Noticing Miracles

Lately, life has felt like a series of shocks and twists — one after another, so quickly that my mind could barely catch up. The uncertainty, the fear, the pain — it all began to build inside me until anxiety took over.

For the first time in my life, I decided to try medication to calm the storm. That night, I had one of the most horrific dreams I’ve ever experienced. In it, vultures that looked like fallen angels surrounded me. They threw me on my back and began to peck at me. It was agony — not just physical, but emotional and spiritual. They told me I was going to die and that I had lived a worthless life. That I had left nothing behind.

But even in that nightmare, something inside me fought back. I told them that I had given all I could — especially to my children. That I still had life in me, and I would continue to be here for them, to help them navigate this world for as long as I could. No matter what condition I had to come back in, I would keep showing up.

And then, the sun came out. The darkness lifted. I knew, even through the fear, that I could still live.

When I woke up, I was shaken. The dream had felt so real that I asked those close to me if I was dying, if maybe I already had. But as the day unfolded, something began to shift. It was as if the universe started whispering back — you are not alone.

The first whisper came in the form of soup. I had been unable to regulate my appetite, unable to eat properly, and I felt like I was wasting away. Out of nowhere, my sister-in-law showed up with soup. Warm, healing, full of care. That simple act felt miraculous — like nourishment for both body and soul.

The next miracle came when I was at my emotional lowest, still haunted by that dream and the feeling of worthlessness it tried to plant in me. A friend stopped by and told me I had been nominated for Volunteer of the Year. And then I learned that Blood Cancer United had asked me to participate in Light the Night, because I had been a significant contributor.

In that moment, I couldn’t help but see the divine symmetry. The dream tried to convince me that my life was meaningless — and then, within days, life itself sent proof that I had made an impact. That I was seen. That I mattered.

And then came another miracle — this one in the hospital.

I was terrified before my first Ommaya chemo. I waited alone in that room for what felt like forever — nearly three hours — as fear built inside me. My thoughts spiraled: This is in my head. It’s going into my brain and spine. What if I’m not me anymore after this?

Just then, a friend reached out. I told them how afraid I was, and they sent me a recording about miracles — a message that said God never meant for us to carry the weight of the world on our own. When life feels too heavy, we’re meant to lean on Him. To surrender our fear, embrace our lack of control, and trust.

As I listened, something inside me shifted. I handed all that anxiety, all that anger and fear, over to Him. And suddenly, I felt calm. I smiled. By the time the nurse came in, it was no longer a terrifying ordeal — it was simply something I had to do. It took maybe ten minutes, and when it was over, I was still me. Fully present, fully alive.

That, too, was a miracle.

And yet, perhaps one of the most beautiful miracles came not in a hospital or through a message, but on a soccer field.

I was too weak to walk that day and had to be pushed in a wheelchair to watch my daughter play. I sat far away, close to her goal, since she’s the keeper. The game was tense — tied, and the other team seemed to be pressing harder, advancing more than we were. But somehow, every shot they took went off course, as if something unseen was protecting her and that goal.

At one point, she and I locked eyes. I gave her the best, worn-out smile I could manage. And something in her lit up — I could see it happen. Suddenly, she was shouting to her teammates, taking charge, directing the field with confidence and clarity. I heard her voice rise above the noise and couldn’t help but let out a joyful yell.

I was so proud. Even in my weakness, even in my exhaustion, seeing her step into her strength lifted my soul. She became the leader her team needed, and sure enough, they scored and won — guided by her voice, her light, her courage.

That moment was a miracle in motion. Watching her shine reminded me that my light still lives on — through her.

These moments have taught me that miracles don’t always appear as dramatic rescues or divine visions. Sometimes they arrive quietly — through a friend’s message, a bowl of soup, a kind word, or an unexpected recognition. Sometimes they show up in the stillness after surrender, when we finally stop trying to control everything and allow grace to meet us where we are.

When I look back, I realize the miracle wasn’t just in the events themselves. It was in the awakening — in learning how to see them. Because when we begin to notice miracles, we begin to notice the light within ourselves. And that light, once seen, never leaves.