Believe in miracles

miracle |ˈmirikəl|
noun
a surprising and welcome event that is not explicable by natural or scientific laws and is therefore considered to be the work of a divine agency: the miracle of rising from the grave.
• a highly improbable or extraordinary event, development, or accomplishment that brings very welcome consequences: it was a miracle that more people hadn't been killed or injured [as adj. ]: a miracle drug.
• an amazing product or achievement, or an outstanding example of something : a machine which was a miracle of design.
ORIGIN Middle English: via Old French from Latin miraculum ‘object of wonder,’ from mirari ‘to wonder,’ from mirus ‘wonderful.’


Miracles are those unexpected incidents when something remarkable happens that you never would have believed possible.

We hear about miracles on the news, such as when a person is found alive is found in the rubble of a disaster. They are extraordinary events that prompt us to assign credit to a higher power at work, bringing about the impossible when all signs point to a lost cause.

I am familiar with the term miracle because I have prayed for many of them through the years. I prayed for one when my sister Joyce went missing in the summer of 1984, and I asked God to send her home safe. I urgently prayed for one repeatedly when my brother John was seriously injured in a car crash and was left a paraplegic. In both situations, my fervent requests were not to be granted.

As tragic as those examples are, they did not shake my faith. I still believe in miracles, those God-given miracles that present themselves when you are not asking. They happen when you do not realize it. I have had those kind of miracles and I can attest that they are real and they are to be acknowledged.

My family did not recognize it as such at the time -- or possibly today does not realize it -- but what transpired during the four years that my youngest brother played college football here in our home state of Connecticut was nothing short of lifesaving. It was an undetectable transformation that in retrospect might be considered a small miracle.

It is possible that the seeds of this miracle were planted in the years preceding Joe’s college football career at Southern Connecticut State University, when he was a successful high school quarterback at Seymour High. I cannot be sure exactly when it really began. I can only say that it took root and began to grow over time in a way that gave my family something it desperately needed: something to look forward to.

A reason to get up. A reason to keep going. A chance to feel excited, happy, or tense and disappointed. Something to cheer for. Something to get you going, make you feel something, anything.

Yes, I know it sounds odd, but in some ways, my brother’s football career saved our family.

My opinion, of course. Some may say that is a dramatic overstatement. I say, perhaps you had to be there to know what I mean.

The quick family back story for those who are new to Walking distance: I grew up with five brothers and a sister. My brothers were all very athletic, participating in sports during our growing up years which my sister and I supported as spectators.

My sister was killed in 1984 in a random murder in our hometown. Joe was only 14 at the time, preparing to enter high school. Joe’s emerging sports success gave our family something it needed: a common, positive focus.

He had been a three-sport standout at Seymour High, so by the time Joe hit his stride as SCSU’s starting quarterback, our family routine was locked in. Weekends were all about football, getting to the games, cheering our hearts out, and celebrating (or commiserating) afterward until the next week’s game was looming and we shifted our focus to the next opponent to come.

There were road trips to Pennsylvania, upstate New York, and Ramapo, N.J. My brothers, father, and I made all the trips and occasionally, my mother would tag along, too. Often, several cousins and friends also turned out to follow the team when Joe was playing. We braved every meteorological element you could experience between mid-September and early December. Freezing cold, sleet, rain, fog, snow. We never missed a game.

Somewhere along the way, one of Joe’s teammates dubbed our contingent “Wolfpack,” and the name stuck. My brother Paul had T-shirts made up with Joe’s #18 and each of our names stitched on the sleeve. We took up a familiar spot in the bleachers of every game, sticking together like a pack of wolves to loudly cheer on the Owls.

At a time when we needed healing from the horrible taking of my sister, our family found joy in watching the youngest of our brood do admirable things on the gridiron. I cannot quote the respectable statistics my brother logged as Southern’s QB then, though I guarantee you my father and some of my brothers can cite chapter and verse of many highlights of many games through the years.

I usually shot about three rolls of Kodak film per game - that’s hundreds of pictures per week - documenting Joe’s career in hopes of capturing that time for future reminiscing. We each found our way to take to heart a piece of what was coming together for us as a family.

We needed it desperately, though individually, we could not have made this happen.

I had forgotten about the “Wolfpack” until recently. Thinking back, I am proud that we had that experience together because it reinforced the foundation of support and love that we have for each other.

Where am I going with this? I guess I wanted to share this observation because I think it was an extraordinary occurrence for my family to connect at a time when we each could have done exactly the opposite. It is bona fide evidence that God works miracles in his way, in his time.

Believe it.

Copyright 2011 By Marianne V. Heffernan

Question for Walking distance readers: What miracle have you witnessed in your life?

Check the blog later this week for photos of the Wolfpack days...