The Little Way: A Big Miracle

 

I have always believed in miracles. To me, they are more than just stories; they are gifts of the Holy Spirit. Yet, for most of my life, I felt like a spectator—waiting for an event that I could truly call my own "miracle." Of course, I know that simply waking up with a functioning body and a beating heart is a miracle in itself, but I was searching for that extraordinary spark—a moment of undeniable divine intervention.

Then came last Sunday.

My wife and I began our morning at our local parish, St. Joseph’s Catholic Church in Harrow. There is a specific kind of peace that comes with the Sunday Eucharist; it is a blessing that feels new every single week. After the Mass, a quiet nudge in my heart led me to the parish shop. I was looking for something specific: a small figurine of St. Thérèse of Lisieux, the "Little Flower."

I’ve always felt a deep connection to her. In fact, I even named our Unit Household WhatsApp group after her. Her philosophy—the "Little Way"—has become my own guiding principle: the idea that doing small, seemingly insignificant things with great love can lead to holiness. I wanted a small image of her to keep on my altar as a constant reminder of that humility.

Unfortunately, the lady at the counter shook her head. They didn't have any. I walked out feeling a sting of disappointment, wondering why such a simple request felt so out of reach.

Later that afternoon, duty called again. We are part of the choir at St. Patrick’s Catholic Church in West Hendon, and we were scheduled for the 6:00 PM Mass. I’ll admit, a small, tired part of me thought, Two Masses in one day? Is that too much? But we love our service, so we pushed through the fatigue and went.

The moment I stepped through the doors of St. Patrick’s, my heart stopped.

There, on a small table right at the entrance, sat a figurine of St. Thérèse of Lisieux. Beside it was a sign: "Feel free to take the statue. It's complimentary."

I stood there, completely perplexed. In the morning, I was willing to pay for a tiny, humble version of her. By the afternoon, the Lord was giving me a beautiful, large statue for free.

Some might call it a coincidence. But consider the odds: of all the thousands of saints in the Church, and of all the days someone could have chosen to leave that gift behind, it happened on the very day I was searching for her. It wasn’t a chance; it was a personal message. It was a miracle.

I took a photo of her right then and there. This encounter is now forever engraved in my soul—a tangible manifestation of His love. I went looking for a small reminder of faith, and He gave me something much bigger.

Miracles happen every day, from the moment we open our eyes to the moment we rest our tired bodies. Sometimes, you just have to keep walking until you find the one waiting for you at the door.

St. Thérèse of the Child Jesus has a home now. Please pray for us!