I sometimes joke that when the ground hog sees his shadow and returns to his hole, signalling 6 more weeks of short-but-oh-so-long, grey winter days, that we should all just double our meds. It could happen automatically in computer systems in pharmacies across the land. 6 more weeks of grey days, 42 extra little white pills to swallow and push back harder against the grey inside.
Except that I'm joking and I'm not.
My second child turns 8 today, So I'm making cupcakes while the toddler watches a Paw Patrol marathon and plays with a plastic flute that some apparently heartless human being must have given to us in spite.
I feel hungover but I'm not. I had one glass of wine with dinner last night but my whole body and mind aches. Everything feels heavier than it should. Words don't come easily. My thoughts are clunky and muddled in fog. The piercing sound of that damn flute is nauseating me.
I don't have time to be depressed. I have a family to raise, a homeless shelter to start, meetings and appointments and errands and laundry. Cupcakes to bake.
I have friends who are praying for big miracles right now and I pray with them. Beg, really, of the only One I know who can step in and change things. Healing in sickness, hope for their marriages, the return of their own prodigal child. Prayers that would be big, hairy and audacious, except that God is God.
But me? I don't need a big miracle. An ordinary one will do.
I need the sun to shine in through the dingy kitchen window just right.
I need a friend to text me about the silly funny thing that happened to her today so that we can share a laugh together through a series of LoL's and emoticons.
I need the toddler to nap without too much resisting. To fall asleep sweetly with her perfect messy curls on my arm while I admire her long eyelashes and her funny gentle snores.
I need that carefully choreographed dance of school pick-ups and homework and dinner time and after school activities to go relatively seamlessly, without any major stumbles or tantrums or meltdowns.
Mostly, I need to see God in the little things.
Through the thought fog I can't think of a less cheesy way to say it: God is not running low on miracle juice. He can hear those big scary prayers and our quiet little ones too. He can show us himself in a simple way today and everyday if we ask and watch for it. He can be here, present, in these grey winter days. He can send a reminder that one way or another, spring always comes.
I know I'm not the only one drowning in the greyness today. Longing to see God move among the cheerios on the floor and the to-do list on the counter. Believing that the grey will turn vibrant once again. So today I am praying for an ordinary miracle, in my life and yours.
And friends, I know He hears us.