I do believe, I just have to remind myself now and again

Last Sunday I spent a good portion of my work day reading friends' blogs and trying not to think about what I had to do on Monday. I needed to take my daughter, whose 18 month "birthday" was also Monday, to get blood drawn for a RASP allergy test. I was terrifed. I had called the lab earlier in the week to ask what the procedure was and what I should be prepared for. I was informed that two technicians would "hold her down" while I held her legs. If they were not successful in getting blood from her arm we would be sent to the hospital. I knew blood had to be drawn. We have to find out what it making our little girl so sick. But my stomach turned everytime I thought about what we had to do just to get the small amount of blood necessary for the test. So this is what I was pretending NOT to think about last Sunday when I was reading friends' blogs. Most of what I read I didn't retain-- I don't even know who I visted. That is until I read  Meenakshi's blog on miracles. After reading her blog and all the insightful comments, I closed my eyes and took a huge breath in. I let it out slowly and tried to clear my mind. This is very difficult for me to do. I'm not naturally meditative. But I knew I needed my mind clear of fear and anxiety. That night I lay in bed, unable to sleep. But unlike most nights, I was not upset about my sleepless-ness. I practiced breathing deeply, as if I could get air all the way down to my toes. I felt heat-- almost like an ache-- in my palms and the soles of my feet. I placed my hands over my heart and my belly and imagined I could hold my hands this way over my daughter and heal her. Eventually, I slept and did not dream. In the morning, the kids and I went through our normal Monday morning rush to get ready for the day and my son off to school. I kept my thoughts clear and focused on each moment so as not to invite anxiety back. Eventually, my daughter and I arrived at the lab where we went through a maze of paperwork and chairs. "Sit here, wait there, move here, not there, wait in line- but not that one!" We both stayed calm. We chatted. We played "where's Sonya?" We made friends with an elderly woman who had no grandchildren. She snacked and flirted. I wondered how something as ugly as a florescent light could make her hair even more beautiful. I was looking for more beautiful things when a nurse came to apologize to us for the long wait. "It takes a long time to order her tests. And we will need a special room and our best technicians." I thanked her and practiced deep breathing again. My duaghter was content to play with my shoelaces. Then it was our turn. A young woman took us to a tiny corner room with a heavy wooden door. All the other patients were in cubicles. I was asked if I would sit in the chair and hold my baby on my lap. A young man entered and introduced himself. He got down on his knees and spoke kindly to my daughter. She giggled and flirted right back. I was asked to hold my baby's feet between my knees and to hug her free arm against her belly. The young man then braced my daughter's arm while the young woman gently looked for a good vein. They worked quickly, a perfect team. The needle went in and Sonya howled but did not move. I breathed and whispered into her ear. I told her I loved her. That I was proud of her. That she was braver than most grown-ups. That she was beautiful, and strong, and patient. She took a deep breath and sniffed then turned her head to see what was happening to her arm. I expained what she was seeing and told her why we were doing it. She looked at the young man and tipped her head  toward her shoulder. "Belly hurt." "We are going to find out why your belly hurts and make it better, ok?" Then it was over, six vials filled. A band-aid on her arm and three large stickers covering her shirt. The young man and woman lavished praise on my daughter. She smiled and gave high-fives. I remember what I must have always known, that miracles happen every breathing moment. Most are tiny-- noticeable only to the reciipient. But they are there. I see them now and with every breath I am working to be the woman who can see grace where is rests, instead of the woman who curses that grace never existed.