your miracles are not my miracles.

Your miracles are not my miracles.

But I need to remind myself of this daily, otherwise I’ll lose my mind in the crazy competition that is jealousy and “goals” and self-absorption. It’s easy to forget when you’re on your knees praying for your own miracle to stop looking to the side gawking at what the someone next to you is rejoicing in. Sometimes we smile and sometimes we’re downright bratty.

When I was a senior in high school, I had chronic shin pain that kept me from racing and absolutely made me crazy. I had begged and begged each night to wake up and feel nothing pulling on the tendons and muscles and had friend after friend lay hands on me and pray for them (includinga super cute boy who I didn’t know I loved yet, but who was already interceding on my behalf). One weekend, the mom of one of my closest friends took me along with her to a radical healing conference. I was prayed over (even in the midst of this being such a little thing looking back) and surrounded, as miracle after miracle happened around me.

And yet—I walked away the same. Nothing happened. Absolutely nothing.

I left that night defeated and running around with excuses for why I wasn’t supposed to be healed. I wept and yelled. And what I never recognized until eight years later—was to notice the magnitude of the miracles around me.

There was a man called out of a wheelchair. There was gold dust and a gold tooth and several other illnesses and aches called out and healed right then and there. Miracles- and yet I didn’t even stop in wonder because of the obsession with my own damn miracle. I was witnessing God’s glory in a way many never do—and I didn’t even care that another human received a great gift all because I wasn’t the one who got it.

I have been reading through Genesis and what continues to standing out to me is the differences in blessings—Hagar does what she is asked and then Sarah throws her out- and yet God still blesses Ishmael and promises protection. But it’s not the same miracle that Isaac was. And then Esau and Jacob—why was one favored over the other—why did one receive what the other didn’t.

Maybe I’ll never understand—but I do know that Jesus broke that pattern and became the miracle for every single person.

And yet—my miracles are not your miracles. My miracles are Sunday mornings waking up to the product of a high school love story or a student who has been a royal pain asking for forgiveness and a fresh start. Your miracles may be a finance breakthrough or a trip to Paris or a cross-country job. And I’m tempted to claim that my miracles aren’t good enough. And at the same time, my miracles are not finally making it to a country without war. My miracles are not seeing my family for the first time in years—but those are the miracles of those who would question why my heart is so selfish in the first place.

So that’s it—I refuse to live in a way where it takes me eight years to stop and think—“I saw someone else receive a marvelous gift from the Lord—and instead of being amazed at the wonder—I wanted my own”. I want you to receive better and miraculous miracles than ever before, because God is still writing on the walls even if it looks a little different to each person.

Your miracles are not my miracles.
And over and over—I’ll be reminded of this daily.