If a collective wish can change reality, the Canucks will win the series against Chicago tomorrow night. A miracle, maybe, but well overdue. Forty years overdue.
But that's not the miracle I want to share.
The stack of books I'm anxious to read, many of them from writers I know, is getting smaller. I may not get to them all this year, and that's bothering me. I've mentioned it a few times already, but my next novel Broken But Not Dead comes out next month: I'm swamped trying to get ready. There's also the e-book version of Dead Witness due for release in July through MuseItUp Publishing.
And while those are miracles, that's not the one I want to share.
We're expecting another beautiful, darling grand-miracle in September.
Yes, babies are born everyday, it's not particularly startling news. But, I think sometimes we're so used to something that we forget what a miracle it really is.
Miracle in my online mac dictionary reads as:
* a surprising and welcome event that is not explicable by natural or scientific laws and is therefore considered to be the work of a divine agency.
* a highly improbable or extraordinary event, development, or accomplishment that brings very welcome consequences.
Amazing doesn't come close.
Amen to that.
ps. oops, forget to say thanks for the flowers, Judi!