DKL, I’ve come to enjoy blogging here. I’m going to respond quite seriously to your post, though–no humor.

I’ve always been a little disturbed by the “striking” miracles–loaves and fishes, healing the blind, etc. I love them, of course, and I believe in them. But for me, the greatest miracle has always been the way faith makes new creatures of us, enfolds us into Christ and Christ into us.

The irony of your post (and I read your early draft–you have now left out the warning to your readers to not faint when they learn that you are considered a role model for the youth) is that you are yourself the miracle, wrought into a new creature through Christ. You’ve published elsewhere about your earlier aetheism and your change of heart. Not so many years ago, if you were driving somewhere fast on a Sunday, it would not have been to a store to buy bread for the sacrament. Maybe you would’ve bought something, but not bread–at least not for that purpose. Somewhere, your journey–even an unorthodox one like buying sacrament bread on the Sabbath–has become consecrated.

I have seen miracles in my life (including some big ones which would qualify as “striking” and which I do not share capriciously.) Sometimes, the miracles have come BECAUSE I have been foolish and have gotten myself into situations which required some serious intervention. Other times, I have been an honored witness.

I’m going to share one miracle I witnessed, simply because I want a record of it and I’ve never written it down.

When Bruce and I moved into our neighborhood, the guy up the street was a grumpy steel worker with a 3-pack-a-day habit. He could lose his temper over dog poop. That was over twenty years ago.

Things happened in his life which are not mine to tell, but they resulted in him returning to the Mormonism he had abandoned as a 16-year-old. He came back to church shyly, and finally offered a halting testimony of about three sentences. Within a year, my husband helped ordain him to the Melchizedek priesthood. (His wife and family had been active through all of this time.)

Exactly one week after he was ordained to the priesthood, his house burned down. It was arson, and it had been well-planned. Propane tanks exploded, sending 70-foot flames into the air. I remember waking up and being aware that something was wrong–the sky was strangely red–and then hearing my neighbor knocking frantically on our front door to get us out, because our home was also threatened.

An ambulance pulled up. My neighbor’s wife was in shock, and was put into the ambulance on a stretcher. Bruce and I could see into the ambulance’s back window from where we stood on the street. I saw my neighbor kneel beside his wife and put his hands on her head. I said to my husband, “Bruce, he’s giving her a blessing. He’s giving his wife the first blessing he’s ever given.”

That man has now served as my bishop for six years. He has become eloquent, wise, and full of love. He is radiant.
I recall his first testimony after the fire. You have to picture a gruff, portly, very tanned steelworker with slicked-back silver hair standing at the pulpit. “This has been quite a year,” he said. “I came back to the church. I got the priesthood. I got my Patriarchal Blessing. My house burned down. I am grateful. In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.”

His testimonies now are considerably longer and more fluid. But he is an example in the flesh of God magnifying an offering, whether it’s an offering of fish and bread, or of a contrite heart yearning for redemption.

I’ve broken the sabbath (on one occasion) to purchase sacrament bread and I hated the fact that this was happening. However, there was some amusement in the eyes of the cashier that morning and we chatted a little. It was obvious to me that this cashier had seen a man in a suit and tie purchasing white bread on many-a-Sunday-morning and that by now she knew exactly what was going on.

Without meaning to criticize DKL specifically (since I’ve been in the same boat) I think that this kind of thing is a sign of laxity. As stewards, we need to be almost paranoid sometimes. We should pre-imagine things that could go wrong and do what we can to prevent these things from happening.

On the Sundays after I ended up purchasing bread, I would find myself bringing a loaf to church just in case. It didn’t matter to me whether or not someone had been assigned. I simply wasn’t willing to let that happen ever again.

Of course that level of caution has disappeared now that I’m in a different ward and I have a calling that has no association whatsoever with the sacrament.

“Or perhaps miracles are a manifestation of God’s unmerited grace in our lives; something which we can be grateful for, but not expect?”

I think this is right. Miracles are real, but they are also not ours to command and come without regard to worthiness. All I can do is be grateful when they happen and not too unhappy when they don’t.

Are we absolutely sure that purchasing bread on Sunday morning is truly “breaking the Sabbath”? My understanding of the Sabbath is that there are guidelines with personal revelation filling in the cracks. I’m not saying that buying bread isn’t against the Sabbath for some, but can we make that into a blanket statement?

I guess my Sabbath beliefs have evolved over time and have changed pretty dramatically since we’ve lived in NYC. We tend to not have our fridge/cupboards full of groceries (buying groceries here is a nightmare, especially in my neighborhood), so we’ll sometimes run to the cornerstore on a Sunday afternoon to pick up eggs (or whatever).

Margaret,
Thank you for the beautiful story.

Bookslinger, I have had similar experiences to what you describe above. But I have also found myself unwittingly in the midst of a miracle without any preparation of my own, and certainly without any particularly worthiness, but simply because God was protecting me (or so I interpret it). One more quick story, then I’ll return to today’s tasks:

During a summer years ago, I lived in one part of Guatemala and my dad lived in another. Some bad things happened and I needed to get to my dad. I knew the approximate area where he was, and (being spontaneous and foolhardy), I simply got on a bus and went to Guatemala City, a four-hour trip. Unfortunately, I didn’t know that the aldea where Dad was living was not reachable by bus. I knew what the closest city was and IMAGINED (falsely) that I could just walk a mile or so and find Dad. Night was already setting in, however, and I had no idea of bus schedules.

I finally found a bus headed for Coban, which I knew was fairly close to my destination, and got on. A Guatemalan woman got on just after me and put her bags on the other side of the bus. She glanced at me and sat down by her bags. She looked at me again and then moved to the seat just in front of me. We started a conversation–a typical one. “So where are you from? Why are you in Guatemala?” Then out of the blue she asked, “Are you a Mormon?” I answered, “Si.” She smiled. “Yo tambien.”

Now, was this a miracle or a UFO? Guatemala is about 98% Catholic. What are the odds that I would get on a bus with perhaps the only Mormon in the entire terminal (which is a huge terminal)?

Now add this: She told me that she hadn’t planned on sitting by me; she had wanted some privacy. But something kept prodding her, and she knew that she and I needed to have a conversation.

Now the kicker: It turns out that I would not have been able to get to where my dad was that night. It was many miles away from Coban. And (amazingly–my stupidity still floors me), I didn’t have enough money to get a hotel room. I would have been left at the bus terminal in Coban with no idea of how or where to proceed and no money to even buy a chuchito for breakfast. (I had talked to a lot of people at the Guat City terminal, and nobody had heard of the Aldea I was headed to.)

As it turned out, this woman’s son happened to work at the aldea where Dad was. I spent the night at her home, she fed me a delicious supper, and the next morning her son took me to my dad.

I’d call that a miracle, but it certainly was not earned. Please note that only professionals should attempt such an experiment. I did not realize that my decision to get to dad was tempting God to dispense His angels to help me–or not. I was just plain stupid. I’m afraid my younger life is pocked with other equally stupid acts, and I hope none of my children follows my example.

Nonetheless, I am writing this some thirty years later, still alive. I’m acknowledging that miracles aren’t necessarily prepared for. I suspect that I have exhausted my guardian angel, who will probably wipe angelic sweat from his/her forehead and exhale a sigh of relief when I finally pass through the veil at the end of my mortal journey.

Margaret, the willingness and preparation was on the part of the Guatemalan woman who followed the prompting to talk to you. She had developed the ability to hear and obey the voice of the Spirit.

Knowing something of the Latin-American culture, I’m sure she considered it a great blessing and honor to be called upon by the Lord to offer you assistance in your journey. Therefore, you were the instrument of her blessing too. Had you had the means of getting your own hotel room, you would have insulted her and denied her her blessing had you refused her invitation to stay the night at her house.

The Lord must have a soft spot for the young-and-stupid. Otherwise how could our missionaries have so much success at baptizing people? I also think it miraculous that many more of our missionaries don’t die through illness, accident, or violence.

On the other hand, my brother once did not have enough bread, but blessed it anyway and it sufficed for the entire congregation.

DKL,

If you had not brought the bread, the only result would be that someone at Church with enough responsibilities already would end up running home and getting some bread.

There was a British movie released in 1969, called Bedazzled starring Dudley Moore as a guy who sells his soul to the devil for seven wishes. He gets everything he asks for, but it goes awry when the devil upstages him, and gives him what he asks for, not what he really wanted.

In the part where this ordinary-human-looking man claims to be the devil, Dudley asks him for some kind of sign to prove he has the power to grant wishes. When the devil asks what he wants, Dudley asks for the devil to make him an ice-lolly (popsicle). Just then, an ice-cream vendor wheels by, and the devil stops him, buys a popsicle, and gives it to Dudley.

Dudley protests that it wasn’t a miracle, just an ordinary purchase, and the devil responds “You got what you asked for, so why are you complaining?”

There are parts in it that mainstream christian denominations would find very irreverent, but most of the things being lampooned are points where LDS doctrine differs from mainstream denominations. One such gag is based on “God is everywhere at once” so the devil kicks Dudley Moore in the butt, and says “God was in your back pocket.”

If you ever see it listed in your TV listings, it’s worth setting your TIVO or VCR to record. Or buy it if you see a used VHS of it for sale for a couple bucks.

The memory of that popsicle gag has stayed with me. Our prayers are often answered through seemingly ordinary means.

Speaking of moies that speak to miracles–a few years ago a film called “Millions” was released.

One scene involved the appearance of St.Peter to a boy (modern day). Peter (the apostle) gives the boy an explanatiion of the miracle of the loaves and fishes.

Basically what happened is that most of the 5000 had actually brought food along with them. When Jesus asked if any had any food to share everyone clammed up, except the small boy with the loaves and fishes.

So Jesus, (being Jesus and sort of relising what’s goiung on) breaks up the loaves and fishes, places them in the 12(?) baskets and then passes them out to the crowd. As the baskets pass the people in the crowd–the ones too afraid to share their food– relise the error of their ways and keep for them selves only the food they need and place the left over amount in the basket. The result being all the surplus food and still everyone being fed.

The point is that the miracle was that hearts were chnged not that food fantastically appeared out of thin air.

Rent the movie–it is very good.

cje

Craig, I like your comment. I don’t agree with it, but I admire its ambition and scope. When we talk about miracles, are we talking about the ability to view anything at all (e.g., malaria or traffic signals) as extraordinary, or are we talking about a specific manifestation of divine agency that interrupts the natural flow of worldly occurrences? I tend to think that it’s the latter, but we may just have a difference in outlook.

If you watch “The Price is Right,” you see the contestants jump up and down and scream when they win a coffee table. But on Jeopardy, they win thousands and evince no emotion at all. Though I don’t tend to view the world in general through the lens of game shows, I do tend to identify more closely with the Jeopardy-type reaction.

cje, I’ve heard that before in the context of giving a naturalistic explanation for the miracle of the loaves. It sounds better in the context that you mention.

Margaret, I think I may just have a hard time conceding that I’m any kind of manifestation of a miracle.