The Next Big Thing

I haven't posted since Rachel recovered.  Rachel recovering is, to me, this great, glorious, cosmic Tweet by a living, loving God moving with us.  [I almost wrote "moving among us," but I think now that among is almost too remote; among is detached, like strangers at a restaurant; with is connected, he's your date, he's your designated driver.]  How can I follow such a miracle?  What is left to say?  I've been waiting for the next big thing.

Thank you for Twitter, Facebook, blogging, and whatever means at hand to help us be with others, not simply among.

While I was waiting for something next and big, I almost missed the many things constant and small.  Miracles come in all sizes, and most of them, constant and small, go unrecognized.  How closely does my list of miracles resemble yours?

• The tax refund check arrived, despite the mail carrier's error.  A kind neighbor took the time to wedge the misdirected envelope into the intended mailbox.  [Wrinkled, still, money is money.]
• Following the Chorus Concert after school, Bryan, Laura, Francisco, and two of Francisco's friends stayed late to help set up the Science Fair for the next morning.  Together we put up all the tables, displays, experiments, and signs [as if we'd soaked those pennies and planted those lima beans ourselves].
• At Family Math and Literacy Game Night, co-workers Barbara, Aidee, Manny, and even student Genesis stayed after school to help set up all the play stations.  Then teachers and families came back in the evening and enjoyed playing games to help their children stay sharp all summer.  [Multiplication Bingo, anyone?]
• I didn't get a concussion when the huge "Smart Board" (an instructional "chalk" board that sends and receives information to and from your computer) fell over and struck me on the back of the head.  I fell/dove to the ground and a nearby table prevented the falling board from landing atop me.  I heard it hit from inside my head.  All noise, some pain, and no damage [that I can recall, anyway].
• I met all my deadlines at work.  When most teachers and all students are celebrating the approaching end of the school year, I am usually stressed and depressed under the pressure of grading, portfolios, report cards, updating student cumulative records, packing, sorting, and cleaning.  I have always been the last one to leave on the last possible day with things feeling still unfinished.  But not this year.  
• And while I'm on the subject of the end of school, Bryan, who could've been packing his own classroom, instead brought in a gallon of paint and a brush and retouched the peeling paint on all the closets in my classroom.  [I know, right? Wow.]
• Lindsey got elected as Treasurer of her Senior Girl Scout Troop.  It's a good thing when your teenage daughter seeks more responsibility for things that matter.  Need I explain how a parent sweats things like elections?
• Our Pastor isn't being reassigned.  This is a Methodist thing.  Our method, apparently, is to rotate the pastors like a great country dance:  when the music stops, we change partners.  We get to keep dancing with Steve, who is an excellent leader on the dance floor, btw.
• My husband conceded that he likes my new short hair cut better than when my hair is long.  He has always thought he liked it longer best, despite the fact that it was very short when he met me and fell in love with me over 25 years ago.  Now he admits he likes it short best.  [Yay, because so do I, so now we can both like my hair.]
• Fifty adults, youth, and children attended our picnic at the lake on Saturday.  We ate, played Frisbee and Hula Hoop [trademark police?], romped in the water, and relaxed in the shade.  Children appeared out of nowhere to play with the parachute and balls [if it weren't so cute, it would've been creepy the way they advanced mesmerized].  And Katie did the grocery shopping.
• Date night.  My husband still rocks.  We attended a concert with great music [and incredible musicianship] by Cheap Trick and Pat Benatar & Neil Giraldo.  Plus, the heated, angry interaction between the two drunk couples in front of us de-escalated before coming to blows.  [It's always nice when you don't have to call the police.]

I understand my list of miracles reads in part like a standard to-do list, mundane and mind-numbingly boring to anyone but me.  Check your own list.  How many of those tasks did you cross off?  Each check mark is another reason to give thanks.  Moreover, who helped you?  [Bryan, probably, if you know Bryan] Angels.  Thank God for them.  

Thank you for angels disguised as friends and coworkers who help.  Thank you for mesmerizing parachute games and kids squealing with laughter.  Thank you for emergencies avoided and successes achieved.  Thank you for work and play.

Is this where I tie up loose ends and close with a lesson learned?  Okay, well, stop waiting for the next big thing.  Don't spend your life like a morning at the Rose Parade on New Year's Day.  In anticipation of the most dazzling float still half a block away, you neglected to enjoy the music played by that high school band.  AND, by the way, you didn't see those 100 teenagers who spent months practicing those songs and working fundraisers to make this the very best day of their lives so far.  Now that was something worth noticing.  

Thank you for high school bands, even the ones with the ill-fitting pants and tilting hats with chinstraps.

You should still ooh and ahh when the floats come along; they are indeed awesome and beautiful, and they represent the work of countless volunteers [including many Girl Scouts and troop leaders I know].  Did my metaphor go awry?  Whatever.  Celebrate the big things, but don't forget to celebrate the everyday little things in between.  If we spent more time giving thanks for these tiny miracles, then every day would become the new very best day of our lives so far.  

Thank you, angels, for all your help with all my little projects and tasks.  Thank you, God, for the next big miracle and for all the daily miracles.  Thank you for the hearts and minds with which to recognize those little miracles as they go marching by.