I bought a necklace on Black Friday from my friend Logan’s boutique jewelry store, Silver and Sage Jewelry . I wrapped it up and gave it to myself for Christmas. When I untied the red ribbon and carefully opened the little brown box, I held up a gold-plated chain. At the end of it was a mother of peal hamsa charm. I read the display card. “Plan for a Miracle,” I said. I choked back tears looking at my family, feeling so sensitive in this moment. My kids looked a little confused. I answered their unasked question by saying, “it’s the name of the necklace. Plan for a miracle”
I am in the market for a few miracles this year. My family knows what I am talking about - maybe you do too.
I used to associate the word miracle only with the Bible. I learned at a young age that Jesus turned water into wine and gave a blind man the gift of sight. As I have moved through my life, I have loosened the idea of a miracle and as a result, I see them everywhere. In Latin, the word miracle translates to “object of wonder.” I like that connection between miracles and wonder. In order for me to capture wonder, I need to be alert and open. I need to be aware.
Last week, I skied with my son on a mountain drenched in fog. While riding the chairlift, I could barely see the green pine trees ten feet away. What I did notice in the white sky was the sun. It was perfect grey circle hiding behind the blanket of fog. I’d never seen anything like it. A skier who rode the the chair with us said he wished he could take a photo, but his phone was dead. I commented that the photo probably wouldn’t capture the beauty. “And would you look at the photo anyway?” I asked. “I know for me, I take a million photos and rarely look at them. Instead, I am going to try to keep this in memory bank rather than in my phone.”
I don’t know if he agreed or not. We rode the rest of the lift in silence enjoying the miracle of winter.
Being a New Year, it’s tempting to start all over. Instead of adding more, my intention for 2026 is build on my current foundation. I want to read the books on my shelf rather than buy more. I want to continue to begin my days with coffee, journaling, meditation, and reflection. These are the ingredients to my morning recipe and like my husband’s focaccia bread, it’s amazing. Why mess with perfection?
If can go a little deeper this year - take my time and not feel so frantic, I imagine I will catch mores wonders like the winter sun behind a foggy sky.
A couple of weeks ago, I read the essay “Winter Note” by Kajsa Li. She wrote that in the new year she wanted “less screen and more gaze.” I wrote her phrase down and began practicing. It’s not easy. Sometimes, I grab my phone to take a photo or google something and then disappear. I might see a text and want to respond “real quick.” I shift into autopilot and poof, I am hooked. My daughter calls me out. “Mom, you were literally in the middle of a sentence. You worse than a a teenager!” It’s wild, surprising and real. What happens to our brain when we look at ours phones? I don’t know the neuroscience but it reminds me of walking out of the grocery store and forgetting where I parked. My brain feels like a sieve.
I don’t want to live in a digital world. I actually want to live in this world. The beautiful world. The hard, soft, fast-fleeting world. It’s a good day when I notice my senses: smelling, tasting, hearing, feeling and seeing. Thinking is not one of my physical senses. Yet, most of my day is spent trying to figure things out.
It’s so difficult to pay attention and be present which is why I need to start with intention.
On, December 21st, the winter solstice, I turned fifty-two. Early that Sunday morning, I sat in bed, sipping coffee probably reading my phone. All of a sudden, the temperature in my body cranked up like a radiator fan on full blast. I touched my skin wondering if I had a fever. Or, was birthday excitement? I did see a few fun birthday texts. And then, I realized that I was experiencing a hot flash -my first ever! Happy Birthday to me.
I started giggling as droplets of sweat gathered on my forehead and formed at my upper lip. I felt beads of sweat in my arm pit and even in between my belly rolls. “WOW,” I said to my husband who also sipping coffee witnessing my physical discomfort. Once I figured out what it was, I didn’t fight it. I am sure I will another time, however, for this first one, I pushed pause and felt it in it’s entirety.
A few years ago, I learned a useful mindfulness concept called the 3 Ps. Nothing is personal, perfect nor permanent. My hot flash was a good example of the 3 Ps. It wasn’t permanent: It came and went. It wasn’t personal. I was initiated into the not-so-exclusive hot flash club. And, it wasn’t perfect. I dripped sweat and then became chilled in a matter of a few minutes.
The mindfulness teacher, Shinzen Young said that pain times resistance equals suffering. By allowing the hot to flash to be just that - a flash of hot - I didn’t try to fight it and therefore I did not suffer. I am grateful to my teachers who’ve have taught me some of these mindfulness tools. I use them to help navigate my complex life.
However, they only work if I remember. It is the moment I realize that I am lost in thought, is the moment of mindfulness. The present moment is always here. And it is in that moment where the miracles may occur. On my Christmas necklace display card, there was a a quote from Christopher Reeves, “Once you choose hope, anything is possible.”
Join me in choosing hope this year and together we can plan for a miracle.
