I have been a Catholic all my life. My mom is extremely devout. Her day begins and ends with prayer. When my dad was still alive, they made sure that we attended the 8 am mass every Sunday.
Growing up in exclusive Catholic girls schools strengthened my faith in God. I am not much of a church-goer, but I do pray - A LOT.
Miracles? They are true. I cannot forget that miracle I experienced when I was in 4th grade. Too young to understand, but never too young to feel the Love of God.
I had a classmate in grade school who was very well off. She had the best school bag her parents can buy. She had a beautiful lunch box by Sanrio, a famous (and unbelievably expensive) brand made in Japan. One day, my classmate brought a Hello Kitty stuffed doll. It was very nice. Soft, silky and holding it in your hand was heaven. My classmate was not snotty, she willingly gave each of us a chance to hold her doll and cuddle it. I drew up all my strength and asked her "May I borrow your doll overnight? I want to show it to my parents, maybe they can buy me one like that." To my surprise, she said "Sure!"
I emptied out my school bag, and stuffed my books in my locker. I wanted to make room in my bag for that precious little doll. When the school bus dropped me off at home, I ran upstairs to my room and opened my bag. I got the doll out and held it in my hands ever so gently like it was some kind of sacred thing. I then heard my mom calling me downstairs for a snack. "Be right there, Mom!" So I got out of my school uniform, left the doll on my bed and went downstairs to eat.
I hurriedly stuffed my favorite peanut-butter sandwich in my mouth and washed it down with a glass of milk. "Thanks, Mom!" I said, and raced right back upstairs. To my horror, the doll was gone! It was not on my bed where I left it, it was not in my closet, not under the bed, not anywhere! I felt weak and helpless. I was scared. Major scared. And then I started to cry.
I felt helpless and desperate. I could not possibly tell my parents. Not at that time. With no one to turn to, I knelt down and prayed. I prayed really hard. I asked God for forgiveness, for desiring things that do not belong to me. I asked Him to show me where the doll was and that I would be a good girl from then on. Crying and praying and storming Heaven for answers. I bowed my head in total resignation of my fate.
And then out of the corner of my eye, I saw the doll. It was on the floor, between the bedroom door and my closet. How did it get there? I never did find out how.
It was nothing else but a miracle. God heard my prayers. It was my very first real encounter with God's Divine Mercy.
I have had many others since that time. The birth of each of my three children were miracles. To wake up everyday, to feel, to love, to be alive is a miracle.
That experience taught me a lesson - to pray to God with childlike confidence. To put all my trust in Him, to ask forgiveness for my faults, to thank Him for the blessings He gives me and yet I fail to see.
Little miracles happen everyday. It is only with an open mind and a loving heart that one appreciates and acknowledges God's true love for us all.