My husband Rick is chasing our one-year-old around the staircase in our recently purchased two-story house in the suburbs of Indianapolis. I’m upstairs working but keep hearing incessant bursts of laughter from our son, squealing in delight every time his Dad rounds another corner to “surprise” him -- even though at 18 months he knows perfectly well his Dad is on the way. . . .
This simple life of a home, a decent job, a good marriage and a son is not flashy or notable, really. But it’s the luxury of the ordinary that makes this miracle so important to notice. For many people, including Rick, ordinary is a new concept. Peace, contentment, a white picket fence, it’s hardly a reality he thought would ever exist.
A son he thought he’d never have, a wife whose love he doesn’t think he deserves, a good paying job that he doesn’t like but appreciates. The traumatic scenes from an abused and neglected childhood remain stored behind the gates of memory. They are locked in their own little boxes, each with individual keys that can be opened when he least expects it. . . .
But, for the most part, life is good. It is the luxury of the ordinary, free from the drama of drunken mothers, soul crushing depression or family drama that threatens to rip people apart and is intent on ripping out the stitches of wounds still healing.
We don’t have all that. We have each other. We have our son. We have our extended families. We have love. And most of all, we have Christ. The giggles of our baby boy we want to capture forever, bottle them up, and hold on to them as a reminder of the grace, blessing, mercy, and miracles that have enveloped our lives. It’s not about me much at all -- as I am one of the lucky souls born to wonderful parents, receiving plenty of love and a million more things.
But Rick’s life was the opposite of mine. He’s the one that beat the statistics. . . . His story showcases the resilience of the human spirit and the power of Jesus in our lives if we open our hearts, homes, and minds to His promises.