Every day we live can be a miracle
Thanks to my father and my paternal grandmother I knew about the miracle.
At home there was a small chest that contained in its interior two gold charms (a girl and a man) that was the payment of a promise that my family had made to José Gregorio Hernández, a medical saint, who had given us two miracles. According to family accounts, my older sister's life and my father's had been in danger, so my mother and grandmother had asked for the miracle, and the saint had granted them. In return, my family would give him the charms as an offering.
Years later, when I was a teenager, my father and my older sister went to pay the promise (they took the gold charms) to the shrine of José Gregorio Hernández. I remember that when they returned, they had a party at home and cried as if they had taken a weight off their shoulders.
With this kind of familiar narrative, it was obvious that I grew up believing that there were things or events that were inexplicable, but as real as life itself. Of course I believe that the essence of miracle is in every single thing that exists in this universe, but I also believe, and I attest to this, that there are other events that are so unreal and illogical, that they seem like magic.
When I was a little girl, some girls disappeared in the neighborhood where I lived. It was believed that they had been kidnapped or that something worse could have happened to them. Among those girls was a friend of mine and I remember that my grandmother, an old indigenous and illiterate woman, told me to get down on my knees and talk to God as a son talks to his father, to ask him for the girls to appear. And I did. Beyond the authorities' prognosis, the girls appeared safe and sound. That's when I realized that just as superheroes have powers, we also have powers when we join hands and close our eyes.
I also remember the trip I made to Trujillo, a state in Venezuela, where the basilica of José Gregorio Hernández is located. I made that trip in 2014, because my father's health had deteriorated a lot. I remember that when I arrived, I received a great surprise, since the place is full of countless plaques, objects, insignias, which attest to the miracles performed by the saint. In my grief, I remember that I knelt down crying and did what my grandmother had taught me as a child: I joined my hands and talked to God, as a son talks to his father.
"Let me stay with my daddy a little longer, God, don't take him away yet!" - I begged him, and my father lasted two more years. Two years in which I was grateful to see him every day.
Science has taught us that every event has its logical explanation and that only what our eyes see can be real. But we know that there are thousands of invisible, imperceptible microorganisms that exist and do their work in this universe; also that there are energies powerful enough to attract bodies, make them explode, heal and even transform them into something else. Who doubts the power of a hug, of a word, of the beauty of a sunrise, of the hope that every beginning brings? Sometimes the obvious hides a mystery hidden in the obvious, and that, precisely, is the miracle of life.
This is my participation this week for our great friend @ericvancewalton's initiative: Memoir monday. If you want to participate, here's the link to the invitation post
