The little miracles of good news
‘You are very strong.’
Those are words of such rarity these days. For wherever we look, there seems to be such an abundance of weakness. Political corruption. Corporate graft. Terrorism. Majoritarianism. Manipulation. Angry words. Major egos. Real violence. Rapes. Lynchings. Vicious rumours. Mind-games that even push people to end their own lives.
There seems to be an abundance of human weakness everywhere.
Lusts that cut us down to slavering beasts. Greed that exceeds any known needs. Flares of rage that burn us to ashes before we even know. A quickness to cut. A quickness to wound. A quickness to demean. A quickness to kill.
And the effects of such stories, such news, such thoughts, only cascade. The world only seems to grow darker and heavier, more vile, more evil each day.
But then, sometimes I wonder.
The world is indeed a dark place, full of grimness, violence, crimes and punishments, decided by everyone, meted out to us all, by each other, which only makes it worse.
But then, sometimes I wonder.
Perhaps we’re missing a little something.
Some moments that actually make this world, this life, a place worth living for.
Some moments which are actually little miracles. These do happen, often — but we overlook them. That’s a great pity for we need to celebrate these a lot more. Lest we think that this world, this life, is only about brutally closed doors and desperate souls, migrants and militants and guns and poses and blood-lusts and murders and rapists and bandits of so many terrible kinds.
There is actually more to this world.
Its magic sometimes looks smaller than these dark, looming moments.
But it’s there.
Why, just this week, three little miracles happened.
The first took place in Thailand. Nine days ago, a 12-member boys’ soccer team, all between 10 and 16 years of age, along with their coach, suddenly vanished after entering the Tham Luang Nang Non caves in Chiang Rai. Caught in a sudden massive downpour, the team made its way further into the caves and then lost contact with the outside world. Their families, police, disaster managements teams, everyone searched desperately for them even as the media — and it is usually the media — kept repeating ominously that the chances of finding them alive were low, lower, absolutely minimal now.
Then, the little miracle happened.
Two British divers plunging into the caves found them. All 12 boys and their coach, alive and well — as well as they could be, having survived on a tiny sandbank in the deep, dark caves, water lapping at their feet, hungry, cold, traumatised after all these days in that darkness, but — miraculously — alive and doing alright. Alright enough to even politely say to the divers, who promised to bring more people back to rescue them (since then, the cave has seen multiple people reach food, blankets and other supplies to the kids, while authorities pump out water from the depths to try and bring the children and their coach out) — ‘Oh, thank you!’.
Thank you, actually.
For living through this. And for not letting go of the spirit that made you live.
Heart. Which is always courage — and kindness too.
Thank you.
And we really hope to see you soon.
The second little miracle took place in Arizona, the USA, where someone else said thank you, to a dog. In Anthem, Arizona, Todd, a Golden Retriever puppy, bravely fought off a rattlesnake that attacked its owner who was out on a hike. The rattlesnake was poised to strike the owner's foot when Todd prevented it by fending it off — getting bitten in return.
Todd’s lovely face — and dogs have the most beautiful faces, with eyes of such depth, with mouths that easily grin, with cheeks that crease as they cheekily smile at you — was badly swollen and his eyes, lined with that strange, heavenly kohl dogs are blessed with from above — looked in pain. But he was game enough to pout into the camera for the video his owner was making.
A video to say, thank you.
And then, there is one more video.
One more little miracle.
It’s all of 58 seconds. And it has a little girl, a four-year-old, with cerebral palsy, taking her first steps, unaided by her parents, her sibling, her cane or crutches. Maya just walks. She takes one wobbly step. One more. Then one more. And stops to beam — and it’s a smile that simply fills up her whole face (you know the kind I mean, when your heart shows up to smile on your face and you look a little like pure sunshine) — and squeals, ‘I’m walking!’
‘I’m walking!’
‘You guys … I’m walking!’
One small step for Maya.
One stride for humanity.
For all of us who will see Maya and take heart from her heart. From the love and pride of the woolly white dog in the background that wags its tail with full approval at Maya’s trembling steps. From the sibling who watches her carefully but lets her walk on her own, even if she sits down with a thump after a few seconds. From Maya’s smile and that excitement in her voice.
The excitement of being alive and loving this moment in life.
This difficult, arduous, challenging, frightening moment. This moment when you are alone.
This moment, which pure love and prayers and faith and soul, help you to survive. To cross. To live. To give the best of to others.
And to hear from so many of us watching, fatigued by the dark news all around, suddenly see a soul shine in that darkness, suddenly realise, you — we — are actually very strong.
Thank you.
Thank you for being the little miracles that show us nothing is too big to bear.
Because your heart is way bigger than all the darkness around it.
You — we — can be terribly weak.
But you — we — can also be very strong.
Thank you, you three little miracles, for reminding us of that.