The Latin mīror means “I wonder or marvel at.” The miracle is in the eye of the beholder. Witnessing a “miracle,” many will want to explain it by rational means. Others will take a wonder as a wonder. No need to explain to them. Such are the miracles in my life:  improbable, yet easy to explain away, if you are a doubter by nature.

A miracle is generally defined, according to the etymology of the word—it comes from the Greek thaumasion and the Latin miraculum— as that which causes wonder and astonishment, being extraordinary in itself and amazing or inexplicable by normal standards.

I remember four miracles in my life. My miracles seem to surround my choice or calling to be teacher. If it was merely my choice to teach, then not so much a miracle. If teaching was my calling—then I see it with wonder.

The first miracle in my life came at a vulnerable moment: the transition from undergraduate to graduate school. I had graduated from Hamilton College with a B- average, still with departmental honors in English Literature.  I thought I wanted to be a journalist—maybe someday a freelance writer. I slap-dashed three applications to journalism schools and a creative writing program. To this day I cannot imagine why I was so casual about applying. I set myself up for failure. That’s what happened.

In the meantime, I had spent Winter Study in January with a professor and three other English majors teaching sophomores who had placed out of Freshman Composition. Despite arriving on campus with advanced placement, they felt they needed a refresher in good writing style. Our senior team took on 4-5 students each and met weekly to talk about the class we had designed and to reflect on our progress. Our professor made occasional suggestions but left us to teach on our own.

The feedback from our students was very positive, and we felt we had improved their writing in three short weeks. It was my first teaching experience, but it was not a miracle. . . yet.

A few months later Professor Lindley, our teaching supervisor, called me into his office. To this point I had never taken a course with him, because early English Literature was not on my bucket list. But he had noticed my aptitude and interest in teaching. He told me he had received a letter from the Harvard School of Education to recommend someone for their new Master of Arts in Teaching program. I thought, Why not? Even though I had a pathetic B- average and had not prepared to study education. He told me he would recommend me.

Then the miracle: I got in. After botching three journalism/ writing applications, I got into Harvard!  To that point I had a slight, but not decisive interest in teaching. Now I was fired up! I packed my bags for Cambridge in June, since my program began in the summer, and I was on my way.

Three improbable things had happened that made this a miracle for me:           

• I signed up for a teaching class with no plans to teach professionally
• Professor Lindley recommended me for an M.A.T. program at Harvard, even though I was barely an average student
• Harvard accepted me with a B- average

When three improbable conditions come together at a turning point in your life, you can’t be blamed for calling the outcome “a miracle.”

I am not calling it a figurative, but a literal miracle. I had no business getting into Harvard, but apparently Professor Lindley’s recommendation did the trick. It turned my doubt into belief. I was going to be a teacher.

And the miracles weren’t over . . .