Everybody Needs a Miracle

Surrounded by tangled, knotted, shreds of a mess of my own best-effort making,  I feel doubly dead.

Doubly-dead seems worse than once-dead. 

If I hadn’t given it such an all-out personal excellence endeavor I could have had a back door.  

Or at least a back window.  

Or a tiny crack between the window and the wall. 

But now I know without a shadow of a doubt what a pathetic failure I am with nothing left.  Nothing, that is, short of a miracle.

The thought of a miracle reminds me of that prayer, and something akin to shame pokes me in the ribs. 

God? I whisper.  Are You still there? I wait.  The room is full of silence.  I lower my voice I can hardly hear myself.  Jesus... Can You hear me?  I wait some more, the silence feels more articulate than the last night’s State of the Union address.  I proceed with extreme caution one word at a time.

If… You… hear… me…

I…

…need…

…Your…

…help…

Help..

Me…

Please…

I hesitate for a moment before I decide that’s all I need to say.  

The silence all around seems to have begun to seep inside me. This is very unusual because even when my mouth is not moving there is always some chattering going on inside my head.

Suddenly I realize that I have all the time in the world to wait for God’s help… because I had nowhere else to go. 

There is no timetable. 

No prescribed choreography for His appearance. 

No conditions and no demands.

For a control freak like me, this is extremely… weird.  But good kind of weird.   I am tempted to call it a miracle.