyes are open to the God who is.”