miracle of miracles

True story: I should have died

when I was two.

I was playing someplace

my father couldn’t see me—

right behind the back wheel

of his truck,

right in the blind spot of his mirror

as he backed out of the driveway.

I’m told my dad screamed white hot.

They thought I was dead

but back then they prayed for a miracle,

sparing every breath they could for a miracle.

When I tell that story today I’m told by many:

“Don’t hold your breath,

it probably wasn’t a miracle.

Children so young have

very soft bones.

It had to be science.”

So, now that I’m grown and know better,

I don’t know what to believe.

Maybe my life isn’t a miracle, after all.

True story: I was dead

around thirty-two

when my Father’s face was hidden from me—

could he see me here in my suffering?

I’m told he screamed white hot.

My family, my friends didn’t hold their breath

waiting for a miracle,

so the earth herself—the Father and Spirit—

held humanity’s collective gasp for them

all day that Saturday.

And miracle of miracles

the something of Sunday sprang from

the nothing of Saturday—

and the new creation far outshines

the old creation.

So, you can say I’m naïve—

no wiser than the child

who almost died—

but I do believe

life is a miracle after all.

………………………………….

miracle of miracles

by troy cady

on Holy Saturday

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