My kind of miracle
This isn’t the dramatic kind—no lame healed, no blind sight restored, not even the deaf or mute suddenly speaking. It’s something quieter and more profound: a mother’s everyday miracle.
Today I fought the familiar battles again.
I faced my fears and tended to the small ones.
I listened closely to their chatter, engaged in their tiny conversations, and kept my attention on their needs.
I fed their small bodies and watched them take another little step toward growing up.
The best part of the day was putting them to sleep.
At last—peace.
Despite tired bones, a racing heart, and a crowded mind, I showed up and gave what I had.
I made it through the day and for that I am deeply grateful.
This is the miracle that fills our home: ordinary, persistent, and full of love.