Hidden Miracles; lessons from the Nativity

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Hidden Miracles; lessons from the Nativity

Nine years ago today I woke cloaked by darkness and breastfed my firstborn son. Within a couple of hours we bundled our infant into his pushchair and headed towards the train station. We began a journey of Truth with Hope travelling alongside. Sam had an appointment in London for an MRI scan of his brain. Our little boy was nearly ten weeks old, soft and adorable as any other newborn. We chatted and he cooed the whole way there.

The return journey was quite different. Silence sat in the seat Hope had occupied. The seat we had expected Miracle to fill.

The Doctor’s words echoed in our ears and weighed heavily on our hearts.

Catastrophic and severe brain damage.

Affecting every part of the brain.

During the consultation it was explained that Sam would have permanent, life-changing disabilities. He would hopefully be able to feed, sit and one day walk a couple of steps but he would always need our help and the path would be rocky.

The Doctor was wrong.

Nine years later Sam cannot eat, sit independently or stand. His communication is limited and his life has hung in the balance many times. The slither of optimism we came home with was unfounded. The miracle we had hoped for didn’t materialise.

miraclesA couple of thousand years ago a nation also waited expectantly for a Miracle. They hoped for someone to release them from the tyranny of occupation and oppression. Then, I believe, a baby was born. He was a baby that didn’t fill any of their criteria for a Miracle and didn’t display the Hope of revolution.

The misshapen Nativity standing outside my home reminds me that sometimes Miracles come in disguise. Sometimes the thick fog of life and heartache can hide our Miracles from view.

Nine years on I occasionally pine for my lost miracles. It can feel as though Miracles happen to everyone else.

I wish the Doctor had been right.

Then I look back and see other miracles littering our path. They aren’t the Miracles of sight or steps but of Love, Perseverance and Transformation.

In one sense the Doctor was right; our lives have been changed forever. Life is no longer clear-cut and miracles are not so easy to define. The hard days can be tear-stained yet good, challenging but full of smiles.

As my family steps into 2015 I’m determined to carry with me the lessons of the Nativity. I won’t be duped by appearance but instead I will keep my heart and eyes open to hidden Miracles.

What have been your miracles, hidden or otherwise?

By | 2017-06-15T11:24:54+00:00 December 20th, 2014|Categories: Christmas, disability, expectations, mum of child with disability, Uncategorized|4 Comments

About the Author:

Qualified Nurse, Writer, Trainer, Public Speaker and unqualified parent of three. My days consist of Lego, laundry and loving three boys, one of whom has complex and life-limiting disabilities.

4 Comments

  1. Downs Side Up December 21, 2014 at 10:55 pm - Reply

    You are right, miracles come in may guises and our children really do teach us so very much when they arrive in our lives. Christmas is truly the time of year to take stock of those lessons. Thank you for joining #TeamT21 linky on Downs Side Up. Hayley x

  2. […] told them about the day I heard the results of my son's brain MRI. How the doctor used words like ‘no part of the brain untouched’, ‘extensive’ and […]

  3. Liz Walden July 10, 2017 at 9:45 pm - Reply

    Dear Rachel. Since reading your smashing (I never use that word, but it seems right here!) article about your son’s attendance award, I’ve been reading through your blog posts and just wanted to tell you how much I love your writing. It’s so thought-provoking, so eloquent, so clear-headed in the face of unpredictability and the ups and downs you chronicle. Your family is an inspiration – sappy and cliched as that may sound, I mean it. I feel humbled and uplifted by your writing. I once dreamed of becoming a writer (if you have time and inclination, check out my blog – I think I have all of 49 readers!) but somehow I’ve become a music teacher instead. I work with adults with learning disabilities and in some cases physical difficulties too. I’ve had no training and it’s been one huge learning curve. It still is. Thank you again for your thoughts and insights. Liz x

    • Rachel Wright July 11, 2017 at 8:18 am - Reply

      Hi Liz,
      Thanks for commenting. I had a peak at your blog and will take more time over reading it when I have a minute. Rachel

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