Bird Droppings November 10, 2025

Waiting for a miracle on some occasions can take some time.

I wrote this piece over twenty years ago, and it remains a cherished part of my heart. Miracle is a word often used by people of faith. It is an explanation for things that happen with no apparent cause or rationale. We all sit waiting for miracles, perhaps waiting for that solution to show itself, and hopefully, all will be better. Throughout history, numerous events have occurred that have been attributed to the concept of miracles, often despite a lack of proof. Perhaps it is simply a matter of semantics or a matter of language need. Each of us found the bottom of the well on occasion, and a ladder has come for each time. For some, it has been a hand-built one from within the well, piece by piece. Some others climbed out under their own strength.

I recall a story of a farmer and his donkey that I had seen somewhere in my readings. The farmer was so tired of the stubborn donkey that he threw it in the well and invited neighbors over to bury the mean, stubborn donkey. As the neighbors shoveled, shovel by shovel, the well was filled in. Amazingly, towards the final few shovels, a dirty donkey that had climbed a bit higher with each shovel of dirt jumped out and ran off. The farmer was left with a filled-in well and no donkey. Was that a miracle for the donkey? Perhaps we can also rationalize quick thinking and patience with the donkey, and who knows, maybe stubborn was the wrong word.

I recall a few months back when I spoke with several mothers, some by chance or synchronicity, as Jung calls it. Our washing machine died, and the repairman couldn’t come until after the holiday, so I loaded a pile of teenage dirty laundry into my car and proceeded to wash or attempt to wash clothes at a laundromat. Since this was my second visit, the first thing I had to do was find my book from the previous day. I asked the woman in charge, and she immediately went to her office, pulled my book out, and attached a note. “Someone left this book, and I am sure they will come back for it.” The book was “Teaching from the Heart” by Sarah Day Hatton. Perhaps it was a small miracle that my book was still there, or was it more a Jungian thing leading to another step, another conversation?

It seems that the woman who runs the Laundromat has an autistic son, and when she found the book, she felt that it was a book most people would not be reading, and that it must be special to someone. We talked for nearly an hour as my clothes washed and dried, discussing how her seventeen-year-old son progressed. As I sat, another mother came in, a former student’s mother. Her washer had died as well. We talked about how her daughter was doing and progressing. Then I received a phone call on my cell phone from another mother who lost a son many years ago and is still looking for and finding the pieces to her puzzle daily. As she shared a story about a rope, scripture, devotion, and finding peace within herself and others, we spoke for nearly thirty minutes. I often use James Redfield’s term ‘coincidence’ and was corrected; I was told it was not a coincidence. I offered synchronicity, perhaps as Jung says, and that word was more acceptable.

Timely meaningful happenings seemingly by chance, all in a short span of hours. It is amazing how my family does not like to take me anywhere. I always end up meeting people and talking. I went looking for one author this morning and stumbled upon another. It has been several years since I first read Care of the Soul by Thomas Moore. Moore was a monk for thirteen years. He is an avid student and learner, having earned a Ph.D. in religious psychology and a master’s degree in music and philosophy. Moore is a teacher, psychotherapist, and writer. He has a unique introspection of faith and life.

What amazes me each morning as I start is that I am often unsure where it will end. Not necessarily a good lesson for teaching creative writing, but since I don’t do that, I am okay. I began searching for a course in miracles and found several lecturers who incorporate miracles into their writing. As I browsed a favorite site, I noticed that Thomas Moore is now a featured columnist, and I looked at his profile. Reflecting on the past day and its events, another idea emerged, and within miracles, there is a sense of community belonging, for lack of a better word, and pondering. I was caught in a paragraph from Moore’s site. I highly recommend looking at his website when time allows. Within the context of miracles and the world in general, teenagers often become confused by the prevalence of horror and death. Moore addressed this in previous paragraphs and led into this thought.

“We could ask the same question about the thousands of children being killed and horribly wounded in wars across the globe. This horror exists because we have not matured enough to create a world community that genuinely serves the welfare of our children. Again, it’s a theological matter. We operate under an infantile illusion that the religions compete with each other, and we battle our anxious beliefs with literal weapons. We profess religions that are ninety percent ideology, full of ego, and, in the face of this pseudo-religion, create a secularist society, which by definition is incapable of genuine community.” Thomas Moore

I was looking at Google News today, and three of the ten articles, or so, were related to religion, given that it is the holiday season in several different religions. One that caught my attention was a court overturning intelligent design, which some school systems and politicians are pushing. The Iranian President declares a ban on Western music, clothing, ideas, morals, and other cultural influences. In Bethlehem, at this time of year, there is always conflict between various denominations and religions.

As I sit and think, the term ‘genuine community ‘ is an interesting one. Could we even consider this? That might be construed as a miracle, considering wars have been fought over religion for thousands of years. However, it is often ideology, but money, when you get down to the details, that religion is easier to accept. Can we become a community, each step in its place? As I talked with my friend who had lost a son, the story unraveled over the years, not instantaneously. There was no blinding flash of light, but rather pieces falling into place one by one, leading up to that day in the Laundromat and our conversation. A long-term miracle, perhaps? My miracle would be to no longer have to ask my friends to keep all in harm’s way on their minds and in their hearts; that would be the miracle I seek, and perhaps if we can chip away piece by piece at building community at building relationships at climbing up each shovel full of dirt up one at a time what seemingly is getting hit in the face with a shovel full of dirt could in effect be freedom and maybe even peace someday and always give thanks namaste.

My family and friends, I do not say this lightly,
Mitakuye Oyasin
(We are all related)
docbird