The Quiet Miracles

While cutting a green melon last week, I sliced my finger.

It wasn’t a deep or long slice, but it was enough of a slit that my left forefinger was out of action for a few days.

In that time, I paid more attention to my finger than I had in years. Neosporin and new bandages each morning, airing it out at night, monitoring little movements toward recovery.

And as I nursed my left forefinger back to normal, it occurred to me that once this little limb was in action again, I would stop paying attention to it.

I would use it to cut melon, type emails, rinse my hair. But I would not notice it. Let alone appreciate it.

Well, I thought, what are you saving your appreciation for? Why not open the floodgates and be really generous with the stuff?

So. Thanks be for fingers and trash cans with lids and those nights when you can see the moon! And while I’m at it, thanks for having the kind of soy milk I like, Stop ‘n Shop, and the public library’s Saturday hours and whomever invented Scattergories!

No. I can’t say because of one cut on my finger, I now live in an ecstatic state of appreciation. But I can say that it brought me a little closer to the gentle call of poet John O’Donohue:

“Take time to see the quiet miracles that seek no attention.”

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