
'He aha te mea nui o te ao? He tangata, he tangata, he tangata!' ('What is the most important thing in the world? It is the people, it is the people, it is the people!')
I had a perfect festive break, leaving my laptops closed and opening only books, packages, presents, and the seemingly endless boxes left over from a stressful house move. The holiday season was sedate, and we celebrated with the family we're lucky to have close by. We collectively chose not to splurge on unnecessary gifts this year, though a couple were exchanged and received with love and gratitude. The gift exchange lasted all of ten minutes, but it was the preceding hours spent laughing and learning more about each other that I cherished most. It was reminded of a quote from the Grinch, who said, "Maybe Christmas doesn't come from a store. Maybe Christmas... perhaps... means a little bit more!"
In the years I've spent on this spinning ball we call home, I've experienced the holidays in many different ways. In my childhood, I spent Christmas and New Year surrounded by my immediate and extended family. What bliss to be among all my cousins, not just for the stat days but across the six-week school break over December and January. I can almost feel that carefree abandonment of youth we shared, where all that mattered was playing, going to the beach, and preparing for a camp that lasted at least a week or two. When we moved to Harare, Zimbabwe, in August 1980, we had our first Christmas and New Year alone - just dad, mom, and us four kids. What a (differently) enjoyable experience that was. We had very little then, but Dad had found us an inexpensive rental house with a swimming pool, which made for an excellent summer holiday. He'd also rustled up the most pitiful tree I had ever seen. But we had a tree, and mom decorated it and placed gifts underneath that we were happy to have. We still speak about that Christmas all these years later, and it's probably the most memorable for me because, with my more mature outlook, I understand what the Grinch meant. Sad tree aside, my parents and siblings were all that I needed.
At twenty-one, I experienced my first Christmas without my immediate family. It was tough, and to make matters worse, I was sick that day—in bed with a horrendous flu that still ranks amongst the worst I have ever experienced. Thankfully, I was surrounded and cared for by my equally loving Italian family, who, before I got sick, took me for a walk around Napoli to see a spectacular array of Il Presepe (Nativity Scenes). This was not a practice embraced in South Africa, so along with eating castagne al forno (roasted chestnuts) for the first time, it was a wonderful new yuletide experience. The Cusano family (Tullio, Nunzia, Daniele and Manlio) would treat me to another first a few days after Christmas. Once I was well enough, they took me out to play in the snow for the first time. It contrasted the hot beach sand I was used to playing in for the first twenty-one years of my life. It's a wonderful thing being embraced by a family not related to you by blood, but embrace me they did. Even the memory of being sick is pleasant because it has many other good things associated with it - especially these four additional family members.
When my sister and brothers had kids, this new generation added a wonderful dimension to the holidays, and any Christmas where we were all together fast became my favourite. Being a doting aunt to my five nieces and nephews has brought me immense joy, and I love each one of them so much. However, the only constant in life is change, and no area of life is spared - including holidays and family. Paths diverge, and one's personal path becomes central almost by default. As I continue on this self-help journey, I'm beginning to learn a little more about adapting to change, finding purpose outside of the norm and managing the shifting dimensions of life philosophically and psychologically. It's an ongoing process.
I hadn't intended to write four paragraphs about the holidays, but that's where my thought process went. If you bear with me, I'll eventually reach the point (I promise there is one).
It took me the entire two-week holiday to decide which book to start the year off with. I picked up The Celestine Prophecy by James Redfield, read a few pages, and could not get into it. On page thirty-eight, I found a makeshift bookmark (a boarding pass from a KLM flight to Amsterdam that I took in 2007), so I obviously couldn't get into the book then, either. It's got excellent reviews, so hopefully, I'll pick it up again at some point. I then toyed with Dr Joe Dispenza's You Are The Placebo since I'd read that one, but as much as I like the book, it didn't seem like the one to start the year with. I've also wanted to focus on a Louise Hay book for a while, so I considered You Can Heal Your Life, but again, it just didn't feel like the right book. For Christmas, my sister, Shereen, gave me Shane Parrish's Clear Thinking and my niece, Amber, gave me The Courage To Be Disliked by Ichiro Kishimi and Fumitake Koga, but I knew neither book would be looked at for a good few weeks. Ultimately, I think I made the right choice for 2025's launch book because it plays directly into the point I will eventually make.
So, What Exactly Is 'The Greatest Miracle In the World'?

In my introductory blog post, How It All Began, I mentioned the personal significance of Og Mandino's The Greatest Miracle In The World. This tiny, one-hundred-and-eight-page book that has been through the wringer holds sentimental value for me because it belonged to my dad. He was still alive when I first read the book, and while it was a prolific work as far as my family was concerned, I hadn't thought much about the book's contents since his passing. Rereading it this week brought forth aspects of the text and its import in ways I did not anticipate.
To begin with, the book contains no markup by my hand. Every single note, highlight, bracket, and underline is my dad's, and on my re-read, I focused mainly on what had jumped out at him. It was eye-opening.

My dad had beautiful handwriting. My siblings and I tried to emulate his signature from the time we could hold a pen but failed spectacularly (Shereen is pretty close, though). I gave up trying a long time ago - resigning myself to a scrawl, not unlike a fly that fell into a well of ink and crawled across a page. This is not the only book I have inscribed with my dad's and mom's names. It would appear that he took 'married in community of property' quite literally, which I love. Together in all things - through thick and thin, until the end.
The Greatest Miracle In The World by Og Mandino is a self-help book that combines an inspirational narrative with practical advice for personal development. It is a motivational guide encouraging readers to acknowledge their worth and strive toward reaching their full potential. The book is imbued with philosophical and inspirational insights to inspire readers to pursue the lives that they have dreamt of. According to the book, we are capable of anything because...

... it is us. We are The Greatest Miracle In the World, and every single one of us has boundless untapped human potential that, through self-belief and well-placed choices, can shape our destiny. Og Mandino touches on additional themes of hope and redemption, overcoming adversity and taking responsibility to access this untapped potential before reaching the book's focal point: The God Memorandum (more about this later).
Bearing in mind that I didn't mark up any part of The Greatest Miracle In the World, all quotes and references to the book I make in this post are based on what stood out to my dad. He was a jovial, extremely funny man with a wicked sense of humour and the ability to uplift any downtrodden spirit. It felt like he was universally loved, and I understood why because I had first-hand experience of who he was and was so often the focus of his undivided attention. Yet, I see echoes of my struggles in the passages that resonated with him. We sometimes had deep, philosophical discussions (particularly in his last few weeks), and I heard hints of that struggle. But his spirit was so big that it shone through any battle he may have faced, and that's how he's remembered.
On page fourteen of The Greatest Miracle In The World, he highlighted the following quote:
"Most humans, in varying degrees, are already dead. In one way or another they have lost their dreams, their ambitions, their desire for a better life. They have surrendered their fight for self-esteem and they have compromised their great potential. They have settled for a life of mediocrity, days of despair and nights of tears. They are no more than living deaths confined to cemeteries of their choice."
Wow! In previous posts, I discussed the financial challenges my parents faced during their marriage, and while there were undoubtedly some 'ups', we went through our fair share of 'downs'. My dad wasn't confined to anything by choice, but he was a victim of circumstance, and he made every effort to change that. He was a dreamer—he wanted more for his family, and I think it pained him that he couldn't overcome those circumstances and realise his dream. He tried and tried again. He ventured but, unfortunately, didn't always gain.

The Greatest Miracle In The World refers to the (biblical) raising of the dead as a miracle before segueing into the above quote and assuring readers that they can perform a similar miracle by returning from this metaphorical death. But how?
My dad made these notes on the single blank page at the end of his copy of the book. I latched onto the two instances of the word "mind", particularly in reference to the psychiatrist Dr Karl Menninger and author John Milton. Both are mentioned (and quoted) in chapter three of Mandino's book. In his epic poem, Paradise Lost, Milton wrote: "The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a heaven of hell and a hell of heaven." Mandino follows this quote with one of his own when he writes, "... our mind is the greatest creation on earth and it can generate the most sublime happiness for its owner - or it can destroy him". The chapter also cites James Allen's As A Man Thinketh and Seneca's musings on the mind as a garden that needed careful cultivating. My dad highlighted all of this, and the quotes all relate to mindfulness; he had been trying to teach me that from childhood.
"Yet, your are the rarest thing in the world. From your father, in his moment of supreme love, flowed countless seeds of love, more than four hundred million in number. All of them, as they swam within your mother, gave up the ghost and died. All except one! You."

Chapter nine, 'The God Memorandum,' is pivotal in Mandino's book. Written as a letter from God to humankind, it reinforces the message that we are The Greatest Miracle In The World. Along with the above quote, my dad also highlighted the following from its preceding page:
"And be grateful for your lessons learned in poverty. For he is not poor who has little; only he that desires much... and true security lies not in the things one has but in the things one can do without. Where are the handicaps that produced your failure? They existed only in your mind."
I am my father's child in that I am also a dreamer. I dream of "a better life" - one in which I have respite from "days of despair and nights of tears". I don't consider this a lofty dream since I have little interest in manifesting wealth or status. But I do want peace of mind. I want to wake up in the morning and not have my first thought be that of abject fear and dread, nor do I want to go to bed with what feels like the world's weight on my shoulders. I think my dad wanted the same thing - the peace of mind that comes with knowing your family will be okay - that he had provided for us. I take comfort in knowing we reminded him of his worth, efforts, impact on us, and how much we loved him.
The thought that we are a miracle by dint of our mere existence is appealing. It's uplifting to know that we did not give up the ghost but won life's first challenge straight out the gate, with almost four hundred million competitors on our heels. I didn't give up the ghost then but the challenge I have now seems mightier...
"It is not the mountain we conquer but ourselves." (Sir Edmund Hillary)
I remain in a race and have only one competitor: my mind. I hope I win again. Peace sounds like a fantastic prize.
So, about that point, I was trying to make. My last post for 2024 focused on gratitude, so that is how I would like to start 2025. What I was trying to get to in those first couple of paragraphs (in a very long-winded way) is that I am grateful. I appreciate the people who have positively impacted my life and changed (for the better) how I see the world. Despite the twists and turns that result in altered circumstances, I am so glad I got to tread the road anyway. I have accepted that the inevitability of change does not always signal doom but often presents opportunities to create different, frequently better circumstances. I am thankful for the breadth of experiences that have, unbeknownst to me, shaped who I am and am becoming. And I am grateful to have finally read The Greatest Miracle In The World through my dad's eyes.
Note
At the end of last year, I mentioned working through Mind Over Mood, the cognitive behavioural therapy manual by Dennis Greenberger and Christine A. Padesky. I thought it might be something I could footnote in my weekly posts to track my progress, but having started the book, I've decided against it. It just feels like a path I need to tread on my own.
Coming Up Next Week
I started reading Shane Parrish's Clear Thinking over the holidays and will focus on finishing it this week. I am looking forward to writing about it for next week's post.
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