Distracted by a Miracle

I had become distracted. Now, normally I'd be writing something against the issue of distraction:    

Distraction can cause us to focus on the things that aren't quite so important rather than the things that are. 

Distraction can cause us to miss our quiet time with the Lord or get lost during prayer, thinking about shopping lists or upcoming events. 

But, as I sat at the traffic light that morning, distraction was a good thing. You see, just after the little voice in my head told me to Snap out of it! Pay attention, I looked up and the light was green. I was first in line so, natural reaction, I took a split second to feel like a blockhead before I took my foot off the break. As all of this was going on, a driver coming from my left was taking the opportunity to run what had to be a solid red. It wasn't a close call by any stretch. My heart didn't skip a beat. I didn't tremble the rest of the way home. But I immediately recognized God at work. I thanked Him for His protection and my distraction. I thanked him for the split second of embarrassment and the perfect timing of every car in motion. I thanked Him for making me first in line, rather than someone who may not have gotten distracted, or someone who --if the runner had made contact-- might have been killed and sent straight to hell. It was a miracle. Without the fanfare, without the heart-stopping drama, without the flagrance of "impossible things" made possible.

I was ruminating on miracles the other day. What did it take for you to be here? Were your parents high school sweethearts, voted "Cutest Couple"? Was their relationship a meant-to-be kind of thing? Your existence is still a miracle. Think of all the factors in life --the lives of your parents and their parents and their parents before them-- that came together to make you you. Not just DNA, but timing, choices, locations, personal goals. Imagine if your great-great grandparents had decided not to emigrate or your father had decided not to take that job. Imagine if your grandmother had been accepted at her first-choice college, rather than the one she attended, the one where she met your grandfather. 

To my parents, I was a Whoops! --a BIG Whoops! I don't hesitate to say it. But God! I no longer feel saddened by it or consider myself unwanted. I am joyful! I am thrilled that God wanted me here! And the fact my parents made that happen --despite what they might have preferred-- makes me even more joyful! And my name. My mother chose my name strictly out of personal preference, but God... Judi means praised or of the Tribe of Judah; Jewish. Which means my mother labelled me as one of God's before I could ever speak His name. Because of my father's religious upbringing, he insisted we attend church. Because of trouble my brother encountered in elementary school, my parents made the decision to send us to a local Christian school. Because of my rebellion, God allowed consequences which drove me to do some crazy, terrible things, things that eventually drove me right into His arms. Because of an opportunity I took simply to escape boredom, I met my husband, and together we formed this fantastic and sometimes bizarre life. On and on and on it goes, Miracle after miracle. Without the fanfare, without the heart-stopping drama, without the flagrance of "impossible things" made possible. Or so it would seem. But I'm sure if we calculated the odds on those things --if those odds were ever able to be measured-- I'm sure we'd concur miracles happen all around us. We've just got to pull our heads up from our distraction and look for them. Sometimes they are the distraction.