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.
- - -
Read LB's "Seven Sisters."
W i g l e a f