Today, Christmas morning, 2009, marks the very first blog post. I chose this day because it has special meaning for our family. As we celebrate the Christmas present to all—who came wrapped in swaddling clothes—our family also remembers the miracle healing of our daughter.
On Christmas morning 2001, we were on the children’s floor of a hospital in Rochester, Minnesota. Our daughter, then 4 ½ years old, was recovering from brain surgery. During the four years previous to this, we had lived our lives between a whirlwind of seizures, autism, and life-threatening events.
On the wide window ledge of the hospital room, a small Christmas tree with red bows softly blinked white lights, reminding me of stories passed down since the Middle Ages. The custom of lighting a candle called the "Christmas light” symbolized Christ, who is the light of the world. This tradition has morphed into the many electric lights that we enjoy on our Christmas trees today. I have to admit my attitude was forlorn until the reminder that those lights brought me during that tearful Christmas Day in the hospital. I marveled at the reminder of the hope—through faith—that we have in Jesus, a hope of what is to come, and the hope of healing that we had been praying for our daughter. As it turned out, that Christmas morning eight years ago was the date of Christina’s very last seizure.
During our daughter’s illness through seizures, autism, and the subsequent brain surgery, ink written in a journal helped keep track of medical details and discoveries we made. Emotional prayers born out of desperation for our child scrolled across many of the pages. From there it became a manuscript typed on the screen of a computer, and my life as a writer began to unfold. Good Morning, Beautiful, Christina, Our Miracle is due out this spring.
Every Christmas morning our family remembers that day in the hospital and we realize that the best Christmas present ever did not come wrapped in ribbons and bows.