November 7, 2025

My niece Harlow turned seven this week. Seven! On the afternoon her birthday, I drove four hours down to Madison with a set of early-reader chapter books wrapped in rainbow paper - because this bright seven-year-old loves to read and loves all things rainbow — and joined our family to celebrate, sing, and watch her blow out her candles. Then, I turned around and drove four hours back home. Every mile felt like a prayer of thanks.

Many of you know that when Harlow was six months old she was diagnosed with a rare form of leukemia. Her first round of treatment did not go as hoped. Neither did her second. For a time, reaching her first birthday wasn't certain. Then, through a series of events that felt like they were orchestrated by angels, a specialist in Boston took her case. The road was rough, but through a convergence of grace, timing, love, and circumstance, she made it through. She is now seen yearly at the Survivor's Clinic and we celebrated her seventh birthday this week with cake and ice cream and a few tears of gratitude.

I may never understand why some are healed in this way and others are not. Still, I do know this: every laugh, every candle, every ordinary day that we are given is a quiet miracle. Sometimes life shows us that in very real ways. Harlow's illness changed our family - both in painful ways, and in unexpectedly beautiful ways. We are well aware that no one is promised tomorrow. But I thank God every day for the gift of her life and the time we have together, and for the ways this has shown us the beauty and strength of every day. 

My prayer this week is that we never stop feeling the holy wonder of the present moment in front of us and never stop celebrating the gift of this life.