A Miracle

People who know me know that I tend towards exaggeration, kind of like my daughter announcing to her classroom a couple of days ago, "This is the best day ever!" Of course, while she was expressing her happiness, she was doing it in her true canned-phrased form. (Much of Anna's communication is via songs, phrases, and entire segments from things she's heard, usually from one of her favorite TV shows.)

Unlike Anna in that situation, though, I think that the event I'm about to describe really was a life-changing event, or series of events. It's actually a speech I gave in Toastmasters, but I thought it would be a good thing to reproduce here.

I would like to tell you about a miracle-—not the one we celebrated a few months ago, but one that’s related, as all miracles are related to that one. It’s not a very “splashy” miracle, unlike the aforementioned one, but significant nonetheless, at least to me.

See, there are miracles all around us. Most of them, though, don’t consist of the risen-from-the-dead, walk-on-the-water, heal-someone-from-a-deadly disease kind, although I believe it those, too. Most of the time, miracles are small and subtle. They’re often a challenge to recognize, and we miss out on so much when we don’t. That’s the kind of miracle I’m talking about, and it has come to us in the guise of a seven-year old severely developmentally disabled little girl, my beautiful daughter AnnaRose.

Now, we tend to talk more about her older brother George, because he’s had some medical scares that she hasn’t had, at least not up to now, but she has the exact same very rare genetic disorder that he has. They express it very differently, though. Anna’s seven, but she still wears diapers. She needs constant supervision; she can’t feed herself independently, or dress or bathe herself. Like her brother, she has global delays, but whereas people tend to underestimate George, we tend to overestimate Anna.

That’s because she’s so vocal, but not like a typical seven-year old. She has this amazing rote memory; she can recite whole segments of her favorite TV shows, and has an amazing repertoire of songs. She uses all that memorized material to communicate, sometimes quite appropriately, and very few of what she says is spontaneous. Most of what she says or sings is quite funny. I say that she’s the funniest person I’ve ever met in my life, and except for the week she spent in NICU as an infant, she’s made me laugh everyday of her life.

One day, right out of the blue, at least to me, her father tells me, “I think it’s time to get Anna baptized.” To be honest, his suggestion blew me away, because it’s been something, like the Virgin Mary, I’ve been pondering in my heart. We talked about it amongst ourselves, talked to my priest about it, and all of our concerns and questions were addressed. If you know Jon and I at all, you can see how much of a miracle that was.

One of those concerns was the question of who would be the godparents. For me, asking my brother Rick to be Anna’s godfather was a given, but we needed a practicing Catholic. Then we heard that Jon’s sister was joining the Church, which she did this Easter. Then it was whether she could come here for it, and she could.

Then I called my brother and asked him. He couldn’t believe that I would ask him. See, he had stopped going to church regularly because of some things that were happening in his life. We both agreed that this was a sign that he should return. So we got the godparents lined up.
The next miracle that happened was with my dad. See, we’ve had kind of a difficult relationship pretty much my whole life. I risked and called him, asking if he would make the trip from California. This weekend, he told me, “I’m 90% there.” Then I called my brother back, and he asks me, “What did you do?’

I answered, “It’s all AnnaRose!” Then Rick says to me, “You know, I’ve been asking Dad to come visit me here in Seattle for 13 years. You’ve said your whole life that Dad doesn’t love you, but it’s not me he’s coming to see; it’s you and your family.”

At first, I grimaced as only one can grimace when someone has nailed you. Then I laughed, and since it was Easter Sunday, I said, “It’s an Easter miracle!”

This baptism won’t be the typical baptism, that’s for sure. Anna will squirm and be difficult to control. Jon will have to put her on his shoulders to get her to stay still. There’ll be a running commentary on everything that happens, and a song or two. It will be hilarious. My goal is that Anna’s family members will pack out three pews.

So remember, miracles aren’t always splashy or huge. Sometimes they’re subtle and come in the package of a sweet, funny, beautiful little girl. I’m certain that there are miracles all around you, too. You just have to look around for them.