...that's my sister

Now there was a disciple in Damascus named Ananias. The Lord told him where to go to find a man named Saul, who'd been praying, and seen in a vision that a man named Ananias would lay hands on him and restore his sight.
But Ananias had heard the news about Saul already, how much evil he'd done the believers in Jerusalem, and how he had come to Damascus armed with authority from the chief priests to bind any and all who called themselves by Christ's name. There must be some misunderstanding about Ananias' task!
"Go on, Ananias," said the Lord, "for he is the one I've chosen to bring my name before Gentiles, and Israelites, and powers. I'll be the one to show him the suffering he'll endure for my name."
So Ananias went, and found the house where Saul was waiting, and laid his hands on him, and said, "Brother Saul..."
---Acts 9:10-17a (para. laca)

On what must have been the only true perfect day of spring, in the only patch of green in downtown Birmingham Alabama, it became clear to me.

Ananias went to Saul and 'brothered' him, while Saul still had Ananias' arrest warrant in his pocket, while Saul still held the power of life and death in his hands. Acknowledging Saul's kinship at a time before Ananias had reason to trust it created the kinship, paved the way for family.

Because I'll tell you right now, there are blind scholars, blind leaders, blind saints. Blind transformational giants, even.

But no one leads a family from the outside.

And until 'Saul' was 'Brother', he was no one.

There's your healing. There's your miracle.  There's your seismic shift. Because one Spirit-prompted human risked it, family formed in a new way that day. And every day since then.

In the face of evidence to the contrary, Ananias spoke the life-giving word. "Brother."

And in the absence of evidence, in that patch of green, a three-year-old girl with round cheeks and a broken butterfly headband came running to me, arms wide to embrace a friendly-looking, teary-eyed stranger under a tree ---

And spoke a life-giving word. "That's my sister."

There's your miracle.

...snow on snow

In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan,
earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone;
snow had fallen, snow on snow, snow on snow,
in the bleak midwinter, long ago.
---Christina Rossetti, 1872

Last week, things were definitely looking bright. Yesterday, there was still hope. Even this morning, I awoke with optimism. Now, I surrender. There is no way for me to 'do' holiday this year. Cards. Gifts. Food. Cleaning. Yada yada yada. Not gonna happen. And as if to rub it in, Martha Stewart sent me an email this morning with the subject line "Have the stress free holiday you've always wanted." Correct me if I'm wrong, but the creation of a stress-full holiday is at least 75% Martha Stewart's fault. The other 25% is Pinterest, but Pinterest is gaining.

So, if you happen to be in the part of the world where it might be snowing, step outside or look out the window. If you are here near me in the US south, close your eyes and imagine. Pause the NPR podcast of Serial, turn off tonight's star-spangled Christmas music special on the television. Wait for the silence. Then in the silence, wait for the deep silence. Forget your pursuit of the picture-perfect holiday, and await the arrival of the midwinter miracle. Let Christmas come. And in the silence, let the snow fall.

Snow on snow on snow on snow.