Mundane Miracles, Cleats, and Colonoscopies
Some days sneak up on you like a toddler with scissors—quiet, but loaded with meaning.
Today was one of those days. No fireworks. No major breakthroughs. Just… life. And thank God for that.
I sat in the waiting room of the V.A., not exactly the place you’d picture romance or revelation. But there I
was, watching my husband walk down a sterile hallway toward a colonoscopy consult, and I swear it felt
like love. Not the mushy greeting card kind. The kind of love that simply shows up.
No fanfare. No roses. Just presence.
He asked me to come. That alone was something. And I didn’t roll my eyes or make a sarcastic quip (not
out loud, anyway). I just sat, grateful.
Because showing up is a ministry. Because love looks a lot like loyalty on a Tuesday.
Later, as we sat in silence at home—him a little groggy, me a little introspective—I flipped on the
Women’s Soccer game. Not because it was a championship. Not because anything thrilling was
happening. But because women’s soccer feels like home to me.
It’s the details that grab me:
The way she taps her shin guard three times before kickoff.
The grit behind the ponytail.
The joy when the teammate on the bench cheers louder than the coach.
No chaos. Just quiet confidence. Controlled grace. It’s not trying to be a spectacle—it just is.
And that’s how today felt.
No banner headlines. But somewhere in the in-between, I found heaven. In supporting a man I married. In
a soccer match that reminded me how beautiful effort can be. In a day without drama, but full of dignity.
Turns out, the most uneventful days are the ones where God whispers the loudest.
They’re not mundane—they’re miraculous in disguise.
“In returning and rest you shall be saved; in quietness and in trust shall be your strength.” – Isaiah
30:15
So here’s to showing up.
To the cleats on the grass.
To the feather drifting down unnoticed.
To the man brave enough to ask for support, and the woman (that’s me) brave enough to give it without
needing applause.
Because real love doesn’t need an audience. Just a seat beside you in the waiting room.
~marty
