I believe in Miracles

I want to tell you a story—something I have never told anyone, but have held close to my heart for two years.

It was the summer of 2024, the weekend of Movement, a three-day music festival in Detroit. As someone who occasionally partakes in a dance party, my husband and I found ourselves out all night with friends, dancing under the stars until around sunrise.

It was a great night. We had more than 25 friends in attendance from all over the world—from New York to Dubai—and this was our annual reunion, happening just once a year in the Motor City.

So, like I was saying, it was just about sunrise when I called a Lyft to take us home. This is where I want to state—for information later—that this Lyft was going to cost me about all the money I had at the time, and it was the reason I didn’t call an Uber, the fancier alternative. But cheaper or not, I was not expecting the dilapidated Honda that rolled up and announced itself as our ride.

The car was sputtering and spitting. The doors creaked when we opened them, and we slid across cracked leather seats, buckling ourselves into what would be—without my knowledge—the best ride I have ever had.

The club we attended, TV Lounge, was less than ten minutes from our home. A quick entrance onto I-75 would have had us there in no time. Even taking the side streets would have been a breeze. But while we knew that, the driver clearly did not. He proceeded to take all kinds of twists and turns—so much so that I began offering instructions from the back seat on how to best proceed.

Let me just add: this guy was in a mood. Before I kindly interjected, every wrong turn was met with a deep, depressing sigh. Each U-turn—and there were plenty—was followed by curses and scowls. So much so that I—and this is no surprise if you know me—had to say something.

So I asked, “How are you doing tonight?”

I was then treated to an earful about how terrible he was actually doing. He had a gripe with Uber and Lyft, you see—they had been shortchanging him. He wasn’t making as much as he wanted, and both had promised one thing and delivered another. This went on for a while before I opened my big mouth and proclaimed:

“But sir, you don’t even know how to drive, and you don’t seem to like this job very much. You don’t even know your way around the city. It doesn’t seem like this is the job for you…”

My husband, absolutely delirious with exhaustion, looked at me in horror.

What happened next shocked everyone in the car.

The driver began to cry. He told me how much he hated this job, that he had just moved here from Mexico with a wife and a new baby, and that this shit was terrible. He could barely afford anything. This was not the dream he had in mind.

Something told me to pry further, so I asked, “What do you actually like doing?”

By this time, we had finally reached our destination. After pulling over to let us out, he looked me in the eye and said, “I build computers.”

And because of the way he looked at me—like no one had ever asked him that question before—I stayed in the car and asked for more details.

He told me he could build and repair anything, from iPhones (which he learned by walking his little sister through screen repairs over Zoom) to Macs and PCs. He told me how much he loved building computers for other people.

I asked him point blank, “You could do that from anywhere. And people need this. What’s going on? What are you doing here?”

I didn’t mean that in a judgmental way, nor in a “go back to your country” way. I meant it like this: I barely have fifteen dollars to get home and afford my life here, and I’m from here. Where you’re from is less expensive and more beautiful than this. Why are you here?

This is when we got into the myth of the American Dream—how he was looking for a better life for his family. I casually remarked that I was trying to leave the country for a better life, and here he was coming in for one.

We laughed.

Then it got deep.

He looked me dead in the eyes and said, “You know, I have been praying for a miracle—and I feel like you delivered it.”

I was not expecting that.

What he didn’t know—and neither do most of you—is that I was actively studying A Course in Miracles and had been looking for one myself.  Every day held a mantra, a center of focus geared around developing personal power.  

Tears rolled down my face, and I said, “Me too.”

We both crumbled like babies… 

It was wild. 

The energy in the car was light, airy, lifted—real. We saw each other.

My husband, having witnessed this and realizing the man was no threat, went inside to go to bed. I asked the driver to turn the car off and sit on the porch with me so we could continue our conversation.

Another worry weighing on his heart was that he wasn’t even sure he’d make it home. Turns out, whatever was making his car sputter meant that if he turned the engine off, it might not start again. I looked him in the eye and said, “If God is delivering miracles today, that’s not something I would worry about. You will get home.”

So he left it idling and joined me on the porch.

We proceeded to plan out his financial escape.

I gave him instructions on filming himself teaching his little sister how to repair her iPhone and putting it on YouTube. We worked on an idea for an iPhone repair kit that included personal instructions he could film beforehand, with options for one-on-one help or mail-in repairs. We talked about building computers for others.

We developed a plan.

We exchanged numbers and hugged. And in that embrace, there was a true heart connection—two light beings, two souls trying to survive in a hard world where our talents are so quickly diminished in the name of making money.

There are many more things I could say about this encounter—the initial excuses he offered for why he couldn’t do this or that: he didn’t go to college, he didn’t have enough money, what he thought America could offer him. Once confronted, those excuses scattered like bugs. The moment they were questioned and dissected, they dissolved.

In a state of survival he never had time to actually ask himself what he wanted, it wasn't even a consideration in his goals… how many of us take each step, each major decision in our life from a place of fear?  Each move salted with the fear of survival, with the idea of thriving never imagined, played with or entertained.  

And this isn’t a savior story.

Well… maybe it is—for the two of us.

You see, I had left business consulting, and this moment called me back in a major way.

I saw my gifts when I saw his. He saw his gifts when he saw mine. We both had dreams. We both knew the bitter taste of failure, no matter the flavor.

We shared a miracle.

But this is not the craziest part of the story.

If you’re still with me, let me tell you what happened next.

He drove off. I went inside. But the encounter was too real, too lifting, too good to go to sleep. So I went into my backyard, sat on the ground, closed my eyes, and said thank you.

And this is where the story gets wild.

The moment I closed my eyes, a tunnel filled my vision—laser green, mind you, with my eyes closed. I felt thrust through a portal, a tunnel, a hole—I’m not sure. It took a moment to orient myself.

I saw mountains in the distance—not Detroit—what looked like the desert. A sandy road stretched out in front of me. A sputtering car drove up the road. The entire scene was washed in tan and sand tones.

I watched a man step out of the car, and I swear to you, I saw wings expand from his back as he flew into the air.

Talk about a miracle.

Every time I return to this story, I feel a sense of awe—at the magic this world can offer if we just pay attention.

The idea that help can appear when someone truly needs it—if both people drop their guard and participate—still moves me. He could have kicked me out of the car. He could have told me to mind my business. I could have ignored his grunts. But I didn’t, and he didn’t. We showed up together. 

I don’t know why my heart felt called to share this story today. I expect many people to believe I imagined it or dreamed it. I did not. After two more visions, I burst into tears. It was a clear message to me.

But that’s not the point of the story.

The point is this: instead of judging another person, I saw him—not as a victim, not as an immigrant, not as a criminal or a failure—but as a human being. A human with talents and gifts meant to be used for freedom. A human who had the ability to do more, if only he believed it. 

I think when chaos enters our world and the disenfranchised are targeted, we tend to fall into two roles: either these people are victims, or these people deserve it.

But in reality, each circumstance may be different. No matter where you are from, every person deserves to bring their unique talents into the world with the ability and capacity to thrive through them.

That’s just not a world most people believe in yet.

We live in a world that benefits from modern forms of slave labor—regardless of border, country, or imaginary lines in the sand drawn by people who believed they could own land they did not create.

We live in a world where the idea of the American Dream—a lie fueled by capitalism—is treated as truth. But what is that dream? And how many Americans are actually living it?

We live in a world where individuals are forced to leave countries and cultures we long to vacation in—places whose waterfronts we’ve captured for water slides and slushies—so we can relax from our “American Dream.” Or places we wouldn’t dare enter because the same people promising freedom here are bombing the places they live, or stripped it of all it’s natural resources in an effort to offer us something fancier than what we already have.  

We live in a world that takes full advantage of those who come here—making them nannies, cleaning ladies, cooks—while forcing them to restart medical school from the beginning, all because we can pay them less.

I worked as a nanny for some of the most influential people in New York for years, and I saw the disparity firsthand: embarrassing pay, terrible treatment, all because they could. I saw women who were teachers, doctors, professionals watching other people’s children and being yelled at when they didn’t comply with nonsense. I even saw them fired without being told—the doorman would tell them instead.

To me, the dream has always been to live comfortably, feel safe, be treated with dignity, and have good food, clean air, water, and land.

Maybe my dreams don’t belong here.

But if my dream requires subjugation to your system, I don’t want it.

How many people hate their job—every one of the eight hours they give away—sacrificed for a fancy car, a better school system, a bigger fence, a larger house? How many people believe we need slave labor to afford food and clothing? How many of us measure the value of another human solely by their productivity?

What would you sacrifice to have more?

What would you give up?

How many of you are tired of the way things are, but have no idea how we move forward?

I want to return to an important point I made earlier: there is another energy at play here. When there is a true need in society, the solutions and answers are given—but we have to be willing to show up to them. Maybe we need to change what we’re asking for.

Who wants peace? True peace. Deep, still peace—the kind that allows forests to thrive, the kind you can usually only imagine on vacation.

Maybe we need to place that question in our hearts so the solution can come to us.

How many of us still believe in miracles—that something unexpected could arrive and change everything, …that a wild card can still be played?

So if you take anything from this story, let it be this: miracles still happen if we believe in them. And I think we could all use one right about now.

But before any solution can land in the world, it has to begin in our hearts and minds. So maybe—just maybe—we need to dream about, obsess over, and ask for a better world. A better world for everyone.

And if that world is meant to show up for us… what do we have to move through first? What must play out for it to appear?

What if we are already in the middle of it?
What if we needed examples of what must change in order to begin changing?
What if it’s already happening?

Just a few things to dream about.