Miracles.

 

(This is a re-post, from my old blog, "Darcy Fabulous" -- something I wrote about a year ago, but also a lesson in gratitude I will always carry with me. Please take a minute to read it again with me, remembering to be grateful for the many small miracles we receive every day.)

(9-13-09)
Here I sit--or lie, rather--with my feet up on my lovely floral couch in our new apartment in Rexburg. My Mom found this couch just over a year ago, with a sign that said "Free" on it. I'm sure that this couch was well-loved and set free by some well-meaning elderly woman who didn't realize that she was giving a gift to a couple of newlywed college students in Rexburg, Idaho.

In my experience, earth-bound angels rarely realize that their simple kindness is often magnified into a miracle for someone else. Acts of kindness are, almost without exception, miracles in embryo.

I really love this new place... It's spacious and very open, two bedrooms - one for us, and a nursery for the new baby. He's coming soon - I'll be full-term in 3 weeks, and I don't think we could be more anxious. Sometimes we'll find ourselves in his room, staring into his crib, wishing he were there. Sure, he's here... the giant bulge of my belly comically reminds us every second. If I stop thinking of him for a second, he's quick to give me a good, swift kick in the ribs. Thanks, buddy.

The past couple of weeks have been full of goodbyes and new beginnings. Last Saturday (Sept 5) was closing night at the Playmill, which was a tearful occasion--both happy and sad--due in part to the beautiful performance of Secret Garden that was a perfect, reverent benediction to a very full summer; and in part to all the goodbyes we knew we'd have to say as a result. We were surrounded by friends and family--our most loyal fans. It's harder to say goodbye when you're doing what you love for those whom you love.

Life, however, will always add her twist of surprise and interest to each life transition. For us, it was a fuel pump going out in our Blazer on Saturday afternoon, just before our Playmill closing banquet. I don't know about Adam, but I felt pretty darn helpless in this situation. I know as much about fixing cars as I do about, well, birthing babies... I know there is a way, I know I will get through it just fine... but I've never done it, and am sure I will need plenty of help. Of course, this unexpected twist came on the Saturday before Labor Day... which meant there were no mechanics in town that were open then... or the next day... or the next.

As the 7-months-pregnant, overly-emotional half of this family, I took it upon myself to let the frustration of the situation come out my eyeballs and tear-stain my face just as I had to walk in to work my last shift in the box office. How very graceful. I was frazzled the rest of the night, not knowing how my not-so-car-savvy, pregnancy-impaired self was going to finish moving from West Yellowstone, MT to Rexburg, ID the next morning without a working vehicle. Knowing I had no where else to turn--and no where else worth turning, for that matter--I hit my knees and prayed for a miracle that night. Sometimes, when you're young, married to a college student, and thus working with a limited income, a miracle is exactly what you need.

My miracle came as we were leaving church the next morning. I hadn't hardly slept all night (pregnancy plus worrying equals no shut-eye), and Adam even suggested the option of the both of us staying home from church so that I could get some rest before we tried to tackle our troubles again. I laid in bed for a few groggy moments, more than a little relieved that Adam (the more righteous of this pair, in my opinion) had suggested that we just rest... but then came the first of two heavenly whisperings.

"Darcy," it said, "You asked for a miracle. You need to go to church."

"Alright," I said back, "I can do that much."

So, to my sleeping husband's surprise, I asked him if we could go, anyway. I could sleep later.

Just after Sacrament meeting, I had a strange sense of urgency. I had learned through spiritual/life experiences that God helps those who help themselves. We must put ourselves in the position to be helped, so that others can be His hands. I knew I had to say something. To someone. Now.

So, as we said our goodbyes to friends, fellow castmates leaving West Yellowstone for their "real" lives, I found my miracle. His name is Kevin Nelson. He has five kids. He wears glasses and has a friendly smile. He also lived in an apartment upstairs from ours for most of the summer.

We passed him on our way out the door, and my urgency turned impatient.

"Tell him. Tell him about your car. Now."

After a short conversation about how this was our last Sunday in the ward, how we were sad to leave, but excited to start a new phase... I let the miracle happen.

"We'll be out of here eventually," I said, almost holding my breath, "But our car broke down yesterday, so we might be around for an extra day or two."

I tried not to sound too desperate, but desperate was how I felt. Not only didn't we have a car for the next 3 days, but we really needed to get down to our new apartment and out of our old one... Adam needed to get books for his classes, and we really had no other reason to stay in West, other than that we were sort of stranded there.

"Oh really?" Brother Nelson said, "Can I help you with that? Do you want me to take a look at it?"

"Sure," I exhaled, "If you know anything more about fixing cars than we do--which is nothing--than YES."

Miracle... check.

We found out later that Brother Nelson was a former deisel mechanic, and more than knows his way around fixing a Chevy Blazer. He came to check it out later, agreed that the fuel pump was the culprit, and we devised a plan to get it fixed within the week.

A few tender mercies later--including, but not limited to: Uncle Rich and cousin Isaac finding the pump for at least $60 cheaper than we could find it, multiple friends and relatives giving us rides to-and-from West Yellowstone and around town to tie up loose ends, and Aunt Dot running the fuel pump to us in Rexburg from Shelley on Saturday morning so we could get it to Brother Nelson... our car is fixed. Brother Nelson asked for nothing in return, but said, "Gosh, it's the least I can do. You guys work so hard all summer just to make people happy at that theatre. We'll sure miss you guys."

And so I bought him a fancy lunch... from Arby's. He said it was more than payment enough. I wish I could see through eyes like his, to know what it's like to have that much goodness in my heart to say with all honesty, "This is more than enough. No... thank YOU."

Wow.

I don't know if this man understands that he was an answer to my prayers. I know that, on the grand scheme of things, our car breaking down is really nothing more than a $300 inconvenience. I'm fully aware that my trials are lightyears from too-much-to-handle. But I also know that we were given this experience for a wise and glorious purpose.

I needed to learn patience. I needed to learn that listening to the whisperings of the Spirit will lead us to everything we need... and more.

Adam learned that God answers prayers, but that he will not throw his answers in our face. Rather, he will gently lead us toward the miracles... trusting that we will be obedient.

We learned to take things in stride, and that everything really will work out, if we will let it.

For Brother Nelson, this may have just been another "day in the life" -- a good man that does good things and expects nothing in return. But from where I stand, it was another opportunity to show his God that he was willing to help his neighbor -- no matter the inconvenience or the time spent. For a couple of virtual strangers, he was an angel in every sense of the word.

We will not forget his kindness.

(Picture: icanread.tumblr.com)