I believe in the miracle of her hands, from tiny clenched fists to clumsy little mitts to capable and drawing and zipping and buttoning.
I believe in the miracle of his smile, how one little boy can win over a room, stop a game of rough and tumble tag, melt a mama’s heart.
I believe in the miracle if her motion, yet unseen, and how it rumbles up from deep in the middle of me, unexpected, welcome.
I believe in the miracle of a man’s heart, how the broadest-shouldered man I know is both the strongest and the gentlest, and how those don’t ever cancel out each other.
I believe in the miracle of light, how letting in the brightness of a day changes us, moulds us into a people softer, gentler, kinder.
I believe in the miracle of kindness, how a word or a touch can change a mood, a day, and even a life.
I believe in the miracle of welcoming, of opening self to self so we can love and live and change.
I believe in the miracle of bravery, that a person can stare down those things that make them most afraid and find glory on the other side.
I believe in the miracle of every day, the one that says there’s gold in these here hills, the ones right in front of us, if only we can find it.
Linking with Imperfect Prose today.