How well I remember. Two years ago in downtown Denver my friend, Scott
Reasoner, and I saw something tiny and insignificant change the world, but
no one else even seemed to notice. It was one of those beautiful Denver
days. Crystal clear, no humidity, not a cloud in the sky.
We decided to walk the ten blocks to an outdoor restaurant rather than take
the shuttle bus that runs up and down the Sixteenth Street Mall. The
restaurant, in the shape of a baseball diamond, was called The Blake Street
Baseball Club. The tables were set appropriately on the grass infield.
Many colorful pennants and flags hung limply overhead.
As we sat outside, the sun continued to beat down on us, and it became
increasingly hot. There wasn't a hint of a breeze, and heat radiated up
from the tabletop. Nothing moved, except the waiters, of course. And they
didn't move very fast, either.
After lunch Scott and I started to walk back up the mall. We both noticed a
mother and her young daughter walking out of a card shop toward the street.
She was holding her daughter by the hand while reading a greeting card. It
was immediately apparent to us that she was so engrossed in the card that
she did not notice a shuttle bus moving toward her at a good clip. She and
her daughter were one step away from disaster when Scott started to yell.
He hadn't even gotten a word out when a breeze blew the card out of her hand
and over her shoulder.
She spun around and grabbed at the card, nearly knocking her daughter over.
By the time she picked up the card from the ground and turned back around to
cross the street, the shuttle bus had whizzed by her.
She never even knew what almost happened. To this day two things continue
to perplex me about this event.
Where did that one spurt of wind come from to blow the card out of that
young mother's hand? There had not been a whisper of wind at lunch or
during our long walk back up the mall.
Secondly, if Scott had been able to get his words out, the young mother
might have looked up at us as they continued to walk into the bus. It was
the wind that made her turn back to the card - in the one direction that
saved her life and that of her daughter. The passing bus did not create the
wind. On the contrary, the wind came from the opposite direction.
I have no doubt it was a breath from God protecting them both. But the
awesomeness of this miracle is that she never knew. As we continued back to
work, I wondered how God often acts in our lives without our being aware.
The difference between life and death can very well be a little thing.
Miracles often blow unseen through our lives.
"Life's a little thing!" Robert Browning once wrote.
But a little thing can mean a life. Even two lives.