The miracle was not only that you learned how to fly.

The miracle
was that one day,
when life finally became beautiful,
you didn't leave.

You stayed.
You stayed when love arrived.
You stayed when your voice filled the room.
You stayed when people saw you.
You stayed when abundance knocked on your door.
You stayed when joy became ordinary.

Once, your nervous system believed every blessing came with an expiration date.
That every opening would close.
That every embrace would become goodbye.

So before life could leave you,
You learned to leave first.

You called it wisdom.
You called it independence.
You called it strength.

But beneath it was a child
whose body was still waiting
for someone to remain.

Developmental psychology calls it secure attachment.

Chassidus calls it remembering that you have never existed outside the embrace of the One who continuously speaks you into being.

Perhaps they are not saying different things.
Perhaps they are pointing toward the same home.

The child who knows she is held
becomes curious.

The soul who knows s/he is held
becomes available.

She no longer spends her life asking,

"Will I be received?"

She begins asking,

"How can I receive this moment?"

Maybe confidence
is simply what love feels like

after it has stayed long enough

to become your home.

And maybe the greatest miracle
is not that God finds us.

It is that, little by little,

our bodies learn

to stay long enough

to discover

S/He never left.