Noticing the Miracles in Motion

Miracles don’t always announce themselves with grand gestures or bright lights. Often, they move quietly, weaving through our lives like threads of red silk, waiting to be noticed. These small, subtle moments of alignment, connection, and serendipity remind us that life is in constant motion—working for us, even when we can’t see it. The key is slowing down, pausing long enough to recognize the miracles already unfolding. In my own journey, I’ve learned that miracles don’t just happen to us; they move through us when we let go and trust the process.Life has a way of weaving moments together, like threads of red silk running quietly through our days, unnoticed until we slow down enough to see them. Lately, I’ve been trying to pause, to step back and watch how the world moves around me. And in those pauses, I’ve seen miracles in motion.

A few weeks ago, I found myself embarking on a journey I hadn’t planned but had deeply longed for. My father, Baba, had spent the last two years of his life dreaming of going for Umrah, but his health never allowed it. His dream became mine. It felt distant, something for another time. Then, almost inexplicably, everything aligned.

It began with my brother’s trip to London being delayed, which led him to ask me to meet him in Saudi. On a whim, he suggested we go for Umrah together. It just happened to coincide with Thanksgiving weekend, which also marked Baba’s birthday. British Airways had recently reinstated a direct flight from Heathrow to Jeddah, and suddenly, it all felt possible.

We arrived in Madina for Jumma prayers, and being able to perform them felt like the first miracle of the day. Later that evening, I wandered aimlessly through Masjid-e-Nabwi, only to find myself swept into a crowd of women. Before I realized it, I was standing in Riaz al Jannah, as though Rasool Allah (SWT) Himself had drawn me there.

In just 3.5 days, everything fell into place. My brother and a family friend planned the trip within hours. We arrived in Makkah late at night, greeted by serene weather and a calm crowd. Tawafs were effortless, bringing peace and love that felt almost tangible. Sharing a room with my brother felt like a return to a time long past, and we shared moments of connection I’ll forever cherish.

We found ourselves near the Kaaba in the most unexpected ways. Each time, we were pulled to the closest, most peaceful spots—places we hadn’t sought but that seemed to call to us. Touching the Kaaba’s cloth and walls, and watching my brother reach Hajr-e-Aswad, felt like blessings beyond measure. Even in the crowded, bustling Masjid-al-Haram, tranquility found us.

The sa’i became a deeply personal journey for me. Memories of childhood surfaced—vivid, unexpected, and comforting. It felt like my mind was unraveling its own knots, making space for love and safety. On the last day, I napped near the Kaaba, and in that brief sleep, I felt as though I was on the most luxurious bed in the world. It wasn’t just rest; it was renewal.

Every intention we set was fulfilled. Even the simplest of desires—like tasting Al Baik chicken amidst a chaotic crowd—came to pass. And when it was time to return, I worried about exhaustion. Yet, I was gifted miraculous moments of deep sleep—first at the hotel, then on the plane—leaving me rejuvenated, grateful, and profoundly at peace.

This journey reaffirmed a truth that feels both profound and freeing: when we stop fighting, when we let go of the need to control, we create space for something greater to unfold. As flawed, limited humans, we can only do so much. But when we surrender to the flow of life, we align with a plan far more intricate and beautiful than we could ever design. God’s plan is always in motion, weaving moments together with red threads of grace. The miracles are already there; we just have to slow down, trust, and open our hearts to notice them.