This Holiday, Be in the Peace and Find the Miracles

“There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.” ― Albert Einstein

In August, a friend of our family, Buddy, passed away suddenly. That, plus the fact that my mom’s Alzheimer’s is getting worse, has made me think a lot about change and the new spaces we fill as we grieve. I wonder how to allow change to happen gracefully, especially when I’m feeling sad and missing what was. 

Thanksgiving was our first holiday without Buddy. Usually, there is a gathering in Michigan in his family home. This year, as we got together there, I was afraid of the emptiness without Buddy, scared to feel the loss among all of us and how hard it is without him. Buddy would have celebrated his 62nd birthday on Christmas Day, so that made it even more of a challenge for the family. Even though there were new babies on the way, and new traditions to make, I missed Buddy and my mom, and was painfully aware of how challenging change is.

As I was driving home from a conference, heavy with these feelings, I decided to put a request out there, to whomever was listening: I need some faith here. Can you help me?

Suddenly a police car appeared ahead, coming toward me. Behind it were probably two hundred Harley riders, all wearing Santa hats and tops. As the last one passed me, he held up two fingers and flashed a peace sign at me. 

I heard Buddy say, “Be in the peace, man,” because that’s just how he would say it. 

This was more than a coincidence. Buddy had been a Harley rider. He was in a Harley club, and bought both of his sons Harleys. They would ride their Harleys together and bond as father and sons. The message was very powerful for me.

Wow, I thought. Thank you. I’m being heard, seen, and held. It felt like a miracle.

As we come into the holidays, let’s think about miracles. What is your attitude towards miracles? Do you see them? Do you seek them? Do you appreciate them?

I’m certain that miracles are always happening. We can have faith in them. I could have questioned the presence of my friend and the miracles. I could have put it down to coincidence, but I chose to receive it. The way we see and experience life is always up to us. We can be in the energy of love, specialness, and miracles. Or we can struggle through times of loss and grief feeling alone. 

When those bikers rode past me, I let myself breathe with the experience. I let the tears flow. 

Change is hard. And grief is change. When we let ourselves embrace it, when we are willing to allow the void and to be in the nothingness, then, in time, something will emerge. When I return to my breath, I have a chance, again and again, with each inhale and exhale, to surrender and trust. 

Most of us are shallow breathers. When the breath is stuck in the chest, the heart is not supported in processing all of our emotions. The breath then gets caught in the wounded self, and can’t connect us to our whole selves. We need the energy of the pelvis and the diaphragm. 

By breathing and staying present, not only was I able to receive the miracle of that moment, I was also able to recall more clearly that, when I gathered with Buddy’s family, I felt grateful. I appreciated the time we had together, even in the face of sadness. It was, ultimately, OK. All of us were together, holding space for one another.

This is a miracle: that we are all connected by the very air we breathe. 

As we move into the holy nights, it’s a time of turning inward and reconnecting to what matters to each of us. What does love and connection look like, feel like for you? 

Ask for and look for a sign that you are loved and that peace is available. It may not come as a sign flashed by a Harley rider, but it will come. It will come to you in your way, and in your time.

“The miracle is not to walk on water. The miracle is to walk on the green earth, dwelling deeply in the present moment and feeling truly alive.” – Thich Nhat Hanh