Miracle in the Basement

To some degree, all of us want to be noticed.

Whether it is in the workplace, the dating scene, the dinner table, the world at large, we all want to be acknowledged. If our presence isn’t felt, we at the very least want our absence to be noticed. After all, if no one notices our coming and our going, then how could we say that we mattered?

If anything, we want to be able to contribute something.

We want our worth to be made manifest in a way that could touch someone’s life.

I could go on and on about how each of us contributes to others in our own unique way. While that is true, there is something deeper that needs to be recognized. It is a mindset which held me for the better portion of my life, and I have been unable to comprehend its meaning until recently.

We don’t just want to contribute

We want to feel the contribution, to share in the experience, and to be acknowledged for it.

It doesn’t matter what the good deed is, we want people to know that we did something good. Instead of letting the work speak for itself, we find ways for people to find out who volunteered, who went on the mission trip, who gave to charity, who closed the deal, who helped someone through a tough time, who was the “important” person that changed the world for the better.

We give to those who can thank us.

I think that’s why we only serve people in our own physical spectrum. Instead of caring for everyone, we choose to go on mission trips to fill up social media with, and we reach out to those who are closest to us. 

It’s easy to serve those who are willing to accept our physical gifts.

But what about those intangible gifts?

What about Love?

Society has shifted to believe that service is almost entirely physical. Not to discredit those who feed the hungry and clothe the poor, but isn’t it so much easier to give something physical? We extracted love from our service efforts and replaced it with money and notoriety. 

Now certainly we still give love to others.

Sadly many of us, myself included, tend to keep love in a little box, only to be given to those who will be able to return it.

We care for our friends, smile at our acquaintances, and we put forth our best effort for those who already love us. Even though there are lonely souls in nursing homes and hurting souls in the halls we walk each day, we choose to keep to ourselves, guarding our hearts from anyone who may not be able to give our love back.

We would rather look at our phone than dare to have a conversation with an unfamiliar sad face.

Thing is…

Our love is not for us to give.

Love comes from God because God is Love. He gives us His very heart and asks us to share in His everlasting love for each and every one of us. It is impartial, and it unconditional. Christ gave His life for us, knowing that we would reject Him daily. There were no expected returns on the Cross, and yet we choose to attach expectations to every interaction we share.

I certainly did.

That is, until God called me out of myself.

He called me to love someone who would never be able to see my love, nor could he give me any return for my service.

There was a boy in my department who was failing in the lab. He was struggling to get any results, even after an entire academic year of work. Everyone in my cohort knew about it. Science fails all the time, and while none of us experienced such heartache, we felt his pain. Unfortunately, we could not do anything for him.

Or so I thought.

One Sunday at Mass, Father Dan spoke about how God’s kingdom is a community. We as Christians are meant to reach out to others, to notice others. He said that we could do physical things, but the best thing we could do for those in our community was to pray for them.

After all, the only everlasting thing we can give is God’s love.

As the words sank in the next day, God put the struggling boy on my heart. Unfortunately, there were  unfortunate social circumstances which surrounded this individual, myself, and those who were associated with us lead to an impenetrable silence. This silence made collaboration difficult, and it made my departmental service position difficult.

I told God no, I would not let my heart go out to someone who would never return my graces


With anger filling my heart, I hastily made the Sign of the Cross and selfishly shut my Lord down. No. Someone else could pray for him. Someone who actually knew him could be there. It's not my job.

I didn't even know him anymore.

Three days went by, and I could not get the thought out of my mind. It tore me up inside to turn away from God’s call, to ignore the message of the Mass, and I was ashamed. I knew that I could pray for anyone, but why should I pray for someone if I had no reason to associate myself with them at all? 

My heart broke as I saw the boy walking down the hallway.



My parents had raised me to see Christ in everyone, and here I was, actively avoiding His call. A prayer is not difficult. Prayers are part of our hearts, yes, but to lift up our crosses for others is a simple task.

Maybe I could lift up my crosses for this boy's cross.

I walked up to the door of this individual’s lab, made the Sign of the Cross, and rested my hand on the door:

“Lord, I don’t know what I am doing here, praying for someone I do not know anymore, but I am here. I want to give You all of the hurt and anger. Turn that in to joy and peace. Take that peace and rest it on the hands of the one whom You entrusted to me today. I don't care if I never see the fruits of this labor. I just want You to take the suffering and turn it in to joy.”

I felt an exceptional amount of peace from that prayer.

God’s love is not meant to be packed up in a box, hidden from the world. We are not supposed to ration out His love to our own needs. So when we choose to listen to Him and pray for others, we let God’s love out. The pressure on the walls of our souls is relieved by opening the gates.

A prayer for a hurting soul is safe. It is a pure and safe way to share God’s love with the world.

And it does make a huge difference, whether we share in the result or not.

Two days after I made my prayer on the door, a member of the boy’s lab came up to me and told me something that I would not have expected.

The experiment worked. 

Somehow the instability of the experiment didn't stop it from coming through. Somehow there was a new light in the basement, taking the difficult parts of life and turning them in to something greater. The man who gave me the good news didn't know what happened, but I did.

God was able to gently guide that boy’s hands and grant him peace in an anxious time. 

Prayer may look like it is just another drop in the ocean, but each prayer made in love changes the world. It may not be a big change, but there is a change. A new current filled with love serves the entire ocean.

And it doesn’t matter if the original raindrop receives the credit

I will never be able to share in this experience with the individual I prayed for. He'll probably never hear this story, and if he does, I don't know if he'll understand what happened that night. The thing is, it doesn't matter if I ever receive a "thank you" and I do not wish to receive any recognition.

What matters to me is that there was forgiveness and mercy in the basement where there was darkness before.

What mattered was that love was present in an unexpected place.

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Perhaps you know someone that you cannot serve. Perhaps you know that there are people that you should not physically interact with. Perhaps you know of someone who is in need but you are unable to give anything to them.

Perhaps you know someone who needs God’s love, but will never be able to thank you for sharing it with them.

Pray for them.

God’s love is all we can give.

And when we share it…we receive far more than anything this earth can share.