A Miracle In My Heart

By Brandy Grillo

When you hear the word miracle, what comes to mind?

For me, it used to mean something extravagant—like a blind man suddenly seeing, someone being healed from a terminal illness, or witnessing something unexplainable right outside my window. But as a believer, I know we serve a miracle-working God. His ways are not our ways.

So what if miracles aren’t always extravagant?
What if they’re small, quiet, and happening all around us—
not meant for platforms, stages, or microphones, but simply woven into ordinary, everyday life?

Tiny miracles are happening every single day.

I experienced one recently. To others, it may not seem like much—but to me, it’s huge. And I still call it a miracle.

If you know me personally, or if you’ve read my memoir Addicted to Pain, then you know a bit about my relationship with the first man I ever loved—my father. Our journey has been complicated. He was once my hero, then someone I feared—then someone I grew angry with, felt sorry for, and even felt responsible for, all while carrying unresolved trauma and pain.

Our relationship has gone back and forth like a yo-yo. There were seasons when he was in my life and seasons when he wasn’t. Some of that was within my control, and some of it wasn’t.

As I’ve gotten older, the distance between us has only grown. I became further removed from his life, his stories, and even his love. A few years ago, I made the difficult decision not just to close the door—but to burn the bridge we kept crossing back and forth.

During those five years of no communication, I sought God deeply. I asked Him to help me forgive my father, knowing I would likely never receive an apology. How do you forgive someone who has hurt not only you, but others you love? How do you see them as your hero again? How do you love when your heart feels full of hate?

It hasn’t been easy. Some days were better than others. But I wanted healing—real healing. I wanted God to bring me to a place where the memories no longer controlled me—where I could remember, talk about, and even write about the past without feeling that sting, without being gripped by it, without being hurt by it. I didn’t want to be addicted to the pain anymore.

The story between my father and me didn’t end the way I hoped. I wrestled with God over that. I remember praying, “If I could just see him one more time before he goes, I’d be okay.”

My father had many dreams, and not all of them came true. But one I remember clearly—he always wanted to go on a cruise. As a family, we never made that happen.

Over time, God has blessed me with the ability to be a good steward financially. I’ve been able to build some stability and savings. My older son has maintained more of a relationship with my father; my younger son doesn’t really know him.

As I began planning a family cruise—something I try to do every so often—I felt God place my father on my heart. The thought came clearly: take him with you.

Five days… with a man I hadn’t seen in five years.

And I didn’t fight it.

It didn’t hurt to think about being around him. I didn’t feel the need to confront him or tell him how much he had hurt me. I simply wanted to make one of his dreams come true and create a happier memory as an adult—something I hadn’t experienced in a long time.

So we went.

We traveled to Mexico, and seeing him humbled me deeply. He’s not living well. He’s living the consequences of choices he made when he was younger. He now lives in a run-down facility. He relies on a scooter and can no longer walk. His disabilities have worsened significantly. He doesn’t have much—just a bed, a few clothes, and some old VHS tapes.

Spending time with him and seeing his struggles, I realized something: he has lived through his own kind of suffering. He doesn’t have many friends. He doesn’t have people around him. He lives in his own world, somewhat removed from reality.

So why share this?

Because this is what God can do.

On my own, this wouldn’t have happened. I would still be sitting in anger, resentment, bitterness, and unforgiveness. But holding onto those things would only keep me imprisoned. My father isn’t sitting around carrying what he did to me—but I would be if I chose to hold onto it.

What he did to me wasn’t okay.
What he did to my mother wasn’t okay.

But I refuse to give that pain power over my life. God is the authority in my life—not my past.

This blog is meant to encourage someone. Maybe your story didn’t start the way you wanted. Maybe the middle has been messy. Maybe the ending isn’t what you hoped it would be. But when you give it to God—truly give it to Him—and allow Him to work on you consistently, He brings life back into places you thought were dead.

He restores.
He heals—not with a temporary bandage, but deeply and completely.

As for reconciliation between my father and me—that’s another story. If it’s in God’s will, it will happen. And if it doesn’t, I’m at peace.

Because what I do have is this moment. This memory.

I was able to give my father something meaningful, and I was able to share that experience with my children. That memory will stay with us. And what they learned from it speaks louder than any words I could have ever said.

And to me—that’s the miracle. Not that I saw my father again, but that God healed something in me I thought would always be broken.

May these words find one heart, calm one mind, heal one soul, and awaken one spirit.