No Small Miracles

By G. E. Shuman

                Albert Einstein once stated, and I paraphrase: We must accept the premise that either nothing is a miracle, or everything is a miracle. Well, Mr. Einstein, I am one who, if that premise is true, believes that everything is a miracle. I have eyes, and I can clearly see this beautiful, immensely complex world. From your statement, I think you saw it too.  I certainly do believe that miracles happen, and that they probably happen more frequently than we realize.  After sixty-two years of living and of observing life, I don’t see how I could ever believe otherwise.  I also believe that miracles are where you find them, and that, to our dismay, sometimes we don’t even look for them. I don’t think that this means some miracles are ‘small’, in fact, I think that none of them are small. They are all big, especially when they happen to you.

                I’m writing about this today because of something that happened to my grandson, Devon, just last Sunday evening.  It was about ten pm, and that thoughtful grandson of mine had just driven to the Walmart in Manchester, NH, where he and his family live. He had gone to the store because his girlfriend was having a craving for oranges, and he wanted to buy her some. What a nice guy, right?  Somehow, during that late night run to the store, Devon’s wallet had slipped out his pocket, in the huge parking lot.  Now, it’s never good to lose your wallet, but much worse when that wallet contains your license, your debit card, your social security card, and, (This part gives me a sick feeling in my stomach.) $400 in cash from the paycheck you had just received.  Ouch! It also didn’t help that the wallet was lost in that large city, at a very busy shopping center.

                We, as a family, believe in the power of prayer. So do our children, and, also, their children. Our daughter, Cathy, (Devon’s mom) and her distraught son obviously prayed that night, and so did my wife and I, and others, when we heard about what had happened.  Yes, you need to understand, this was a joint effort. “For where two or three are gathered together in my name, there I am in the midst of them.”  Matthew 18:20. Holy Bible.

Okay, so now let me tell you about the miracle. (Pay attention, as there will be a quiz.)  As I’m sure you have already guessed, the wallet was found, which, to me, was miracle enough. A young lady about Devon’s age contacted him on Facebook, told him she had found his wallet, and asked if they could meet so that she could give it back to him. They arranged that, and Devon went to meet her.  To Devon’s surprise, and obvious relief, his wallet still contained his license, his debit card, his social security card, AND the $400 from his hard-earned paycheck. Wow!  My grandson thankfully offered to give that young lady a reward for what she had done, or to at least buy dinner for her, but she wouldn’t let him. Devon told her that it was a huge blessing for him, and she replied that people have done many good things to help her before, and she wanted to help him.  Now… here’s the quiz. Did you understand the miracle, or did you miss it?

                It was surely a ‘God thing’, that Devon got his wallet back, with his identification, his license, and even his money… every penny of it. To my grandson, I’m sure this was no small miracle. Still, to my mind, the miracle really happened in the heart of a young stranger, who found someone’s wallet in a parking lot that night, could have kept the cash, thrown the wallet away, and never given a thought to finding its owner. No one would have ever known. Really, no one would have. Instead, this young lady chose to remember what others have done for her, and to ‘pay it forward’, with no thought of self, and without ANY reward, even when it was offered.  

                In this strange year of terrorism, fear, and an increasingly nasty presidential election which seems to shout uncertainty, distress, and danger for the future of our nation, there are still people of integrity, and still young people of surprisingly sterling morals.  This, to me, is no small miracle.

               

                

Sweatshirt and Sneaker Weather

By G. E. Shuman

                For all my usual complaining about spending the past sixty-two winters here in the frozen north, at this time of year I usually have to play the hypocrite.  Truthfully, and I don’t think I even realize this myself until the summer begins to turn to fall, I love this time of year.  I do complain at least a little, or maybe a little more than a little, about the cold weather during winter in Vermont.  I do not like my snow blower, although I am grateful for it.  I also don’t like paying for heat for our old home, and gripe about that just a bit, too.

                Still, with all of that said, as I said, I do love fall here in the green mountain state.  That could be because, at this time of year, the mountains are no longer so green, although I have nothing against green leaves.  Okay, so I can’t explain it by the trees.  I do love fall, at least partially because I no longer have sweat pouring off my face and every other body part whenever I do anything out of doors.  (I don’t think anyone says ‘out of doors’ anymore, but you get what I mean.)  It really is great to ride through the hills of this northern state, with the windows down and the AC off.  My wife and I recently took such a trip to Burlington, about thirty miles from our home, via old Route 2. Check it on a map if you’re “from away.” That means you’re not “from here.” It was a beautiful ride on a wonderfully winding wooded road. (I know, too many w’s.) We took the trip in my favorite car, my 1970 vintage Volkswagen Beetle, which doesn’t even HAVE air conditioning. (It doesn’t have much of a heater, either, and therefore will be tucked in for a long winter’s nap long before snow flies.)

                I have often thought of, and have occasionally written of this time of year as ‘sweatshirt and sneaker’ weather.  Any of you who have spent some brisk Saturday mornings at a child’s or grandchild’s soccer games know just what I mean.  Nothing beats a big lawn chair and a travel mug of hot coffee at those games.  It’s also a great time of year for bike riding and maybe even a bundled-up fall picnic or two.  The air is fresh, the sun is bright, and you don’t need suntan lotion or mosquito repellant anymore.

                And then there is Halloween. Wow!  I have always loved Halloween!  That holiday, if Halloween is a holiday, has been special to me ever since I was one of the trick-or-treaters.  Rustling leaves blown by a cool fall breeze, creaking branches, spooky decorations, and big jack-o-lanterns under a bigger harvest moon still excite this old guy.  Of course, when I was young, fake blood and gory rubber blades had nothing to do with that spooky night.  Our frightening fun was found in stories of witches, goblins, ghosts, and ghouls. (I know, too many g’s.) We didn’t go in for the blood and guts of today’s costumes, but loved to dress up as werewolves, Count Dracula, or the Frankenstein monster.  As recently as last weekend my wife had to drag me out of the Halloween aisles of a big box store.  That will probably

happen at least a few more times before the end of the month arrives.  If you were wondering, no, I don’t actually dress up for Halloween anymore. (That would be silly, and we wouldn’t want that.)  I do dress up the house, though, and have amassed a good collection of decorations for the season, which, each November, I box up and bag up and keep in our dusty and dark, cobweb-laden cellar until the next Halloween. (They like it down there.)

                When my kids were younger I loved to sit on the front porch swing on Halloween evening, with the lights off, and surrounded only by the flickering light of their jack-o-lanterns.  I think the kids liked doing that too, but not as much as old Dad did. This year I’m the one with no tricks, but with a special treat.  This time I get to share Halloween with my brand new granddaughter, Nahla.  At less than three months old she probably won’t do much pumpkin carving this season, although I did buy her one that’s just her size.  Maybe she’ll at least sit on the porch with me a few evenings, and let me tell her about Halloween. There’s just nothing like the sooty-sweet aroma of a candle-lit carved pumpkin, on a spooky, late October night. Nahla needs to know about that.

                Yes, indeed. I do love this wonderful sweatshirt and sneaker weather!  I hope you do, too.