Miracles are hard things to fathom because our society is in constant need of proof and evidence. There are few people of faith, and even less of true faith. Since my family is Christian, people could just look at us and say, “Oh, that’s just those crazy God lovers that believe that nonsense,” but to me, the term miracle has become more than just a word thrown to the wind, where as quickly as it is spoken, even faster thrown to waste. Instead, along with the cliché of hope, it brings a new sense of reality along with it, where my experiments and numbers tell me otherwise. I believe in the unbelievable. I believe in having faith and never losing hope. I believe in the simplicity and beautiful reality of miracles.
For a few years now, a devastating sickness had infected my mom. Life was a mix of bottles of pills, diagnosis and doctors, as we waited helplessly for some kind of cure, some form of healing. Faith and hope slipped between our fingers like sand devoured by raging water. The thunderstorm continued and there was no sign of breaking light, nothing over the horizon. I remember asking myself, “Is it cancer? Or something worse? Can there be anything worse?” Countless times I found myself crying, thinking of life with just my dad and two brothers. How stubborn he would get, how distant I would become from my friends, how that pain would always be there. Nothing I said or touched or felt would ever be normal again.
Relief came when we found out it was Thyroid disease. That might seem like an awful thing to rejoice about yet, I just couldn’t help but think, “It’s not cancer,” my mom, on the other hand, was everything but happy. This disease made her heavier and heavier by the day, unable to digest food properly and all sorts of problems. I remember the heaving cough that sounded through the night. There were even times when she would wake up choking, unable to breathe. How is this relief? My mom though, never lost sight of her faith, never once did she begin to doubt God.
Months passed with no sign of change, but she stood strong. As her body withered under the pressure of time, she only looked to a brighter future, one that seemed hopelessly far. Then one day, it was as if her prayers had been finally answered and the dark gray and twisted clouds had finally moved away. Relief had come in the most unexpected of times, but more importantly, it came.
I remember that day, the day of her unforgettable smile. It spread so far across her face that I barely could see anything beyond that. “I’m healed”, she said, trying to look relaxed and calm, but the excitement in her voice betrayed her. She bounced over to me, as my mind tried to process everything, “Whoa, whoa hold on, what!?” I managed to stammer in my dazed stance. “The doctor said it’s all gone! He said it’s gone!” she was already rummaging through the cabinets, throwing all her pills into the trash, pulling out her diagnosis report to show the change, to show the proof, but I didn’t need it, I knew it was real. My mom, who in my mind was slowing dying has come back to life.
This crazy turmoil that put everything I love and know into questioning, truly made me appreciate everything I have in my life, and to know that I shouldn’t always throw hope straight out the window, but hold onto this faith that brings hope, the faith that makes me believe, the one that is right in front of my eyes every single day. I, Inna Manzhul, believe in miracles.