We prayed together as we had done thousands of times,
rushing ablutions over the sink, laying our janamazes out
toward the window facing the elm which one summer
held an actual crow’s nest full of baby crows: fuzzy, black-
beaked fruit, they were miracles we did not think to
treasure.

Kaveh Akbar, “How Prayer Works” from Pilgrim Bell

Today I am going to notice miracles. I am making the decision right now to notice miracles. The way warm tea feels on my sore throat. The way morning sun hits the trees and buildings outside my window. The way my old slippers warm my feet against the cold beautiful concrete floor. These are small miracles that become miraculous when we notice and treasure them. They are miracles in the way that tea is a journey from leaf to cup, the morning sun perfectly frames the natural and built world, slippers cushion the cold hard floor.

Miracles come in all shapes and sizes and are there to be noticed and celebrated. Big miracles are easy to spot. When injury heals. When war ends. A baby’s birth. The seasons. The tides. The phases of the moon.

There is a rhythm to miracles that can make them easy to miss. They can become taken for granted. Maybe that is the rhythm of prayer, too. Maybe that is how prayer works, as Akbar suggests. I do not believe that the rhythm of miracles, or prayer, makes them impossible to notice. Rather, I believe that the rhythm of miracles is an invitation to find more miracles, and live miraculously.