Grandma says: Expect Miracles
As a child, I was not at all clear about this miracle stuff. When Grandma Fannie said, “Expect miracles.” I was thinking that perhaps she might pull a rabbit out of a hat, that school would be cancelled, or that we would become as rich as our neighbors and get electricity and a television. Later I thought a miracle would be if I suddenly grew tall, had broad shoulders, and no one at school would make fun of me or push me around. I did, of course, know that in church the minister and the church school teacher would talk about Jesus coming alive again, but I did not think that even if that were true that it had any practical application to my life. After all, a miracle should have some practical value.
As I got older, finished high school and became a member of the military if I thought about miracles at all, I thought of being able to go back in time so that whatever mistake I had made or whatever I had done to make my chief angry could be undone. I also thought of the potential miracle of getting an actual date. Since I was slight of build, blondish and fair complexed even into my late twenties I appear to be no older than 10. No one was at all interested in dating a 10-year-old!
The first time I was introduced to the 12-step recovery program I was working with a Priest in the Yardville Youth Correction Center in New Jersey. Even then a lot of addicts were being sent to prison (youth seemed to extend through the twenties and even included the mob folks who had their own wing of the so-called youth correction center). Father Kenna seemed to know a lot about this AA program (I do not recall any mention of the NA or other 12-step programs) and insisted that it was important to introduce the prisoners to this approach to recovery. I would often hear Father Kenna say, “Don’t give up just before the miracle.” As I began to listen to the stories of those addicted to alcohol and other drugs I began to realize that all I thought about addicts was incorrect. Some of the prisoner clients were bright, educated, kind- hearted people who seemed to have no control over the drugs once they started using. I knew, of course, about nicotine but, in those days, smoking was still very acceptable by almost everyone including many of the chain-smoking doctors I knew or saw on television. When Father Kenna talked about miracles he was talking about the miracles of reclaiming one’s life from active addiction and, thus, from that criminal behavior which was necessitated by the need to get more money to buy more drugs, pay the rent after one lost yet another job, or to feed one’s family.
Later I was to learn that Grandma Fannie was well aware of how easy it was for we humans to get attached or addicted to power, money, careers, bullying, or a host of other behaviors which had no resemblance to the values which she was attempting to impart to her grandchildren and others. She knew that life would often show up in the form of illness, job or career challenges, relationships challenges, storms, and other events which might tempt one to doubt that it paid to hold on to one’s values. Certainly, economic hardships, mental illness, physical illness, tornadoes and other forces of nature had affected Grandma Fannie or those she cared about. Yet, she would say, “Expect miracles.” I was thinking, “Sure!”
I did not begin to understand what she meant by miracle until Father Kenna and some others helped me see that no matter what was happening in my life or all around me I could experience the miracle of a helping hand, of a window opening where their seemed to be no light, of an opportunity to learn or grow, or a chance to learn the humility of trusting that it was enough to be human and to do one’s best.
Many other people who had lived through war, survived refugee status, dealt with the loss of children or others they held close to their hearts showed me that one could love, laugh and celebrate the seemingly everyday miracles of new life, a simple meal, the magic of that seed or brown bulb knowing how to create something of beauty which might also feed me or some other part of nature, a smile or the simple joy of knowing that today one does not have to kidnaped and tortured by addiction to drugs, money, power, relationships or other forces.
Today, I am still learning and relearning what it means to not give up just before the miracle or to expect miracles. Over the years I have come to understand the difference between sleight of hand magic which is fun and celebrating the miracle of being a tiny part of something bigger than myself.
Thanks, Grandma Fannie.
Written July 31, 2017
As a child, I was not at all clear about this miracle stuff. When Grandma Fannie said, “Expect miracles.” I was thinking that perhaps she might pull a rabbit out of a hat, that school would be cancelled, or that we would become as rich as our neighbors and get electricity and a television. Later I thought a miracle would be if I suddenly grew tall, had broad shoulders, and no one at school would make fun of me or push me around. I did, of course, know that in church the minister and the church school teacher would talk about Jesus coming alive again, but I did not think that even if that were true that it had any practical application to my life. After all, a miracle should have some practical value.
As I got older, finished high school and became a member of the military if I thought about miracles at all, I thought of being able to go back in time so that whatever mistake I had made or whatever I had done to make my chief angry could be undone. I also thought of the potential miracle of getting an actual date. Since I was slight of build, blondish and fair complexed even into my late twenties I appear to be no older than 10. No one was at all interested in dating a 10-year-old!
The first time I was introduced to the 12-step recovery program I was working with a Priest in the Yardville Youth Correction Center in New Jersey. Even then a lot of addicts were being sent to prison (youth seemed to extend through the twenties and even included the mob folks who had their own wing of the so-called youth correction center). Father Kenna seemed to know a lot about this AA program (I do not recall any mention of the NA or other 12-step programs) and insisted that it was important to introduce the prisoners to this approach to recovery. I would often hear Father Kenna say, “Don’t give up just before the miracle.” As I began to listen to the stories of those addicted to alcohol and other drugs I began to realize that all I thought about addicts was incorrect. Some of the prisoner clients were bright, educated, kind- hearted people who seemed to have no control over the drugs once they started using. I knew, of course, about nicotine but, in those days, smoking was still very acceptable by almost everyone including many of the chain-smoking doctors I knew or saw on television. When Father Kenna talked about miracles he was talking about the miracles of reclaiming one’s life from active addiction and, thus, from that criminal behavior which was necessitated by the need to get more money to buy more drugs, pay the rent after one lost yet another job, or to feed one’s family.
Later I was to learn that Grandma Fannie was well aware of how easy it was for we humans to get attached or addicted to power, money, careers, bullying, or a host of other behaviors which had no resemblance to the values which she was attempting to impart to her grandchildren and others. She knew that life would often show up in the form of illness, job or career challenges, relationships challenges, storms, and other events which might tempt one to doubt that it paid to hold on to one’s values. Certainly, economic hardships, mental illness, physical illness, tornadoes and other forces of nature had affected Grandma Fannie or those she cared about. Yet, she would say, “Expect miracles.” I was thinking, “Sure!”
I did not begin to understand what she meant by miracle until Father Kenna and some others helped me see that no matter what was happening in my life or all around me I could experience the miracle of a helping hand, of a window opening where their seemed to be no light, of an opportunity to learn or grow, or a chance to learn the humility of trusting that it was enough to be human and to do one’s best.
Many other people who had lived through war, survived refugee status, dealt with the loss of children or others they held close to their hearts showed me that one could love, laugh and celebrate the seemingly everyday miracles of new life, a simple meal, the magic of that seed or brown bulb knowing how to create something of beauty which might also feed me or some other part of nature, a smile or the simple joy of knowing that today one does not have to kidnaped and tortured by addiction to drugs, money, power, relationships or other forces.
Today, I am still learning and relearning what it means to not give up just before the miracle or to expect miracles. Over the years I have come to understand the difference between sleight of hand magic which is fun and celebrating the miracle of being a tiny part of something bigger than myself.
Thanks, Grandma Fannie.
Written July 31, 2017
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