We got the happiest surprise 10 years ago when this precious fluff ball came sniffing around our front stoop on a freezing cold evening. How this adorable little guy with a perfect personality ended up wandering the big wide world all alone, I shall never understand.

We don’t know how he became a stray, but we gladly let him stay.

We’d adopted Franklin and Dolly a year prior. I secretly wished for a third dog but had no intention of acting on that wish; three dogs seemed impractical. Then…that cold December night…SURPRISE!

We called him “Little Man” because we didn’t want to commit to a name only to have someone claim him. After all necessary procedures to find an owner came up empty, we formally called him Winston. However, he’d already become Little Man in our family vernacular. He proved to be the ideal addition to our pack—the baby we didn’t plan.

I truly believe Little Man is a miracle. And, as much as I’ll take any chance to showcase any of my precious pups, I’m really here to share about the nature of miracles. Little Man just happens to be a really great example.

I often say God kerplopped the third dog of my dreams right at our front door. Of course, I know there’s more to the story than that.

And therein lies the nature of miracle.

While many people presume true miracles must be of the “I can walk again/there’s no sign of the cancer” variety, my take is quite different. I can map my life by an ever-lengthening string of seemingly circumstantial incidents that I’m 100% certain are miracles, divinely orchestrated convergences that connect the dots on my path to lead me to what’s meant to be.

Though divinely orchestrated convergences seem to happen “poof” or “kerplop,” like magic, so much has to happen leading up—a collection of situational moments leading to the ‘meant to be’s’.

The appearance of Little Man at our home that night is an example. What led to him being stray in our neighborhood? How far had he scurried? What if he’d stopped to sniff around our stoop when our other pups weren’t at the front window to see him and bark alarmingly to get our attention?

Can’t you almost see the conductor directing this symphony to bring about the arrival of the third dog I secretly wished for?

That’s a miracle.

Every day for 10 years, we’ve told this small fluff-a-puff how much we love him: “You are cherished, you’re adored; you’re a gift sent from the Lord.”

I keep a running list of all the miracles in my life—what I call these beautifully poetic moments—in a document on my computer. I offer tips on starting your own list like this in my blogcast, “A First Grade Lesson in Gratitude.” I hope you click back to it; it’s worth checking out.

My life’s list of poetically miraculous things runs the gamut of big and small. From
…the totally random way I happened to see the first signs of a hot water tank leak thus sparing us a major incident..
…to the fact that we found the rare type and size of bed rails we needed at a store just a mile from our house rather than having to order them and wait…
to the time I had to miss my grandmother’s funeral to take care of my dad while he healed from a leg fracture—giving me several days of one-on-one time with him before he died unexpectedly just a couple weeks later…
…to the exact moment I met my husband when we both happened to be free and clear to start a new relationship.

When you recognize the miracles, how can you not be grateful and treat them with greatest care?