Innholdsfortegnelse for Dec/Jan 2023 i Mysterious Ways

Everyday miracles are out there. We just have to be open to recognizing them. One of those everyday miracles that I encounter most often in my own life is the miracle of divine timing. I’m a planner. I like to lay out my schedule weeks in advance. It helps ensure that I always have something to look forward to. One recent Saturday, I was all set to meet a friend in the city for lunch. I woke up that morning and opened the blinds—and saw that it was storming outside. The weather was so bad that it would have been unsafe to drive. I called my friend and we canceled, rescheduling for another time. I sounded cheerful, but I was feeling pretty down. What bad timing for a storm. Now…

It was the night before Christmas Eve, and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even my golden retriever mix, Lucky. She was sleeping peacefully, curled up on the floor. My small artificial Christmas tree was set up on a table in the corner of the room. Its lights twinkled merrily. The rain was coming down hard outside, creating a soothing melody. I decided to take a cue from Lucky and turn in early. As I drifted off to sleep, visions of sugar plums should’ve been dancing through my head. Instead, I woke to a strange hissing sound. The first thing I saw was the digital clock on my nightstand. 5 A.M. The next thing I saw was the water. I lived in an old building that…

“A cancer inexplicably cured. A voice in a dream. A statue that weeps. A miracle is an event that strengthens faith. It is possible to look at most miracles and find a rational explanation in terms of natural cause and effect. It is possible to look at Rembrandt’s Supper at Emmaus and find a rational explanation in terms of paint and canvas. Faith in God is less apt to proceed from miracles than miracles from faith in God.” —Frederick Buechner “Miracles are not contrary to nature, but only contrary to what we know about nature.” —Saint Augustine “Miracles are a retelling in small letters of the very same story which is written across the whole world in letters too large for some of us to see.” —C. S. Lewis “Miracles occur…

In my mid-twenties, after I’d had my heart broken, my mother gave me a small stuffed bear. Inside a little pouch on the front of the bear was a pretty red glass heart. “This is a reminder that you will always be loved,” she wrote in the accompanying note. I kept the heart in a small box next to my bed. When I was unable to sleep, I’d turn it over and over in my hands. Feeling its smooth, cool surface comforted me. Years passed. I moved upstate. The glass heart was lost in the move, but I eventually found another source of comfort—walks along the Hudson River. On tough days, I’d head to my favorite spot and gaze out over the strong, meandering current, finding peace in the sparkling…

I frantically combed through my jewelry box for the backs to my earrings. I kept finding backs that were too big or too small but none that fit. I glanced at the clock. I had to leave or I was going to be late for my job working retail at a furniture store. Irritated, I gave up and headed to work, my backless earrings in my pocket. What a bad start to my day, I thought. At work, a woman walked into the store. She casually browsed. As she passed me, I greeted her. She asked how my day was going. “I’ve had better mornings,” I said, with a laugh. “I just wasn’t able to find the backs for my earrings.” I wasn’t sure why I was telling her about…

THE WIDOW’S SON (1 KINGS 17:10-24) God led Elijah to the home of a widow and her son who kindly gave him the last of their food. Shortly after, the widow’s son grew ill and stopped breathing. She was angry and confused. Why would God take her son after she had helped his prophet? Her fear was short-lived. Elijah prayed for the son, and the boy began to breathe again. “Now I know that you are a man of God,” the widow said to Elijah, “and that the word of the Lord from your mouth is the truth.” Even amid doubt, there was healing. THE LEAPING MAN (ACTS 3) The apostles John and Peter came across a man who was unable to walk. Peter called on the power of Jesus…

I rode my usual bus on my way home from work, sitting in the aisle seat. Normally, I sat in the same window seat, a third of the way through the bus. But today, something had told me I needed to sit in an aisle seat. The conviction was strong as I boarded the bus and made my way through the rows of seats, and I couldn’t ignore it. Okay, I’ll do a different seat today, I’d thought. I sat down in the aisle seat and didn’t slide into the window seat as I usually did. About 10 minutes into the ride, we approached a shopping center as we always did. As we passed it, I heard a pow! pow! pow! Small pieces of glass flew through the air, littering…

Sad as I was when my husband, Neil, died, I knew that he was okay. He was in heaven, after all, a place without pain. An eternity in God’s presence. But could Neil see and hear us even if we couldn’t see or hear him? And if so, did that mean he missed us? Or had he forgotten all about me and our daughters? Then one night I dreamed of Neil. In the dream, I walked out onto our patio, where we used to sit together, and saw him. The sunshine sparkled around him, and a gentle breeze blew the scent of honeysuckle through the air. “What are you doing here?” I asked. He pointed at the sky. “The Big Guy sent me to tell you a few things. First…

I dialed my sister, Julie, and put the phone up to my ear. She picked up on the second ring. “How’s Mom?” I asked. Julie sighed. “She’s sleeping,” she said. “She woke up a few times, but I think she’s comfortable now.” That was good. After undergoing surgery to install a pacemaker, Mom needed the rest. She’d been suffering from atrial fibrillation—a heart condition that causes an irregular and racing heart rate—for the past few months. It was scary watching her health decline, especially since our father had passed less than a year before. Julie and I were taking turns staying with Mom as she recovered. I’d had the morning shift that day. Julie had gone home to see her children and check in with work before coming back to relieve…

In Borgloon, Belgium, stands a church that, depending on where you stand, seems to disappear into thin air. The illusion is achieved through 100 half-inch-thick metal plates suspended by 2,000 columns. It weighs 30 tons yet looks ethereal. The church is an art installation called Reading between the Lines. It was constructed in 2011 by Pieterjan Gijs and Arnout Van Vaerenbergh. Accessible only by foot, the church encourages viewers to broaden their perspective on faith, spirituality and God’s presence in nature. Even from inside the structure, the beauty of creation is visible.…

That Friday in 2009 started like any other. Over the past several months, I’d developed a routine. I’d stay in my darkened bedroom as long as possible. When I gathered up enough energy, I’d scan the classifieds for jobs. There were none. Then I’d sit immobile for hours, staring at the wall, consumed by anxiety. Most days, that’s as far as I got. Walking to the mailbox took all of my energy—when I could force myself to do it. The yard went unmowed. I rarely took out the trash. The fog of depression had begun to descend in late 2008. When the economy failed, so did my business. My media company tanked almost overnight, taking with it every penny I’d saved. Then my wife filed for divorce. It had been…

With every nerve in my body tensed, I hurried down the dark streets of San Francisco’s Mission District. Frightening even in the day-time, the neighborhood took on a sinister life of its own in the early morning hours. Only an emergency would have gotten me into those filthy alleyways at 2 A.M., and that was exactly why I was there that night in 1956. Clutched in my hand was my third-grade report card. It had to be signed for school the next day: “No excuses,” my teacher had warned. So I had to find my mother. I reached the back door of another loud, smoky bar and pushed it open. Inside I stood for a long moment, giving my eyes a chance to adjust to the dim light before I…

“A single act of love makes the soul return to life.” —MAXIMILIAN KOLBE Maximilian Kolbe (1894-1941) was a Polish Catholic priest, mystic and martyr. As a child, he had a vision that determined the course of his life. In the vision, Mary offered him a choice between two crowns: a white one that represented purity and virtue and a red one that represented martyrdom. Maximilian chose both crowns. Inspired by this vision, Maximilian became a priest and founded a monastery, where he aided thousands of Jews and refugees escaping Nazi persecution. He was arrested and sent to Auschwitz, where he inspired hope by praying with fellow prisoners and singing hymns. In 1941, Maximilian offered to take the place of a man chosen to be killed. He leaves a legacy of faith…