Miracle of Spring

I know plenty of people who certainly believe in miracles and some who firmly do not believe such a thing exists.  The latter group are willing to admit to some “interesting coincidences,” they don’t want to interpret those as miracles.  I have thought a bit about that.  Obviously, the tricky part is defining exactly what one means by the word, miracle.  Some people use the term loosely, meaning something they cannot explain.  Well, there are plenty of things I can’t explain; in most of those cases, I know it is simply because I am ignorant.  

I know sometimes I use the word, miracle, to describe something that is pretty amazing, even if it is technically explainable.  When my two kids were born, that seemed miraculous.  Any good pediatrician could tell me exactly what the process is and there is no real mystery in that process.  But when the first one popped out, she seemed miraculous to me!  And maybe this is the key clue to how I want to describe most miracles.  

I think about this as I look out the window.  The chair in which I sit when I am home has some expansive windows a few feet away.  I live by a small river, which I can always see.  That river comes up quickly in a good rain and just as quickly recedes in a day or so.  The river is a constant reminder of life.  It is dynamic---always flowing.  There are many things to teach me about life, as Annie Dillard’s book, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, reminds me.

There are also many trees lining both sides of the riverbanks.  As I look out the windows, I realize I have witnessed---again---a slow miracle.  Only a few days ago, it seems, they were barren and brown.  They appeared lifeless, although they still stood tall.  But they have come alive.  They all have leaves and green is the dominant color of my landscape.  They blow in the breeze and almost glisten in the sunshine.  I am sure they are doing the natural thing in drawing nutrients to the tree to sustain life and growth.  Of course, I know this fall they will turn colors and fall to the ground.  But right now, the sign of nature is vibrancy.

I know I watch the leaves come every spring, but that does not lessen its miraculous nature.  I know that science can tell me the details of the process that is happening in the tree.  A little research tells us that in the fall, trees begin to become dormant.  They quit making chlorophyll and this causes the change in colors.  Apparently, trees can tell length of days through some chemical called phytochrome.  And so, they need a certain number of shorter days, plus some colder weather to be ready for the next spring’s outburst.  I learned they have to rack up sufficient “chill hours” before they are ready for spring action again.

In the spring they begin to make the leaves.  I realized I had a very basic question.  What is a leaf?  Here is the scientific definition.  “A leaf is the principal lateral appendage of the vascular plant system….specialized for photosynthesis.”  I know this sounds like a fancy definition for something even my two-year old grandson can tell you is a leaf.  However, I like the detail because it helps me understand the green leaves I am enjoying as I stare out the window.  It is one thing to enjoy them; I can do that any time I look out and see a green tree.  But if I know something of this scientific detail, I can appreciate the intricacy of how they came to be.  

It is easy and normal to say the tree “leafed out.”  Indeed it did.  I have no clue whether it is easy for a tree to leaf out, or whether it requires grunting, grit and all the rest.  What I do know and cherish is the process that produced leaves on the tree.  I am good with the fact that the tree did it.  But then, we can begin asking more questions.  How did we get the tree?  Who made the tree?  Of course, this shows why it is obvious this line of reasoning has been a classic one to argue for the existence of God.

I don’t want to go down that line.  Instead, I want only to focus on the miraculous nature of the gift of leaves outside my window.  I don’t think for a minute that the tree did it for me.  But it did it and I can receive and enjoy it as a gift.  It is gratuitous.  It is a gift that I did not ask for and got anyway.  It is as if the Creator said, “Here ya go.  Here is a tree.  Watch it become green, produce leaves and stand there in all its luminous glory.  In fact, here are a bunch of trees for your added pleasure.”  

I can only say, “Thank you!”  Gracias.  Even though I understand how the green leaves appear, nevertheless I can also appreciate the sheer miraculous nature of that process.  Knowledge does not eradicate miracle; it enhances it.  If you don’t think it is miraculous, then you grow some leaves and show me how easy it is!  Of course, I have appendages; they are called arms.  But I can’t grow leaves.

Perhaps I have belabored the obvious.  But that’s my point.  It is in our obvious world that miracles so normally appear.  And like most folks, I probably miss most of them.  I can grumble about the ordinary, routine, etc.  But there in plain sight is the miracle.  Let the one with eyes see.  Lord, excuse my blindness!