Speaking of Miracles

I woke up in need of a miracle to snap me out of the funk I had fallen into. I’m increasingly frustrated as I look ahead and realize all the things I want to do in the coming week and then remember that I am totally dependent on the good will and generosity of others for transportation.

Those of you who know me well can attest to the fact that I often become quite stubborn about making things happen. For a couple of weeks I have known about a Tuesday lunch-time concert at the Church of the Epiphany given by my choir friend and renowned clarinetist Lora with other musicians. I was sure people in the choir would be going and I could bum a ride. But everyone I have asked so far has other plans and my husband has a doctor’s appointment. I have PT from 10-11 that day and am considering taking a cab from Old Town to attend the concert.

I was tempted to roll over at 6:55 am today and go back to sleep. But instead I dragged myself out of bed and slowly prepared to go sing with my choir about the miracle of Moses parting the Red Sea.

Picture an orchestra of about 20 players, ranging in age from 9 to 75. From one family alone there was a mother, daughter, son, and grandfather – 2 violins and two trombones. Then there was the adult choir of about 20 people. And the youth choir of about 20 primary school children. Rather ragtag, but all intent on making a joyful noise and trying hard to stay on pitch. And did I mention our choir director Teddy, who arranged all the music, playing an electric keyboard and our cantorial soloist, both professionals?

I suddenly found my eyes welling up with tears when the children rehearsed When You Believe:

Many nights we’ve prayed with no proof anyone could hear,
In our hearts a hopeful song we barely understood.
Now we are not afraid, although we know there’s much to fear.
We were moving mountains long before we knew we could.
There can be miracles when you believe.
Though hope is frail, it’s hard to kill.
Who knows what miracles you can achieve?
When you believe, somehow you will.
You will when you believe.

I’m still feeling fragile and vulnerable, not wanting to stand in crowds or accept strong hugs while standing up. People tell me how great I’m doing and I hide my own frustration with my limitations.

I am so ready to be independent once again, despite the huge outpouring of support from so many friends and family. Every day is a lesson in patience and humility as I make small strides and heal a little more.

I suppose it’s only natural to feel a little glum sometimes, but perhaps the morning of miracles will carry over into my week and keep me focused on recovery and not on the challenges of things like finding transportation.