Miss Becky's Blog

Five Years Later . . . September 11th

Five years ago, the hijacked airliners of September 11, 2001, gave rise to many changes in the world; the smoke from the fires signaling a break with life as we once knew it. The attacks shattered our national illusion of safety and our complacency that the United States was somehow above the violent terrorism so common in other countries. They put into motion many political changes in the U.S. and around the globe, the outcome of which is still to be decided. They left many individuals with an emtional legacy of fear and anger, and other with a renewed sense of urgency in promoting peace and reconciliation. They certainly played a role in altering the world's consciousness and spirit in ways that are, and may always be, mysterious. Can we ever fully understand the big picture?

The memories of the dear ones lost that day live on in our hearts, next to the ache that has replaced their vibrant presence there. Those who did not lose a beloved person may have lost a jobor a home or a familiar way of life. Perhaps they were shaken by the loss of an inner security they'd always felt. Perhaps some senseof universal order fell away. But whatever each individual experienced, no one was left untouched.

Here, five years later, are some stories from some individuals who worked for one company, whose offices were in the World Trade Center that day and it's aftermath:

* For five years, Howard Lutnick and his brokerage firm (deals with buying and selling stock investments), Cantor Fitzgerald, have been fighting back from the horror and heartache of 9/11. The company's offices occupied Floors 101 through 105 in Tower One of the World Trade Centers. The worst terror attacks in American's history killed every one of the 658 employees (brokers, traders, technology specialists, and secretaries) who were at their desks that morning, including Lutnick's brothers. It was the single greatest loss suffered by any company or organization. After three moves and countless business crises, the firm's future is secure again, and it now has more employees than before the attacks.

Lutnick, who lived because he was taking his son to his first day of kindergarten, calls the recovery "miraculous" and credits those who lives were spared and stayed with Cantor. "The normal course of events is you have a crisis, and you go for weeks sorting it out. But in the fall of 2001, we'd have a crisis at nine and another at eleven and then another at one. We were in crisis mode for basically a year."

Survivors are quick to share storeis of 90-hour work weeks (the usual is 40 hours), of adrenaline-fueled problem-solving, and of an unshakable belief in one another. Work was not just a distraction; most say it healed them.

For a long time, it was tough to talk with anyone outside of Cantor about what they'd been through. "The only place where I felt like myself was work. I needed to be around other people who'd been where I'd been." report some of Cantor's employees.

* Harry Waizer, Cantor's tax specialist, was out to dinner recently with his wife, Karen, and someone he hadn't met before. "It came out that I'd been in the building on 9/11, and she asked if I minded telling my story and for the first time ever, I turned to Karen and said, 'Why don't you tell it?' I've though about why I did that. For one thing, my children where there. I don't think I've ever told the story of that day to my children. But I also think it was part of ... just putting it behind you. I went through a period in which I told the story multiple times because everyone who visited wanted to hear it. But that has stopped. I don't particularl want to go back to that time."

Waizer was in an elevator high in the North Tower when the plan struck. Flames ignited inside the elevator and he was badly burned on his body and face and in his throat. Now he's back at the firm working three days a week. He says he wished he'd been with his colleagues from day one. "While they were burning the midnight oil, I was, for two months, lying in an induced coma, and for months more I was in a hospital bed, and then I was going through rehabilitation. So I never had the chance to deal with it in a group way, day in and day out. What I dealt with was the personal impact of 9/11."

What triggers his memory of "The Day"? "It's elevators. For a very long time, I couldn't get on an elevator without thinking back, and every time something our of the ordinary happens on an elevator, I get taken back and I remember that day.

* Frank Walczak, a life-long surfer, had taken the day off on September 11 to catch the waves. Sitting on his surf-board in the water, just south of New Jersey, Walczak saw smoke pouring out of the Trade Center. He began calling the office and the homes of his colleagues. No one on the foreign exchange desk where he worked survived. Walczak had to reinvent himself as an equities trader.

"I still feel a tremendous sense of loss. You start to think of how much time you spent with these people. More time than with your own family." Walczak says he has been able to honor his friends through work. "I needed to do this. I can't imagine going somewhere else. I feel like what we're doing comes from within. We're rebuilding the company and rebuilding ourselves. It gies you a sense of completion."

Overall, though, he feels happy. He feels happy. He now works in Cantor's Shrewsbury, New Jersey office, eight minutes away from home. He can surf nearly every summer evening if he wants.

* Cantor Partner David Kravette, a childhood friend of Lutnick and one of only two Cantor survivors who had been in the office that morning and left before the plane hit . . . He lived because a customer had forgotten his photo ID and Kravette needed to clear him through lobby security. He had considered sending his secretary but decided to go himself because she was seven and a half months pregnant. After the initial explosion, he saw an elevator free-fall to the ground and a fireball of jet fuel rage through the lobby straight at him before "it just stopped and sucked back in on itself."

In the firm's post 9/11 rebuilding, Kravettte was forced to switch jobs and become an equities trader after a dozen years trading bonds. He's progressed quickly and is more successful than he's ever been.

For a year after the attacks, he woke up ofent in the night, short of breath and full of panic. He found the only thing that helped was work. He thinks often about the friends he lost.

* LaChanze Fordjour was in her ninth month of pregnancy on September 11th when her husband, Calvin Gooding, a Cantor employee died in the attacks. She was one of 38 wives of Cantor Fitzgerald victims who were pregnant. At the birth of her baby she told friends that she could never imagine remarrying and she was irritated with those who suggested it.

In December after the attacks, an author heard about LaChanze's loss, called her and told her she needed to get out of the house and start working. She then offered LaChanze an opportunity to try out for a role in an Off Broadway theater near Times Square. It changed everything. "I really was spiraling down," she says. "I was an unemployed actress with two children, a husband who had died. My prospects were slim. I got that job, and I saw that I could be productive. That I had things I could bring to people."

Her children were instrumental in her healing. "I call them my earth angels because they forced me out of myself. It was important to be able to take care of someone else." She says she thinks of Calvin every day when she puts her children to bed. Her older daughter, six-year-old Celia, shares Calvin's features and his boisterous personality. Zaya is more introspective, thought just as smart. She's four and reading at a second-grade level. Two years ago she met the artist Derek Fordjour and she has married him.

* "For a good six months my life was a black hole," says Phil Marber, the popular head of Cantor Fitzgerald Equities. "For a long time I couldn't really figure out why I wasn't there with everybody else. And then you ask, what's my purpose in life? Things like that. All I wanted was to get the company back to where it was, to the level we were at in 2000."

Marber says he can't imagine wht life would be life if the firm had gone under. He has too much of himself invested in it. Now that his division is doing better than ever, he's beginning to let himself relax and spend more time with his two teenage daughters. And he takes great pride in the fact that the firm has paid out more than $180 million of its profits to the families of their employees who died that day. "We've survived, and we've lived up to our promises, and I feel very good about that."

****************************************************************************

These stories are great examples of individuals over coming great loss in a very difficult situation. I salute those who have worked so hard to overcome these challenges and move happily forward in their lives! A great example of the strength of the human spirit, the power of work and helping one another, the things that really make "miracles" happened.

A Time to Heal ... the conclusion

This will complete the story "A Time to HEAL" about how Lauren Manning recovers from her injuries on September 11th . . . now to finish the story . . . a real true LOVE story.

HE GORGEOUS -- Mid-November 2001. By now Lauren has received skin grafts on her back from the base of her neck to her Achilles tendon. Her doctor has told me that her burn area has been reduced from 82.5 percent to 8 or 9 percent. Yes, just 8 or 9 percent. I feel like repeating that 100 times slowly. This is a credit to luck, fate, destiny, health, genetics, surgical skill and prayer. The single digits--they're where we want to be!

Lauren also had her trach tube removed. When I saw her on November 14, for the first time since September 11 she didn't have a blue hose running from her mouth or her neck to a ventilator or to a gas connection in the wall. Instead, foam dressings covered the healing wound. I said, No trach--you must be talking. She said yes.

Her voice sounded hoarse and congested, as if she had a bad cold. But it was her voice, not a whisper. Occasionally air would leak out below the dressings, and we would have to press down on them so that she could speak without any interruption (her voice would go on and off, like bad cell-phone connection).

I told her it was really great to hear her sounding like herself. And I said that I'd never suspended her cell phone, paying the bill just so I could still hear her regular voice on her message announcement. She told me, largely in her regular voice, that I was nuts.

For the first time, I fed Lauren her dinner. It resembled a meal you would see in a '60's film about deep space --three colors of gruel in different triangular sections of the plate. Yet it was a crowning achievement of hospital cuisine--pureed (make it liquid) everything so that Lauren eat it: chicken, mashed potatoes and a vegetable that apparently tasted good.

Then it came time for Tyler's first visit to the hospital. Lauren prepared for it like nothing else in her life. Her mother washed and blow-dried Lauren's hair and put lipstick on her lips. Her father went out and bought her favorite perfume so that Tyler would be more familiar with her scent after all this time. With Tyler now walking on his own, Lauren asked us to bring his lawn-mower push toy. And she wanted to wear a baseball cap so that she would look "more normal."

I entered her room before the visit to make sure she was ready. Lauren was seated in a lounge chair in her blue patient gown, sheets across her lap and a towel scented with perfume across her shoulders. Thought her forearms and hands were still in splints and casts, her smiling face peeked out at me beneath the brim of a baseball cap.

In the waiting room, Joyce, our nanny (lady hired to care for children) was with Tyler. I returned to find him at the center of a crowd or nurses and therapists, all waving and smiling at him. I had the video camera with me, so I filmed Lauren. Her mother wheeled her out of her room, turned the corner of the Burn Center, and came down the hall toward the waiting room.

Tyler was suddenly turned loose. And then he was pushing his lawn-mower toy toward his mother. Lauren could not touch Tyler because of the risk of infection, and he could not touch her. So instead of placing him on her lap, he was picked up and held near her. And Lauren, overwhelmed by happiness, said hello to him through her tears.

Tyler showed some fear at first. The staff psychologist had warned us that he would probably not recognize his mother and might be quite frightened. But he cried twice, got past it, and then he knew her. Whether it was the perfume or her voice of her face; whether it was he smile or whether he recognized her from all the photos we've shown him, he knew her. When we asked him, "Where's Mommy?" he looked at Lauren.

Tyler is a miracle. Yes, I'm his dad. But today, just shy of 13 months, he showed poise. He pushed his lawn mower back and forth across the floor, and Lauren got to see exactly what she had lived for. She kept looking at me and saying, "He's gorgeous."

There was a song she used to sing to him; I tried to sing it on her behalf but couldn't get through the first line. With Joyce pressing down on the dressings at the base of Lauren's neck so that air wouldn't hiss out of her chest, Lauren sang:

I love you in the morning and in the afternoon.

I love you in the evening and underneath the moon,

I love you, I love you, oh yes I really do,

I love you oh my darling through and through.

She made it all the way to the end. And Tyler started to dance. Kneeling, he shook his body to the music. I told him afterward, "Today you made your mother as happy as you may ever make anyone."

MOVING ON . . . Early December 2001. If you were outside in New York recently, maybe you were touched by the same breezes that touched Lauren as she sat in her wheelchair, out by the hospital's black steel benches, the grass and the tree-lined traffic circle. "I was outside--I breathed fresh air," she said. "There's a whole world out there I want to reconnect to."

Which she'll be doing shortly, when she leaves here and heads to the Burke Rehabilitation Hospital in White Plains, N.Y. Her total rehab will take one to two years; Her hands are the real challenge because that's where her burns were the worst. In a recent surgery, the tip of her left index finger was amputated (cut off) because it was so severely damaged.

After dinner the other night, Lauren and I talked. Mostly she gave me a to-do list--train schedules, packing details, the logistics of getting home. In the middle of it, though, I looked at her. Her skin is far more pink than it was, and the formation of tiny scars drags a bit at her lower lip. But the expression in her eyes and her smile are the same. I said, "You are just amazing."

"Thanks for staying by my side," she said with emotion.

"I'll always be by your side," I said. "I'll take care of you."

Then she said that we should grow old together and die together. "Let's not rush that day," I told her. "But, yes, we will."

For Lauren's last day at the Burn Center--December 11--she chose a white T-shirt, red drawstring pants and her tan hat to wear. She had a pressure bandage around her face, and underneath her T-shirt was a Jobst vest, a compression garment that promotes healing and minimizes scarring. For much of the next year, Lauren will need to wear a full body suit of these pressure garments.

When Dr. Yurt came in to say goodbye, Lauren said simply, "Thank you. Thank you for saving my life." And she began sobbing. Dr. Yurt put his hand on her shoulder, comforting her in one of the kindest gestures I've seen from a doctor.

We packed the last of Lauren's things, and then everything was loaded onto a wheelchair as if it were an airport luggage cart. Because Lauren wasn't being wheeled out. She was walking out. I said goodbye to Lauren's nurse. I signed he discharge papers, and then two EMT's (Emergency Medical Technician) came down the hall. They would be talking Lauren to Burke Rehabilitation Hospital, but she would walk out the front door of the Burn Center herself.

And no sooner had the moment come than she raised her arms and said, "That's it. Ninety days to the day, and we're getting out of here." She started walking down the hall, accompanied by one EMT as the other followed . I trailed, pushing the wheelchair, and suddenly tears filled my eyes. Lauren was walking out, leading her entourage (group of people) into the future. She's a recovering patient, a miracle--all embodied in this five-foot-four-inch lady with her pressure garments, yoga outfit and hat.

I turned to Lauren's nurse, gave him a powerful hug and said, "Thank you for everything." He wished us good luck, and I continued down the hall. The physical and occupational therapists were all gathered at the front desk, and Lauren stopped to hug them. Then she walked out the front door, and we followed her. I leaned over to give her a gentle high-five.

Lauren left the hospital the same way she had entered--through the ambulance bay, where on September 11 people had stood in stunned silence as she was unloaded and rolled through the door amide a quiet so complete you could hear the wheels creaking. This time, as she went out the door and into the back of the ambulance, Lauren was waving joyfully to everyone around her and calling out their names.

* * * * *

This is the end of the story . . . but life continues for Lauren, as she works to get back the full use of her hands and body. This is a beautiful example of the power of love, true love. My wish for you all, is to have a special marriage partner, who will love you as much as you love them, and that you will both stand by and support each other in any situation that comes up in your life.

TO LOVE AND BE LOVED IS THE GREATEST JOY ON EARTH!

Love you,

Miss Becky

Smiley's HEART Miracle!!

Smiley's HEART Miracle!

On May 7, 2006 my husband, Ken, who some of you call "Smiley" experienced a "heart attack". Thanks to the "miracles of modern medicine" and his otherwise healthy, strong, active body, he is fine now and the doctors say he has at least 15 more years of life! Here's the story, if you're interested.

It was a Sunday evening. I had gone to Provo that afternoon so I could drive my Dad to the airport early the next morning. Ken/Smiley stayed home that day and was resting since he had been busy the last couple of days at a basketball camp for his high school team. Around 6 or 7 pm he felt some tightness or discomfort in his chest. Thinking it was indigestion and since he had not been moving that day, he went outside in our backyard, did some walking around, hit some golf balls for an hour and a half. When he came in the house, the pressure in his chest was worst, so he went to the computer and looked up the signs of a heart attack on the Internet. He had only read the first paragraph and realized that, yes, he was experiencing all the signs of a heart attack, including shortness of breath now.

Since I was not home, he called our son, Jason, who was at his office that night doing some work, to come and take him to the hospital. Jason was only about 10 minutes away and he could tell from the sound of Ken's voice that he was in trouble. Ken went out on our front porch (just outside the front door of our house) and laid down there, as it was easier to breath, to wait for Jason. (Jason's wife found Ken there and thought he was dead!! She told me that we just about had another heart attack that night -- we laugh about it now, but at the time it was very scary for her. Ken had not told her his problem because she was busy caring for their three children, and he did not want to scare them.)

Jason arrives and takes Ken to the Emergency Room at the Hospital, which fortunately is only five minutes away. They begin working on him, giving him some drugs to open up the clogged artery. Soon he is feeling somewhat better, trying to sit up and joking with the medical people. But, they life flight (sent him on a medical helicopter) to Ogden, a larger city about 40 miles away. There they have a Cath Lab where they immediately take him for tests to determine which artery is blocked.

Jason called me on the phone and explained all that was going on. I called my brother to take my Dad to the airport the next day. My father and I had a prayer together and I drove to Ogden, about a 80 mile drive from where I was. It was late at night, so the traffic was not bad. I had a very peaceful, calm feeling come over me. I felt the presence of my mother, who had died two months eariler, and had the strong feeling that everything was going to be OK. Jason, drove down from Logan and met me at the hospital in Ogden. It was about 2:00 am in the morning when we got there and we were the only ones in the waiting room outside the lab. The nurse, kept coming out and telling us what was happening and assured us that Ken was doing well. She gave us the computer picture of his heart showing the artery that was blocked and said that a special doctor was inserting a "stent" into that artery to open it up.

Here's more information about the procedure the doctors performed:

After the procedure was successfully completed, Jason and I were allowed to see Ken and he looked pretty good. There were lots of tubes, etc. going into him, but he was not experiencing any pain. We went with him to his room in the caratact intensive care area ... after getting settled into his bed, we talked with him for a while. Then he encouraged Jason to go home, as he had a presentation he needed to do at his work the next day. Jason left and I stayed with Ken through the rest of the night, sleeping in a chair in his room and we slept for a few hours.

The next day Ken had to stay still and flat most of the day. The "stent" was put into place using a catheter that was in a sheath that had been inserted into an artery in the groin. That sheath was not removed until late the next day -- that was the most painful part of his hospital stay. Ken felt good, was hungry and ate everything they brought him to eat. The medical people did LOTS of different tests that day, physical therists came and worked with him and we got a big binder full of nutrition information. Family members and friends called through out the day and a couple friends going through Ogden even stopped by to see him. That night he was even able to get up and go to the bathroom himself. He felt good but tried. After I got him already to sleep, I drove home (almost an hour drive) and slept well in my own bed.

The next morning, I returned to the hospital with some things that he wanted and we spent the day seeing different medical people and getting the results of all the tests. The Doctor told him that there was very little damage to his heart, because the medical people in Logan were able to open up the artery so quickly AND because he was in such over-all good health, living an active life-style. He was doing so well that the Doctor let me take him home that night.

He has to take several medications each day and the Doctor said told him to take it easy, but to do what he felt like doing ... but not to play "hoops" for a while. I brought him home on Tuesday night and by Friday that week he was on the golf course.

He did go to cartica rehab a couple of times and found that he knew several of the people there who had suffered different type of heart problems, one man had had eight heart by-passes! Max Peterson is one of the people he saw there. Max and his wife had taught English on the Shandong Medical University campus the 2004-2005 school year and lived in the same building that we did. After they returned from China, Max had a heart attack, when to the Logan Hospital, was flown to Ogden and had a stent put in there ... their stories were almost the same. It's interesting to note that the "life flight helicopter" often flies right over our house ... now when we see or hear it, we are reminded of Ken's experience.

Ken perferred getting his exercise doing the things he likes, such as golf, jogging and hoops. He has also done a lot of outside work around our house this summer. And he takes naps as he needs them. It has been my job to help him by providing "heart" healthy meals and he has lost some weight and wants to lose some more.

At the follow up visit with the Doctor in Ogden, we were told that the artery that was blocked affects 70% of the heart, so it could have caused major damage to his heart. Again we are so grateful for the "miralces" of modern medicine, that it happened when and where it did so he was able to get medical attention quickly AND we are especially grateful that Ken is doing so well and looking forward to many more wonderful years here on the earth.

A MIRACLE OF LOVE & MODERN MEDICINE

I stared at our seven-month-old baby girl, Chelsea, in the hospital crib. As I tucked up her blanket, my eyes rested on the old Dillon family Bible I kept in the crib with her. It had belonged to my grandmother, who died when I was thirteen. I cherished that Bible as I had cherished my grandmother. She always soothed my childhood hurts and fears; to this day I still missed her. The Bible had rested in her hands during her funeral service. My mother removed it just before the coffin lid was lowered and later gave it to me.

But even Grandmother probably could not have soothed the hurt and fear my husband, Lance, and I now faced. Earlier that day the specialists at University Medical Center in Tucson had finally diagnosed the baffling condition that was slowly but surely draining the life from our first child.

“Chelsea has an extremely rare birth defect called severe combined immunodeficiency syndrome,” our doctor informed us. “SCIDS interferes with the normal functioning of her immune system. She has virtually no natural defenses against infection. Her bone marrow doesn’t produce the necessary cells.”

I stood statue-still and stared at him . . . I had prayed that somewhere in the mighty arsenal of modern medicine was the right drug, the magic bullet that would cure her. The immunologist carefully explained that the only option was a bone marrow transplant – a risky procedure that at best had about a fifty percent chance of success.

The only option.

We needed to transfer her to a hospital that did this sort of operation as soon as possible, he had said. There were only a few in the entire country.

Now as I stood over Chelsea’s crib I smoothed the blanket and pushed the old Bible off to the side. It’s leather cover was worn soft with use. As my child slept I closed my eyes and hoped for a miracle.

The next day we decided on Memorial Sloan-Kettering in Manhattan (New York City) for the procedure because of their slightly-higher-than-average success rate. But now came the enormous problem of transporting Chelsea from Tucson (in Arizona in the south west of our country) to New York (in the northeast) without exposing her to many people. Chelsea couldn’t afford to catch even a cold. Any worsening in her condition would delay surgery. A simple flue bug could kill her.

Driving there was out of the question. She couldn’t be off her IV fluids for that long. Commercial airliners posed too much hazard of contracting contagious disease, and big airports were even worse. We needed a private plane, but Chelsea’s condition was not considered acutely critical – a criterion that had to be met before our insurance company would agree to cover the enormous cost of a jet. The catch-22 was that if Chelsea did become that critical, she would probably be too sick to have the surgery.

Lance and I were at wit’s end. We didn’t sleep, we barely ate. There had to be something we could do. We made countless phone calls. Finally we heard about a group called Corporate Angels, which provides free flights for sick children aboard private planes. The flights conduct normal business travel, and patients hitch along. Corporate Angels found us a flight leaving that Friday out of Denver bound nonstop for New York. A miracle was in our grasp.

“Dear God,” I prayed, “now please help us get to Denver. I know You have Your ways. We’ll just keep on trying.”

Denver (in Colorado) was too far to drive. We got the number of a private medevac (flies people with medical problems for a fee) company. Maybe we could pay for the flight ourselves. But when I talked to Judy Barrie, a paramedic whose husband, Jim, piloted the medevac plane, she gave me the bad news. “The flight will cost six thousand dollars, minimum,” she said. We didn’t have six thousand dollars. Our finances had been stretched to the limit.

I thanked Judy and said good-bye. “Wait,” she said suddenly as I was about to hang up. “I really want to help you. I’m not promising anything, but I’ll talk to Jim. Maybe he can figure this out.”

When I hung up I had the strangest feeling that these people would be able to do something about what was increasingly a hopeless situation. An hour later Jim Barrie called back. “Listen, I’ve got a friend flying back an empty plane from Phoenix (city in Arizona, not far from Tucson where they were) to Denver in the morning,” Jim told me. “If you can get to the field by six-thirty, you can hitch a ride.”

Perfect. Chelsea could handle the drive to Phoenix. But I was almost afraid to ask the next question. “Jim, what will it cost?”

“Cost? Heck, not a thing. This guy’s a friend, and he’s got to get his plane up there anyway.”

I was faint with relief. These total strangers had taken a huge step in saving the life of my child. I didn’t know what to say. The word thanks didn’t seem big enough.

“You could do us one little favor, though,” Jim added. “Judy and I would like to meet Chelsea.”

Chelsea was awake and even a bit playful when Jim and Judy arrived at the hospital. While Jim talked to Lance (her husband) about finding our way around the Phoenix airport, Judy and I chatted. Her eyes kept flitting over to the crib. Then I noticed she was staring at Grandma’s Bible. One time when Judy was leaning over Chelsea, her fingers brushed it. Finally, as they were about to go, Judy asked, “Where are you from?” I told her Pittsburgh (a city in a state near New York and very far from Arizona).

“I’m from Pittsburgh too,” she said slowly. “Well, the suburb Carnegie actually.”

“My mother is from Carnegie,” I said. I felt a shiver go through me. “Virginia Everett. Dillon was her maiden name.”

“Virginia Dillon?” Judy said, eyes wide. “My father was Howard Dillon.”

“Uncle Howard?” I was stunned.

Judy nodded. It was as if a current of electricity had jumped between us. Now I could see why her face had seemed faintly familiar. Judy Barrie was my cousin Judy Dillon. “I haven’t seen you since . . . ,” I stared to say. Judy’s eyes jumped again to the Bible.

“Since Grandma’s funeral twenty years ago,” she finished the sentence. “That’s the Bible she was holding.”

We fell into each other’s arms. I knew then that all would be well with Chelsea. The odds against this crossing of paths were simple too great. This was meant to be.

Chelsea got her bone marrow transplant and four months later she left the hospital with a healthy immune system. She is, as they say, a medical miracle.

And then there was the other miracle. I like to think of it as my grandmother’s miracle. In a sense, even twenty years after her funeral, she was reaching out to comfort me and assure me that with God all things are possible.

By Cheryl Deep

Comment: The power of love is no less potent than that of modern medicine. In the right hands, each serves as it’s own instrument of God’s healing.

SMALL MIRACLES

I believe in MIRACLES and have felt the "love of God" in my life many times from the many "small miracles" that have been given to me and my family. The following is the Introduction to a book of the same name by Yitta Halberstam & Judith Leventhal, both of Jewish background. Althought, I'm a Christian, I believe we were all created by the same God and that He loves each of us, regardless of our religious beliefs, cultural background, race, country of origin, economic or educational status, and blesses our lives with "small miracles". After reading this article, can you identify any "small miracles" in your life?

SMALL MIRACLES . . .

Throughout our journey in life we encounter many teachers and signposts that lead us along our way. They whisper words of wisdom and encouragement to us as we struggle and yearn; they invite us into new spheres of Being and Existence. They let us know that we are not alone – that Spirit surrounds us always.

Chief among these signposts and teachers is none other than the phenomenon that some choose to call coincidence, but that we – the authors – recognize and firmly believe are nothing more and nothing less than “small miracles.”

And it is precisely at this moment in time that we need “small miracles” in our lives – now more than ever before.

Why is the identification of coincidences as “small miracles” crucial to our spiritual and personal growth?

When a person shrugs off a “coincidence” as merely a random event or pure happenstance, he is doing himself – and the universe – a grave disservice. He is failing to apprehend a divine moment that was gifted to him by God, a ripe and full moment that comes in the great flow of energy in which he is a spark. Had he recognized the coincidence for what it truly is – God’s gentle tap on the shoulder or God’s veritable shout: “Hello from Heaven!”. . . The opportunity for endless transformation and growth is lost when “coincidences” are perceived in pedestrian terms as simple “luck” or “chance.”

How much more fortunate is the individual possessing enough awareness to recognize coincidences for what they truly are – mysterious, magical, and awe-inspiring testimonials to God’s presence in our ordinary, everyday lives. This graced individual will most assuredly be filled with what we like to call “spiritual optimism.” She will believe that the events in her life have purpose, that the “coincidences” in her life have purpose and that – most important of all – her very life is hallowed by sacred purpose. She will see the holiness of day-to-day existence, the holiness of herself. And, in a world where negative forces threaten at times to submerge us, this is the greatest blessing of all.

Cultivating consciousness about the “coincidences” that come into our lives fills us with excitement and gratitude. We feel that we are truly God’s children and that He is with us, always ….

When you believe in coincidences, they pour into your life at an exhilarating, almost dizzying rate. When you require something from the universe, and you truly believe that the universe is responsive, then you most assuredly will receive its full bounty for the asking.

Here’s an example from the authors: “We had talked incessantly about approaching one of the most famous spiritual writers of our time to discuss Small Miracles. Since we were not personally acquainted with him, we faced a challenge. How to meet the man and humbly submit our request? We explored many avenues, and finally it was decided that Yitta would enroll in a one-night course that the ‘guru’ was giving. Surely at some time during the three-hour class there would be a window of opportunity that Yitta could seize to our advantage. However, a day before the course was scheduled, we were disappointed to learn that it had been canceled due to the teacher’s unexpected illness. Now what? It was a setback, but we were not discouraged. We both vibrated an intense need to meet this man.

“The very next week Judith flew to Washington, D.C., on book tour, sat in the airplane seat that had been ‘randomly’ assigned to her, and discovered . . . to her shock and delirious joy that her seatmate was none other than the spiritual guru we had resolved to meet! Not only did they engage in discussion during the entire plane ride, but after swapping personal biographies they discovered that they had lived in the exact same house in Crown Heights, Brooklyn, when Judith was a toddler and the spiritual leader was a college student, and that the spiritual leader’s parents had been Judith’s parents landlords many years ago!”

When we pray, we are speaking to God. When “coincidences” occur, it is God speaking to us. To be attuned to these moments is truly to be awake to the Divine that calls us every day.

But beyond providing us with testimonials to God’s presence in a spiritually barren landscape where there are few useful clues, “coincidences” also contain within themselves precious moral lessons and profound teachings.

When “coincidences” happen and we are aware of the messages we are being sent, a delicious sense of communion, of harmony with the universe, unfolds. We sense that everything is One, and that if we can only integrate these messages – these little bulletins from God – we can grow as moral and spiritual beings.

We are exhilarated when coincidences come into our lives, for we see them as blessings and gifts. Many people bemoan the lack of open, revealed miracles in the late twentieth century, maintaining that their absence makes the sustenance of faith that much harder. Seas don’t part; God doesn’t appear in a pillar of flame to talk with us . . . And it is true – the more grandiose, apocalyptic miracles of yesteryear do seem elusive. Nonetheless, we staunchly maintain that “small miracles” are everywhere, and that awareness of their existence can lead us to renewed faith.

“There are only two positions you can take,” Albert Einstein once said. “Either you believe that nothing in life is a miracle, or you believe that everything in life is a miracle.”

It is clear that the individual whose journey in life is more joyous, more meaningful, and more sublime, is the individual who subscribes to the second view.

An old story is told about a tough, weather-beaten, leather-skinned Alaskan nursing drink after drink in a bar in Anchorage. He tells the bartender that he has lost the faith he used to have in God.

‘I had a terrible accident in the Alaskan wilderness,’ he confides. ‘My twin-engine plane went down in the tundra, hundreds of miles away from civilization. I lay pinned in the wreckage for hours, believing that God would somehow help me. I cried out to God, I prayed with every ounce of strength I had left, I begged for rescue. But even as I started freezing to death, God didn’t lift a finger to help me and my faith in God is gone.’

The bartender squints at the Alaskan in puzzlement, ‘But I don’t understand,’ he protests. ‘You’re here, alive, telling me the story. Obviously you were saved.’

‘Oh, yeah, that’s right,’ concedes the Alaskan. ‘Because finally some Eskimo came along …’

Some people misidentify these experiences as pure coincidence, dismiss them as ‘happenstance,’ ‘random,’ or ‘just plain luck.’ But we say: There is no such thing as coincidence! There are no accidents! And these events are, in fact, nothing less than “small miracles,” awe-inspiring moments that should be celebrated, indeed consecrated, when they brush against us with their soft angel’s wings.

These miracles testify to the presence of a Higher Power in our seemingly ordinary lives; these miracles demonstrate the truth that we are all part of a larger organism and interconnected; these miracles illuminate how an invisible Hand is guiding us, gently prodding us toward our destiny. May you have eyes to see and ears to hear these “small miracles”.

And, of all the miracles that we are privileged to witness in our lifetime, there is no greater phenomenon than the all-powerful, transformative, and healing miracle of love. Love nourishes, comforts, strengthens, sustains. Love begets miracles.

Travel with us into the Light, as we bless and receive the joy that “small miracles” always bring.

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