Small Miracles

I'm not sure I believe in happenstance, or coincidence. I see things more as God-intended, or God-allowed. I do believe in miracles, that big ones are more precious by virtue of their rarity, but that small ones happen often because the Maker likes to inject joy into our days, and his.

My Aunt Nina (who lives in California) loves to tell the story of a treasured heirloom kept safe in a protective wood and glass case at her bedside. Her "Nino de Atocha" is a statue that represents the Christ child, and marks a small miracle in the history of our family.

 In the 1940's, when family members were packing it up to leave Mexico for America, Nina's grandmother of course wanted to bring their "Nino" to wherever their new home would be.

 The story of the Nino first arrived from Spain in 1554 to the region of Zacatecas, Mexico, the place wherefrom Nina's family would leave in their time. Its arrival was heralded with the tale of a young boy who was allowed to bring food and water to prisoners in Atocha, Spain. These Catholic detainees had been under persecution by the Moor Spaniards of the time. Family members of the prisoners, under unrelenting fear of the Moors, were further heartbroken to be forbidden even a visit to their loved ones.

The Moors did permit visitation to the captives by children under twelve. Soon, one (same) young boy was admitted daily, bearing a basket of food and a gourd of water. In this, a drama akin to the "five loaves and two fish" unfolded; the basket of food and the gourd of water remained full each day, with enough food for every person held throughout the prison.

 The Catholics of Atocha viewed this as intercession from Holy Mother, to whom they had been appealing to in prayer. Surely she had sent her son, they believed, to give comfort and aid to their beloved family members.

Other inspirational stories abound in relation the Nino, and as so many devoted Catholics did, my great-grandmother cherished the family's statue. Her own mother was its first owner-beholder, and it now seemed to represent the very sanctification the family needed toward success in their new beginning.

 
But it came to pass that there was not room to pack one more item, declared Nina's uncle. He was a firm, decisive man, in charge of the journey. It is late, he told the family, we all have to get up early in the morning. Go to bed now, we will worry then if there is room for the statue.

The family did so, but my great-grandmother especially was sad and despairing. Many tries had been made to fit the Nino into a box allowed for limited belongings, and it surely seemed as if arguing would do no good. If there was no room, the beloved statue would simply have to stay behind.

In the morning, all despair lifted with unexpected ease. One last look into the box revealed an empty spot, perfectly sized for the Nino! No one in the family took credit or knew how this could be, no one could answer to the surprise. The space emerged like a miracle, they all agreed. My great-grandmother in particular took this as affirmation of the miraculous capabilities of the Nino.

To this day the family relic holds its place of honor in Aunt Nina's home. I saw it (or paid it proper attention) for the first time in 2016 when I visited her home, and I was delighted to preserve its image by taking a picture of it. Some weeks later, at my home in Wisconsin, I was amused to revisit the image and note a seemingly out-of-place photograph of a young boy in the glass case with the Nino, a modern young boy, wearing a jersey shirt with one random word across his chest.

AMBIGUOUS. What kind of a word, that? AMBIGUOUS, on a sports shirt? Strange, I thought!! I soon realized this was Nina's grandson, my cousin's son, who had been in a terrible accident not far from the age he was in the picture. He was an adult now, but had remained needful of ongoing prayer ever since. Knowing his story, the picture nestled into a case beseeching of miracles made perfect sense. But "ambiguous" on his shirt caught my attention for special reason. 

 AMBIGUOUS. At the time I took the photograph of the Nino, (not noticing the photo within) the word "ambiguous" had been the topic of everyday conversation between my husband and I. The word pervaded our days! It was a source of great angst to us... 

 We needed to understand the word because we had to prove it, in court. We had to prove a contract we had signed in a specific scenario, was "ambiguous." And our adverseries had to prove it was NOT. We had to serve as our own lawyers, but our adversary had hired "big guns." Professional guns with a strong reputation. We were recieving letters in a row, which drove home to us that "ambiguous" was the leg we had to stand on. We were "little people" trying to right a wrong against us, trying to prove ambiguity. 

 My husband, in particular, was struggling with the word. We had "sessions" on the word! At one point, in trying to lighten things up, I scrawled the word in big letters on a piece of paper, its definition beneath. I folded it up, and my husband good-naturedly slipped it into his shirt pocket. The idea was it would be handy for him to study, to absorb, to change out with the laundry, and to study again. 

 We had to comprehend "AMBIGUOUS". We had to relate its significance in a court of law, and try to get this little bit of justice that seemed so much a thing we needed to do. Each time the mailbox brought forth another notice of intimidation to us, there was a declaration that there was nothing "ambiguous" about our case, and that the burden of proof of otherwise was on us.

When I was in Aunt Nina's bedroom, it's true I didn't notice the word in the "miracle" case. But, we needed a miracle to win our case!! We had been praying for this, feeling knocked back and knocked down. 

One particular day, in a tizzy over one more letter, I literally but accidentally almost knocked my little granddaughter down, flying past her in the kitchen. She righted herself and saved her head from a table corner, and I apologized in earnest. Her response? "That's Ok, Grandma. Jesus caught me." Jesus caught her. With her words, He caught me too. I righted myself, and let her words sink in.

 I told my husband I guessed I wouldn't give in to that letter, a letter that once again stressed the word "ambiguous." If he felt able to go forward, so did I. We agreed to remember our little granddaughter's observance, that Jesus "catches" us, He picks up the slack, He saves us from the sharp corners. We agreed to stop panicking at things intended to panic us, by forces working against us.

 During the time I stood near the Nino de Atocha I don't know how I didn't note the word on a needful boy's shirt. I may not have noted it, but I came to see it later, and as a friendly poke of encouragement, a small miracle of messaging to us we should go forward.

 Eventually we had our day in court, and prevailed. Yes, we did!! We found we could prove "ambiguous" after all. My Aunt Nina has indicated she would love it if our family's stories were told, and I agree with her sentiment. She gifted me with a notebook of her remembrances, and I hope I have related them sufficiently here, in regard to the Nina de Atoche.

 As to "Sasha"--the boy in the picture...he grew to love writing, and asked me if we could write those stories together. We spoke of this several times, between his home with Nina in California, and mine here in Wisconsin. The hard circumstances of his life rendered the writing of family history together "not to be." I would have loved to write family stories with him. 

 Sasha did pass tragically a few months ago (2021), still a young man. His life and death to some could be described as confusing, as to its purpose. So much potential, so many years not producing the fruit he so clearly wanted. His life was an intersection of ambiguous and not-ambiguous! Hard for bystanders to see with clarity what would become of him, impossible not to see how MUCH he had to offer, if only...

 All our lives are puzzles, and our pieces have to fall in place.