Live Virtual Group Session: 6PM EST December 18th 2023

7 Comments

Thank you to everyone who joined us for this session!

For this session we read a poem “The Traveling Onion” by Naomi Shihab Nye, posted below.

Our prompt was: “Write about a small forgotten miracle.”

More details will be posted on this session, so check back again!

Participants are warmly encouraged to share what you wrote below (“Leave a Reply”), to keep the conversation going here, bearing in mind that the blog of course is a public space where confidentiality is not assured.

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Please join us for our next session Wednesday December 20th at 12pm EST, with more times listed on our Live Virtual Group Sessions.

“The Traveling Onion” by Naomi Shihab Nye

“It is believed that the onion originally came from India. In Egypt it was an 
object of worship —why I haven’t been able to find out. From Egypt the onion 
entered Greece and on to Italy, thence into all of Europe.” — Better Living Cookbook

When I think how far the onion has traveled
just to enter my stew today, I could kneel and praise
all small forgotten miracles,
crackly paper peeling on the drainboard,
pearly layers in smooth agreement,
the way the knife enters onion
and onion falls apart on the chopping block,
a history revealed.
And I would never scold the onion
for causing tears.
It is right that tears fall
for something small and forgotten.
How at meal, we sit to eat,
commenting on texture of meat or herbal aroma
but never on the translucence of onion,
now limp, now divided,
or its traditionally honorable career:
For the sake of others,
disappear.

Naomi Shihab Nye, “The Traveling Onion” from Words Under the Words: Selected Poems. Copyright © 1995 by Naomi Shihab Nye. Reprinted with the permission of the author.

7 thoughts on “Live Virtual Group Session: 6PM EST December 18th 2023”

  1. michele348's avatar michele348

    About a small, not-forgotten miracle

    It was a sweltering day in July,
    not even the birds were singing
    for fear of overexertion.
    But here I was
    running a 5k race
    in the morning heat of a summer day.
    My running clothes were damp with perspiration
    even before the race had begun.

    Since I had survived a heart attack
    two years before at age 62,
    I had something to prove to myself…
    that I had healed and that I had transformed
    into a healthier version of my former self.
    I tried holding onto that thought.

    The starter’s gunshot rang through
    the noise of the crowd
    and assembled runners…
    there was no turning back now.

    I made it through the first 2 miles
    of the 3.1 mile course
    in not too bad a condition,
    although the perspiration
    was running off my face
    like someone had poured
    a bucket of water over my head.

    Runners are a fairly stubborn breed of humanity,
    not willing to surrender to any form of hardship.
    But between the heat, humidity, and my
    64-year-old knees feeling the pain,
    my brain was sending signals that
    maybe I should reconsider.
    Why, on earth, was I running on a day
    like today?
    I wanted to quit… I should quit.

    There was about a mile left to run
    as I rounded a curve on the course.
    I had pretty much expended
    all the energy I had to give.
    From that point, there was an uphill section
    remaining on the course
    then down to the finish line.
    I looked to my left
    and a non-descript man with sandy-colored hair
    was standing on a raised mound of grass.
    He shouted out my name as I passed by
    and told me
    that he knew I had it in me to finish the race…
    that I was strong enough.
    His words were what I needed to hear…
    I dug deep down and found
    the energy I needed
    to cross over the finish line on that hot July day.

    You might ask where’s the miracle?
    My granddaughter was running the race alongside me.
    I asked her after the race if she had seen and heard
    the man who called out my name,
    encouraging me to finish.
    She said no, she had not.
    This man was not wearing any uniform of any type,
    nor was he holding any race roster in his hands
    nor had I ever seen him before in my entire life.
    Who was this man who had faith in my ability
    and believed in me?
    To this very day, I can’t be sure
    but in my heart,
    I feel I was visited by a heavenly spirit
    who gave me the willpower and strength to endure.
    And so, on that day I experienced a
    small miracle which I will treasure forever.

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  2. Elizabeth's avatar Elizabeth

    Michele, I can’t believe you wrote this in such a short time. The words felt like they were pouring out of you as a story that must be told. You drew us in throughout your piece. As always, your faith comes through loud and clear. May it continue to serve you.

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    • michele348's avatar michele348

      Elizabeth, I, unfortunately, wasn’t present for last night’s session but wrote what immediately came to mind reading over the poem that was given, along with the prompt(to which I made a slight adjustment 🙂 ). Thanks for your kind words. This was an occurrence that I revisit in my memory from time to time, and I cannot come up with any other explanation than the one I have given. Miracles do occur…big and small!

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  3. Elizabeth's avatar Elizabeth

    Sometimes we forget about something until it seems like an amazing gift in retrospect.
    Some may even call it a small forgotten miracle.
    The cynics among us may choose to call it chance.
    The beauty is that in the eye of the beholder
    We have the power to name it and we have the power to claim it.

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  4. michele348's avatar michele348

    Sometimes we do try to reason away why and how a certain event happened or simply say it happened by chance as you said Elizabeth. Sometimes there is no earthly reason, so this is when I claim the title “miracle” to describe it. Fortunately, I have been in the presence of miracles several times during my life. Others as you said will try to discount that, but in my heart of hearts, I know who to give my thanks and praise to.

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