I was hit by a car and survived, I walked away from it actually.
Miracles happen, ask anyone. They may lean forward, eyes sparkling, eager to recount their brush with the supernatural. Others will shake their heads, denying any such experiences, but their faces will be creased with pensive memories.
We all have a miracle story. The unexplained that stretches farther than luck, too personal to chalk up to meager happenstance. Goosebumps raise, body and mind shocked by the shift of reality.
The problem with miracles is that we have to capture them, containing them within our heart. The brain is a logical organ, one with limited space, evicting the reality of the miracle for more important tenants: worry, insecurity, and stress. Our experiences get lost in the fog, unremembered and abandoned, a feeling without form, destined to dissipate.
The little daily miracles go first. The perfect amount of change found in forgotten pockets. The cheaper electric bill on the leanest of months. The postponed test on an ill-prepared morning. The stranger who knew exactly the words to say, in your darkest of moments.
They go so quickly, we never even noticed their being.
The bigger miracles persist. Death deferred. Birth of a child. Addiction recovered, to the point of forgotten. They enter our minds, not as fog, but solid turning points. They remind us of eternity and the frailty of life. Of the importance of life, and our desire for it.
Capture these moments, write them down, immortalize them. Do not allow your logical organ to forget. For even these will fade if we are not vigilant.
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What is your miracle story? Please comment, I want to know.
Rachel S. Bell, Author 
The biggest miracle for a mother will always be the gift of a child. Such a precious gift. However, a greater miracle is to watch that child become a woman. A woman who will continue the cycle and miracle of life and to get the privilege of being part of that cycle .
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