It’s a miracle if we open our eyes

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Seldom will anyone accuse me of being overly religious.
Few are the times I’ve been told I attend church services too often.
And rare is it for me to argue religion.
Politics? Sports? The price of tea in China? All are fair game for argument’s sake. But I try my best to give religion a wide right of way.

Surely I have been involved in my share of heated discussions about beliefs and faiths and denominations. But I’ll never consider myself a biblical scholar or well enough studied in the myriad religions that exist on this planet.
I will never disprove of anyone’s choice of religion or beliefs.
This is not about any particular sect.
This is about recognizing miracles., in its unabridged format, defines “miracle”:
1. An effect or extraordinary event in the physical world that surpasses all known human or natural powers and is ascribed to a supernatural cause.
2. Such an effect or event manifesting or considered as a work of God.
3. A wonder; marvel.

Interesting, isn’t it, that no mention of “God” came until the end of the second definition.
The first preference for the American Heritage Dictionary combines the top two selections from
“An event that appears inexplicable by the laws of nature and so is held to be supernatural in origin or an act of God.”
But, again, this is not about God or what church one attends or if one even worships by today’s standards.
This is about recognizing miracles.

I’ve often quoted Jules Winnfield, the character Samuel L. Jackson portrays in “Pulp Fiction.” In the film, he discusses “an according-to-Hoyle” miracle.
Ay, for many of us, there’s the rub.
I ask you: Who else quotes Jules Winnfield and The Bard in back-to-back sentences?
I digress.

“Miracle on 34th Street.”
“The Miracle Worker.”
“Miracle on Ice.”
“The Miracle of the Bells.”
Hollywood and filmmakers around the world have given us countless movies with titles using the word.
So, the question is obvious: What is a miracle?

This is about recognizing miracles.
Unannounced and uninvited, thoughts of the question crept into my head this morning during my daily, eastwardly commute.
The hues of nature were too many to determine, much less to mention. The vibrant reds, oranges, browns, greens and yellows were the Earth’s amazing Technicolor dreamcoat.
They ran the spectrum and shouted to all, “Arise! This is today!”
I so love today. I so love having today. And I realized how fortunate I was to be able to recognize the miracle of today.

Steam rose in wispy fashion off the cold waters of the Cimarron River.
A mother cow tongued clean her calf.
The vast expanse of the sky spread from horizon to Carolina blue horizon.
A few light clouds greeted the rising sun, seemingly saying, “Come on in; we’ve got lots of room.”
And come in it did, appearing first in an orange glow and gradually transforming itself into a soft, luminous orb.
Into a miracle impossible for anyone to not recognize.