As a quasi-agnostic, I don’t love the word miracles, but it has a much better ring to it than “really unexpected good things.” Court Surprisingly Good Things. Nope, doesn’t do it the same way. And when I look at the world through wonder-colored glasses, miracle-courting glasses, it’s a much better place to be.
Doesn’t mean I’m not pissed that we still have little black dots that might be fleas in the house, and that my green phlegm-y cough doesn’t make me sad, and and and, and of course the bigger, grander, more socially-acceptable things to fume about like child abuse and global warming don’t pain me too.
BUT. Despite all that, co-existing with all that, there’s a current of deep gratitude, something sublime and otherworldly, that I get to plug into if I open up to it. It’s a practice, a habit I get
to cultivate. In the presence of dirty dishes, wildfires, newborn babies, hot pink sunsets and orange sunrises. And all the grey days too. It all counts. I’m gonna keep going.
Credit for the phrase, “Court Miracles” goes to my friend Cathy H, a wise and foxy babe.