Blessings in a Burn Unit: The Afterward
A Note on Love and Miracles
“The universe buries strange jewels deep within us all and then stands back to see if we can find them.”
~Elizabeth Gilbert
I’ve said an email and changed my life—but how?
I write these words on a quiet fall morning as I listen to the wind blow and the leaves release from the trees.
Before me in the west, I watch the clouds float by—transforming into shapes I imagine to life in my mind with words I might form into stories.
"Don’t worry about the how” is what I’m now inclined to say having just watched the sky long enough to witness all that is white turn to pink as the sun rose behind me in the east.
Formally shifting my thoughts from the beauty of nature to the blog entries that made me a storyteller, I behold an expression I’ve honored in five chapters on perspective and the power of narrative:
Prologue: An Email Changed My Life
Introduction: Perspective and the Power of Narrative
Chapter One: The Art of Paradox
Chapter Two: The Space Between
Chapter Three: The Science of Happiness
Chapter Four: The Birthplace of a Miracle
Chapter Five: The Artistry of Faith
My words on resilience, motherhood, and becoming a writer in a burn unit weave a story I did not want to live, let alone write or resurrect—but I’ve followed my calling to the far corners of my soul. On this unexpected journey to gather all the strange gems that awaited me, I realized that hope and miracles only manifested when I allowed something greater to work with and through me in ways more glorious than my human mind can fathom or my hands might create.
“Ask and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and the door will be opened to you.” Matthew 7:7 is a verse that is part of a passage that some say is a reminder of the power of prayer and, “I believe in the power of prayer,” is a phrase I used over a decade ago.
I wrote it in one of my final blog entries where I attempted to explain the miracle it was that Henry was born healthy, in divine right timing, just as I’d hoped for in the email I sent from William’s bedside in a Burn Unit.
I claimed this miracle, but did I believe it to be as true as I now understand it to be?
I re-read the exchange Eddie and I had with the pediatric urologist we were supposed to meet with on March 27, 2013, because Henry’s ureters were “so bad,” we were discussing an induction the following morning for corrective surgery by three days old. Only, I would miss the appointment I was heading to when the accident happened, and the severity of William’s injury would leave the decision about my unborn baby hanging through an entire month as William navigated the two surgeries that saved his life.
Three days after our discharge from the burn unit, I would go into labor with Henry, who was born not needing immediate surgery. This means I did not circle back to the pediatric urologist until Henry was a thriving one-week-old baby. I well remember our unspoken worry that Henrys vitality was too good to be true, but that’s what dissipated when an expert confirmed our observation that a worst-case-scenario prognosis had transformed into at best-case-scenario outcome. This validation left us struggling to wrap our minds around an extraordinary turn of events:
Eddie and I looked at each other, then back at the doctor, and asked, "how often does this happen?"
"I have been doing this for over thirty years and while I have heard of this happening, I have never seen it happen myself" he confessed.
"So you mean we have the miracle we have been praying for?" Eddie suggested and as Dr. Hanna was snapping photos of the X-rays to report his "rare finding"—to which he replied,
“Yes, I suppose you could consider this somewhat miraculous.”
There are days I’ve wondered what would have happened if I didn’t send the email “that changed my life” soliciting the prayers I’m certain facilitated the outcome a doctor and science could not even begin to explain. But it’s a truth I recognize in a note that’s long been framed on the wall in Henry’s room, where a girl named Aleta who I do not know heard about our story through her church and wrote to us “with prayers, smiles, sunshine, joy, happynis, friendship to all…”
“For where two or three are gathered together in my name, there I am in the midst of them” states Matthew 18:20—a biblical verse I needed to look up, because while I am a cradle Christian, I was not raised on scripture, but love.
Yes, I grew up among those who spoke of prayer, though I didn’t formally ask God for much of anything until I found myself in the burn unit standing on the precipice of unfathomable loss.
When I did finally pray, it might be an example of “what not to do,” but the pact I made with God and the spiritual awakening it inspired is held in a story that I lived beyond this experience and write of in my forthcoming memoir on faith and flourishing in motherhood.
Yes, I’ll write and share my version of the Truth, and boldly claim the miracles I have realized, but I won’t pretend to have all the answers. However, I will point to Aleta’s creation and all the goodness it illuminates as a potentially great example of “how” one “should” pray.
“Flutter a butterfly hug to you and all God’s love” is not a complete sentence, and might not make “sense,” but I feel the love this girl poured into this expression with my family in her heart and mind.
I’ve long held this framed treasure in my heart alongside things like faith, hope, and love—elusive concepts I’ve hoped to demystify and understand. At first, it was everything I reached for to rationalize what was hard, but now it’s all that emanates from my life worth living—the everyday sort of magic I write about in my sacred corner of the Internet I call “The Artistry of Faith.”
My notes on love and miracles are what I manifest by the grace of prayer, positive intention, and the belief that good can be gathered in every moment of my one wild and precious life, beginning with the light I choose to be and see in the world.
“I Am.”
This is a statement I first came across on my exploration of all that might be considered “new age” or “esoteric,” because that’s where you’ll end up when traditional religion cannot hold you through the depths of loss or the height of joy. But for all lines I’ve colored out side of, the artistry of my faith has manifested as a tapestry inclusive of the Bible where you will read seven “I am” statements in the Gospel of John.
On my journey of faith, I’ve needed to leap over the lines of division between the yoga mat I’ve practiced on and the pews I’ve sat in, but why?
Yes, I know the logical left-brained answer to this question, and this happens to be something I explore in the publication I co-create called The Magdalene Thread, but the more intuitive right-brained understanding to all we cannot see promises to remain as elusive as any myth that strives to give form and shape to the ineffable.
My traditional churchgoing friends have told me that science diminishes the notion of all that is Holy. My academic friends will tell you they have great theories and evidence-based solutions to problems great and small. But I hold the duality of our wholeness as gently as the two hemispheres of our very human brain that communicate through the corpus callosum in a way that points to “Something Greater.”
Awe is something we are only beginning to understand, but I’ve felt it move through me in a church filled with devout followers of Jesus calling on the “Holy Spirit” with the laying on of hands...
I noticed it while lighting incense in a Buddhist Temple in Hong Kong, and when I was invited into a Ba’hai faith gathering in the home of an Iranian refugee…
Somehow, it is one-in-the-same as the ecstatic emotions I felt while running the New York City marathon or dancing in unison on a “world famous” stage with 35 other women…
Most certainly, it’s what I experienced while gathering around a piano in the home of Marty Seligman where I sang, “Hallelujah” with my cohort of classmates who set out to understand the science of happiness and walked away with stories about “the magic of MAPP.”
I cannot quantify any of these experiences, but I can assure you that these “epiphanies” have shaped the lens by which I see the world and hold me in a space of neutrality at worst, goodness at best.
Yes, wholeness is where I now anchor my beliefs about all the great big questions we ask when life throws us a curveball or drops us off in a scene with a bar-less closet, where we are forced to fill in the gaps with something other than what we expected. At least, this is where the movie, Shrek became an unlikely channel of divinity with a message about the “cold and broken hallelujah” that never fails to remind me about the lost chord of Love it is our soul’s purpose to remember.
No, an ogre is not a traditional mnemonic device for recalling a spiritual experience, but in my story lived, it’s just as potent as any cherry blossom tree that will remind me of how long and hard I once labored for a miracle.
So it seems I’ve developed what one might call “gnosis” and conflate it with all that was long ago deemed “unorthodox.” But the Greek word that means “knowledge” or “awareness” is also used to describe a type of spiritual wisdom we might gather from lived experience and intuition.
May the story I now offer, which honors all the good within my midst, serve as a reflection of all that is within yours while fulfilling the prophetic response to the email I sent asking for help.
“I know in my heart your story is your gift” said a dear friend who stood with me in a circle singing, “Hallelujah,” and wrote to me in response to my email of what she knew to be true, with words that were an answered prayer—a blessing among the multitude I once counted in a burn unit:
My lovely, wise, beautiful girl....
I can't imagine the heartache you are in.... I don't know the explanation for the hurricanes that keep being thrown at you, time and time again, with each child... it's not fair... what I do know is that you are so strong Alicia.. You face each storm with grace, reflection, inner power that I can barely imagine to ever possess. You have the capacity to love like hell through this pain and fear and I know you will. I wish I could be near you, and Eddie. I know in some ways these things are the hardest on his heart to bear.. You are a fighter with a calm, wise soul... Remember to breathe.
Now... this is what I want you to do...
I want you to think of your favorite place... where is it... what sounds do you hear, what do you see... now, I want you to see Catherine there with you, add William, and Henry... and Eddie... Your boys and your princess are there with you... what are you doing? What are you happy about there? all together..
When you start to panic, when fear and pain take over... i want you to breathe in to this image in your mind.. get still.. think of that place... let yourself really feel like you are there, with the loves of your life... all 4 of them... I want you to breathe in and out... and say to yourself.
God grant me the fire to stay strong
the water to replenish my fight
the earth to hold me together
and the wind to give me hope.
Saying a small meditation over and over will help ground you and keep you calm and safe... Make your own up with Eddie if you like.
I know in my heart, that your story is your gift... that all these painful wounds will unravel into a story, into your full power, to heal and help so many other people find their way... its not fair, there is no reason... and yet you will be able to share this courage one day with others who need it. I know this to be true.
I love you. I'm here for you. a call away, email, or text..
Love,
Me
How This Book Works
Blessings in a Burn Unit ends here with the words above, but my journey in life and writing continues to unfold through the Artistry of Faith, where you can read an excerpt from my forthcoming memoir on faith and flourishing in motherhood here or subscribe for my notes on love and miracles:
You can also find me co-creating essays and a podcast on heart-based spirituality and extraordinary faith here:
