thirty-nine memories (14)

Memory #14: I Am a Witness

For the past two years in FYE I have had my students read the novel Peace Like a River by Leif Enger. If you haven't, by all means rush out and get a copy to read. Allow me first to quote a little passage from the first chapter--a little something about miracles. A memory will follow.

Let me say something about that word: miracle. For too long it's been used to characterize things or events that, though pleasant, are entirely normal. Peeping chicks at Easter time, spring generally, a clear sunrise after an overcast week—a miracle, people say, as if they've been educated from greeting cards. I'm sorry, but nope. Such things are worth our notice every day of the week, but to call them miracles evaporates the strength of the word.

Real miracles bother people, like strange sudden pains unknown in medical literature. It's true: They rebut every rule all we good citizens take comfort in. Lazarus obeying orders and climbing up out of the grave—now there's a miracle, and you can bet it upset a lot of folks who were standing around at the time. When a person dies, the earth is generally unwilling to cough him back up. A miracle
contradicts the will of earth.

My sister, Swede, who often sees to the nub, offered this: People fear miracles because they fear being changed—though ignoring them will change you also. Swede said another thing, too, and it rang in me like a bell: No miracle happens without a witness. Someone to declare, Here's what I saw. Here's how it went. Make of it what you will. (p. 3)

On Friday, October 24, 2008, I witnessed a miracle in my office. Someone (who had recently read this very same book) was dead, and came to life. Was lost, and was found. Was blind, and saw. Was born again. Became a child of God.

I know what I saw. I am a witness. This is how it went. Make of it what you will.