In my previous blog, I wrote that, to me, a miracle is a doorway to reality.
A miracle is a shift in perception.
A crisis and a miracle belong together. Whenever there is a crisis, the miracle is already there as well. I just don't always recognize it immediately.
The question is not whether the miracle will come. The question is whether I am willing to receive it.
That begins with a longing and a choice. I long for the miracle, and I choose to receive it by opening myself to it.
I don't have to solve the problem myself. I don't even have to figure out what the solution should look like. I simply ask for a miracle:
"Let me see this situation differently. Let me see what I cannot see yet."
And then I wait.
Not passively.
I make space.
I take my attention away from the problem.
There is a book that has stayed with me over the years: Miraculous Living by Rabbi Shoni Labowitz. She writes that if you want to experience God—if you want to live a miraculous life—you must also make room for it.
That thought still touches me deeply.
How often do I stay busy trying to solve the problem? How often do I keep thinking, analyzing, and controlling? In doing so, I am actually keeping the door closed.
So when I ask for a miracle, I need to stop whatever I am doing so that space can emerge. I go for a walk. I tidy my desk. I make a cup of tea. I breathe.
Not because those things cause the miracle.
The miracle is already there.
By creating space, I become receptive to a different way of seeing.
To me, that feels like an opening toward God. Toward love. Toward a reality that is greater than anything I could invent myself.
I don't have to figure it out.
I gladly resign from that job.
An Example
Six years ago, I asked for greater inner freedom around money.
Money felt emotionally charged and unsettling to me. I was afraid I would lose everything I had. Without realizing it, I held tightly onto every euro, even when I had more than enough.
My youngest son has autism and attends a school for children with special educational needs. Every school day I drove him there and picked him up again. It took a great deal of time.
One day I asked him if he would like to take a taxi to school instead.
Everyone thought that would be far too overwhelming for him.
So we practiced.
Together we created a clear plan.
Step by step.
It worked.
After his very first taxi ride, he looked at me and asked,
"Can I have a present now?"
"Of course," I replied.
He knew exactly what he wanted: a beautiful wooden tow truck.
It cost €175.
My first reaction was that it was a lot of money.
Then he looked at me and asked,
"Don't you have the money?"
His question stopped me in my tracks.
Because I did have the money.
I couldn't think of a single good reason not to buy it for him.
So I bought the tow truck.
He played with it for years.
Later, I sold it for almost the same amount I had paid for it.
But the real value was somewhere else.
My son showed me that desire is not something I need to be ashamed of.
I am allowed to enjoy.
I am allowed to receive.
I am allowed to use money for something that truly brings joy instead of holding onto it out of fear.
The miracle came through my son.
His simple question helped me shift my relationship with money—from fear to trust, enjoyment, and meaning.
A Packet of Tissues
Sometimes a shift in perception comes through something very small.
My wife and I were out cycling together. We were in the middle of a difficult conversation, and an argument was beginning to build.
Silently, I asked for a miracle so that our bike ride could still become an enjoyable one.
Less than two minutes later, I noticed an unopened packet of tissues lying in the middle of the bike path.
I swallowed hard.
Immediately I knew what those tissues were showing me.
I had closed myself off.
I wasn't allowing myself to be vulnerable.
That single packet of tissues changed our entire conversation.
A Pair of Hedge Shears
Something similar happened another time in our herb garden.
My wife and I were standing there, and once again our connection felt strained. I could feel my defenses beginning to rise.
Again I asked for a miracle.
My eyes fell on a pair of hedge shears lying on the ground.
Stamped on the shears was the year 1954—the birth year of both my father and my mother.
Instantly I felt gratitude and my heart softened.
On the same pair of shears was the word Freund—the German word for friend.
In that moment I could look at my wife with kindness again and remember how deeply I love her.
My defenses simply disappeared.
That is how quickly a miracle can work.
A Long-Held Dream
For me, miracles do not only appear in small everyday moments.
Sometimes they touch a longing that has lived within me for years.
For a very long time I have carried a dream.
I want to guide people in reconnecting with themselves.
With love.
With God.
With the life that is always present, even if it sometimes seems hidden away.
That connection has transformed my own life so profoundly that I feel called to share it with others.
Yet somehow it never happened.
My business always demanded my time and attention.
Whenever I tried, something seemed to pull me back.
Over the past few years, however, I gradually organized my company differently.
Colleagues took on more responsibility.
Space began to open.
Within that space, my very first workshop was born:
The Boy Within the Man.
I published it online.
The first registrations came in.
I felt incredibly grateful—and at the same time deeply afraid.
Can I really do this?
So once again I asked for a miracle.
I wanted to feel supported.
I wanted to talk through the day's program with someone.
The thought came to me to ask Paul and Jane whether they would be willing to speak with me.
Then the miracle happened.
One morning Paul and Jane arrived at my small farm.
I looked up and saw them beaming with joy.
Jane congratulated me on launching my very first workshop.
Without me even asking, they both offered to help me and to think the workshop through together.
That is how miracles work for me.
They appear in ways I could never have imagined myself.
Sometimes within seconds.
Sometimes after a few days.
Sometimes much longer.
And if the miracle still seems to be absent?
Then I first look at myself with kindness.
Perhaps I am still holding the door slightly closed.
That does not call for judgment.
It calls for a smile.
And a big hug for myself.
Even that can be a miracle:
not rejecting myself,
but meeting myself exactly where I am.
Yuri
