Dear Wigleaf,

It's easy to dismiss a miracle if you don't want to believe in miracles. I don't want to believe in miracles. But sometimes a miracle story is close enough, strange enough, that you might, even if you were a non-believer, believe the miracle. Which is why, if I were to tell you the miracle story that I came to believe, you probably wouldn't believe it, even though I believe it. This particular miracle story is close enough and strange enough to me that I believe it. But I can only give you so much context, Wigleaf; I can only tell you so much of the story. I can't make you me: the me who experienced the miracle story the way I experienced it, the me who felt surprise lock my throat and gut when pieces of the story braided, the me whose husk of disbelief tore away when a familiar voice whispered the miracle story like a secret to be told and kept.

You won't believe it, but I'll tell you, Wigleaf, when I see you again.


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Read LB's "Seven Sisters."

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