It only feels like a miracle

This must be what a miracle feels like.

At four and a few months, Lexie’s not likely to look back with clear memories of masks and fear and isolation, but odds are fairly good she may recall a bright June afternoon on a sparkling beach, carnival rides and mini-doughnuts, and a boat ride with barges, eagles, Mom and Dad and Grandpa. A memory that, not long ago, might have seemed impossible.

Isn’t it amazing how extraordinary the ordinary feels? To stand inches away from someone you’ve never seen before and, well, just stand there, glad perhaps that they showered and applied deodorant before leaving the house, but ignoring the aging duct tape Xs spaced six feet apart on the floor near your feet. To be rushing to the door of the store only to be drawn up short, aware of your bare face – then do a skip step and carry on with a relieved sense that it’s over. Finally over.

Get used to it.

Well, maybe not over. The bug is still out there and folks are still getting sick, still dying – just not as many. We have the vaccine – or more precisely, vaccines – to thank for that. Those of us who lined up for a quick jab in the arm can take a measure of credit – we were needled not only for our own good health, but to do our bit to protect other folks simply by not catching and spreading a contagious virus. The fewer places COVID has to go, the safer we all are.

Funny how we understood that really well just a few months ago. Back around the first of the year when the vaccine was still only a promise, we were ever so eager for it. Eager to shed our masks, hug our friends, go out to dinner, do things we hadn’t done in such a long time. And if we remember, the word was that, if all went well, maybe by fall or winter there would be enough for most people … enough that we could hope for Thanksgiving or, at least, Christmas with our families.

But here we are, unmasked, unfettered, going to ball games and taking carnival rides, sitting next to each other in restaurants and stepping on each other’s toes in checkout lines. Oh, things are still a bit ragged around the edges. Events that seemed impossible or at least unlikely short months ago are in full swing – or as close to full swing as hasty organizing and ad hoc arrangements allow. Hotel rooms are filling, rent-a-cars are a rare find and with millions of folks suddenly having places to go and things to do, the gas we’re all lining up for is emptying our wallets as fast as it fills out tanks. Yep, the old law of supply and demand is being enforces with a vengeance – on lumber, gasoline, beefsteaks or what have you. We’re out and about, doing stuff, wanting stuff and getting frustrated isn’t there or costs more than we remember it ought to.

And we forget what a miracle it is that we’re out doing and wanting at all.

We like to call that “the miracle of science,” an oxymoron if there ever was one. There’s nothing miraculous about science … the vaccine that’s making this summer what it’s become is purely the work of human reason, inspiration and understanding. It’s the product of basic genetic research cracking the essential code of life, allowing microbiologists to methodically engineer genetic sequences that mobilize the human immune system against this particular strain of corona virus. It’s science, and without it all our prayers and politicking would have been no more effective than they were against the Black Death 675 years ago.

If this summer feels like a miracle give your thanks to the folks in the lab coats holding the needle and syringe.

And if you haven’t yet, get your shots. Then enjoy the summer.

It’s as close to a miracle as we’re going to get.