By Sarah Hunnicutt, Global Strategy Missionary to Roatán, Honduras. Republished with permission from Sarah’s June 2021 newsletter.

As I type this, four hummingbird friends have been drinking and dancing, chasing each other and causing an endless distraction in my attempts at writing. My fluff-ball of a pup keeps asking for just one more ear scratch. My ivy plant trails gracefully across the wooden porch beams. Of course, I have hot coffee at my side in one of my favorite colorful mugs. When I think about the miracle it is to be alive this year, I think about the little things.

I think about how the grace I’ve experienced the past year and a half—the past thirty-three years, if we’re going to be honest—hasn’t been the same for others. So many went hungry. So many families were broken. So many didn’t make it. I wonder about this bittersweet truth—death and life. I wonder about how it will make me a better person.

As school has been in session for several months now, the things for which I was so grateful at the beginning are easy to forget. I don’t want that. For all the heartache and real tragedy of this time, I don’t want to lose the sense of gratitude and presence it has instilled in me. I don’t want to close my eyes to the suffering. I don’t want to forget to look for the miracles.

We are together.

We are alive.

We are free.

We have hope.