Unexplained Miracles @unexplained-miracles - Tumblr Blog

32m Statue of Maitreya Buddha Diskit Monastery, Nubra Valley, Ladakh, India (via Instagram: Abhishaanth | Content Creator)

lilsageart

Ｈａｋｕら臆仮

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“People praise you for what they suppose is in you; but you must blame your soul for what you know is in it.”

— Ibn ‘Ata Allah al-Iskandari

moryen

Chōgen (重源) (1121-1206), also known as Shunjōbō Chōgen (俊乗坊重源), was a Japanese Buddhist monk. From 1181 he devoted twenty-five years of his life to the endowment and rebuilding of Tōdai-ji after its destruction in war.

Painted wooden sculpture, 82 cm, beginning 13th century

Todaiji, Nara, Japan

asking-jude

Source

humansofnewyork

“My brother and I were both placed into foster homes at a young age. He was lucky—he went to a family called the Ripleys. I went through four different homes in three years, and each one was worse than the next. I’d get to see my brother every few months. Ms. Ripley would take us for lunch at McDonalds, and that’s when she first noticed the scars all over my body. She immediately made arrangements for me to join their family. Back then the word ‘family’ didn’t mean much to me. But the Ripleys made me feel welcome in their home. Whenever I did something wrong, Ms. Ripley would sit me down and explain why it wasn’t OK. But then she’d say: ‘You’re not going anywhere. Because you belong to us now.’ Shortly after I joined the family, Mr. Ripley was diagnosed with cancer. And later that year he passed away. Ms. Ripley’s entire world fell apart. They’d been high school sweethearts. And now she was alone with two foster kids. Nobody would have blamed her for taking us back. But instead she took us to court and made it permanent. The three of us moved into a single wide trailer in Mississippi, and that’s where she raised us. She worked whatever odd jobs she could find. We never had much, but we went to movies. We had family game nights. She kept us busy with little league and Boy Scouts. She must have been super stressed, but that’s not at all what I remember. I just remember the affirmation that she gave me. It was always: ‘You’re smart.’ And ‘You’re handsome.’ And ‘You survived all that stuff because you’re strong.’ She cried when I joined the Marines, but she knew it was my best chance for a college education. And eventually I graduated from law school. Last year I had a daughter of my own. And that really put me into an emotional tailspin. Because I realized how every little choice I make is going to affect her future. And then I started thinking about how different my life could have been. Because my early development had been the opposite of what a child’s should be. I should be broken, but I’m not. Because thirty years ago my Mom decided to keep me. And somehow, despite all her sadness and heartbreak, she poured enough love into me so that I could heal.”

kafkasdiariies

humansofnewyork

“Grandma Else was tiny but tough. She had cancer as a young woman and barely survived. The radiation therapy fried her intestines, so she never weighed more than 80 lbs after that. Even though I call her ‘Grandma,’ she was actually my husband’s grandmother. But she was a big part of both our lives. She invited us over. And wrote us letters. Whenever she came to visit, she’d sort of sit down in the living room and not move again. That’s how fragile she was. But she spread so much love from that armchair in the corner. She always showed an interest in me. I know it doesn’t sound like a big deal, but she’d ask me questions. And remember my answers. And the next time I saw her, she’d follow up on the things I told her. That kind of attention is rare. Especially when you’re not charming or interesting, which I’m not. In the past I’ve struggled with feeling worthless. I’ve sometimes thought: ‘What do I have to offer?’ I’ve had my own health problems in life, especially as a teenager. So Grandma Else really inspired me. That’s why we decided to name our daughter after her. When we told her our plan, she was thrilled. But a few months later she was in the hospital again. And it was clear this time, she wasn’t coming home. While she was in hospice, she kept saying: ‘I hope I get to meet baby Else.’ But the doctors told us that she only had days to live, so we didn’t think it was going to happen. But Grandma Else held on for a month. A full month. And I went into labor nine days early. The moment I could walk, I rushed to her bedside. I put our daughter into her bed. Grandma Else was very quiet, but very alert. She was just staring at baby Else. And stroking her face. I don’t remember her saying anything. I just remember her looking very happy. And very at peace.” #quarantinestories

anxietyproblem

humansofnewyork

“After my father graduated from medical school, he decided to open an office in a small agricultural community called Coalinga. Both his parents were Mexican immigrants, and he wanted to give back by working in an underserved community. There’s 16,000 people in that town, these are the people who pick the lettuce, and the cotton, and the fruit. I used to love visiting him at work when I was a kid. I can picture him wearing a lab coat, holding a chart, and people thanking him. They’d bring him bags of almonds and onions. He’d keep saying: ‘De nada, de nada, de nada.’ Dad always looks at the ground when he’s being thanked. That’s how humble he is. He went to Stanford, but he doesn’t even hang his graduation certificate in his office. When he comes home from work, he’ll do the jobs around the house that nobody else wants to do. He cleans out the garage. He washes the dishes. He doesn’t drive an expensive car. He doesn’t wear fancy clothes. His favorite things to wear are T-shirts and sweatshirts from our school athletic teams. Both my sister and I played collegiate sports. And he was our biggest fan. Every weekend for eight years, he’d drive to Los Angeles to watch us compete. And my sister was a rower, so those races were only eight minutes long. Dad would wake up at 3 AM, drive almost five hours, watch an eight minute race, then drive all the way home. And then wash the dishes.” #quarantinestories