A couple of years ago, a mutual friend invited me over to her house for coffee. She had heard I was in a shit storm and was also in the midst of one herself. I came in the complete knowledge that both her and I were going to give zero f’s in the way that one’s in survival mode always do. There would be no energy wasted on the normal foo-foo fluff that humans normally skirt around in everyday conversations.
Within minutes of entering her kitchen we were talking and I was crying.
Lord knows I’ve never been good at foo-foo fluff anyway.
We talked about how we had to believe in miracles at this point. Because it was going to take one, two, or twenty to get us out of the place we found ourselves.
I told her I was going to ask God for a miracle that would be the stepping stone to get us out of the shit storms we were both facing.
Well, two years have passed and I got her Christmas card in the mail. One of those cute ones full of collages of smiling faces and festive attire and I realized,
neither of us got the miracle I had asked God for.
But we had survived regardless
and every day we had survived eventually got us out of those storms.
What we hadn’t been able to see then, that I could so clearly see now was:
SURVIVING WAS AND HAD ALWAYS BEEN THE MIRACLE.
Surviving looks like pushing forward in life with a white-knuckled faith in a God who says he holds all things together, even when we feel like most everything in our lives is falling apart.
So I write this, in the knowledge that the holidays can make shit storms feel shittier. Can make voids in our lives and our families feel larger. Can make the lump in your throat bigger and the bricks in your chest heavier.
I don’t know what shit storm you’re in, entering into, skating out of, or have been in. But I write this to remind you and me that surviving is going to be and has always been the miracle.