The Never Ending Life of a miracle

​Sometimes the miracle in the moment is so big it can blind us to all the miracles that will grow from the miracle at hand.

We took a trip yesterday I've wanted to take for a long time. We went to the spot at Carteret General Hospital where nearly 17 years ago I watched a helicopter lift Elliott from the ground into the air and on to a NICU at Pitt Memorial Hospital in eastern North Carolina.

By the time that helicopter took off, I had prayed. I'd told God I trusted him. That no matter what became of Elliott's life that day, I trusted him.

I also hoped. I hoped like I'd never hoped before. That the baby that came into our lives that morning would be a baby that got to stay in our lives.

It's overwhelming to return to a spot and see your teenage son standing in a spot marked by celebration when it appeared more than possible that day the spot would be forever marked by grief.

I don't know why I get to celebrate where others grieve. I will never understand that.

I do know this, tough. The miracle I took a picture of yesterday was not the miracle I thought I was standing in 17 years ago. The miracle of life that day has sprouted limbs of life I could have never seen coming.

One of those limbs is certainly me.

Elliott was born that day with what the doctor called little more than a heartbeat. There were many days before Elliott, and there have been days since, when my life has felt like little more than a heartbeat to me.

But in many ways, when the doctors and nurses and helicopters brought Elliott to life that day, they forever kept me alive. In bringing his heart to life they forever kept me committed to mine.

And then there is Ian in the car. Clueless to this photo session in many ways. But had we lost Elliott that day would Ian have even come to be?

It's an important question to me because where Elliott brought the miracle of life Ian brought the miracle of laughter.

I mispronounced the name of the movie while purchasing tickets at the theater yesterday. Ian couldn't stop laughing. To this moment I don't know why it was so funny, but I know what the miracle of his laughter does for me.

Because laughter at times HAS felt like a miracle. Some of us forget how to do it without miracles.

I believe miracles never lose their life.

Snapping that photo, I could see just how grand a miracle can grow.

Snapping that photo, I could feel just how deep a miracle can go.

It's easy to believe that miracles are life. I think I more believe that miracles are seeds. Seeds that God plants; seeds God longs for us to help bring to life.

Maybe miracles aren't the answer as much as they are the question: what will you make of me?

I am thankful for my 17-year old miracle. I'm excited about the life and laughter that miracle will continue to grow and spread in this world.

For miracles don't have an expiration date. They have no boundaries.

Unless, of course, we stop seeing them.