Miracles drop in
The blink of an eye
Latter rain blessings
On land that is dry.
Miracles bring when
They knock on your door
Startling new tastes
Never savored before.
Miracles usher in
Seasons of reaping
Fruit God has nurtured
While planters were sleeping.
This is the fruit
Of His word sown in hearts
Ripe to taste everything
His truth imparts.
Blessed is the person
Who's ready and waiting
To welcome new seasons
Blessed is the person
Who opens the door
To miracles never
"His time has not yet come" Mary told herself as a sudden chill wind slammed against the stiffened door. Two frowning nails frozen like icicles to the rotted board cast a dark shadow on the frigid message.
Mary averted her gaze from the icy sign and looked at Joseph. His furrowed brow and clenched fists told her that he too loathed this millstone weighing so heavily on both their backs. But no matter how much hail Rome's iron fist rained down on them, God held the seasons of their life in the palm of His hand.
Thirty-some years later the carpenter's wife, well acclimated to the sound of nail and hammer, relished the opportunity to serve at a banquet which had opened wide its arms to both her and her eldest son.
She had just set a basket of bread on a table when a blood-curdling scream filled the air. As a mother well seasoned by many an urgent midnight call and the need for quick reflexes, Mary immediately discerned the problem's source and scurried to the kitchen.
What a pitiful sight met her eyes! For there, slumped on the floor like a pool of melting snow, sat the wedding planner, holding his head and moaning, "What to do, what to do!"
"Now, now," said Mary, addressing the distraught man as she would a troubled child, "Whatever the problem is, I'm sure it can be fixed. Just calm down and tell me what happened."
And so he did. Sadly it turned out to be far worse than expected. Apparently the man's steward to whom much money had been entrusted had wasted vital funds earmarked for the reception, resulting in the purchase of an insufficient amount of wine. Hopefully the bride and groom could find it in their hearts to forgive him someday for completely ruining their celebration.
Mary shook her head, knowing it would take a miracle to forget such a major financial blunder. Unfortunately it wasn't the season for miracles, seeing as You-Know-Who's time had not yet come.
Suddenly out of the blue she heard a soft whisper.
"I'm nearer than you think."
She turned her head, unable to detect the source. Again it came to her.
"I'm waiting at your heart's door." The words were followed by a gentle knock.
Deep inside her heart Mary answered that knock. With trembling fingers she undid the latch and opened the door. As soon as she did so a ray of sunshine stepped in. It's name was Grace and in its right hand it held a sickle named Miracles. In its left hand it held a bunch of ripe grapes. Taking hold of the grapes, Mary knew exactly what to do.
Like a grape pinched in a wine press she oozed her way over to Jesus' table and squeezed herself into the conversation.
"They're out of wine," she informed him.
His initial response, "It's not my time yet," made her feel so squished she might have been tempted to give up - if years well seasoned by fussy babies, clingy toddlers, and rebellious teens had not taught her to draw out the deeper meaning behind any surface statement, including the sayings of her pure Sinless One - the one who had power to change seasons in a heartbeat.
She saw His passionate eyes turn their gaze upon two young men slouched like deflated wineskins against a nearby wall. They had the look of men who had knocked on many doors but reaped nothing but nails.
It was high time someone hired those two potential harvesters to work His vineyard. Taking a deep breath of resurrection life, she boldly headed off in their direction.
"Boys, have I got a job for you."
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