mir*a*cle

mir*a*cle - noun. 1: an extraordinary event manifesting divine intervention in human affairs / 2: an extremely outstanding or unusual event, thing, or accomplishment

On her way out the door following our ACC tournament fundraiser late this afternoon, a woman I'd never met walked up to me, squeezed my arm, looked right into my eyes and asked the question that forever looms in our anxious hearts: "Is she going to be okay?"

She is my sister, Taylor, who at that moment sat less than 10 feet behind me at our family's table and yet was quite clearly wrapped up in her own private, dark world far, far away. Without looking away from the woman's searching eyes, I offered only the following: "We still believe in miracles."

I dodged the woman's question, I know - but the prospect of answering directly quite honestly scares me these days. Each time the sun rises and falls, marking the end of another day without a cure for infantile Batten disease, Taylor's survival more clearly defies all logic.

When scientists finally unlock the key to this evil disease, I will not call it a miracle. I will call it great science. And I know it will happen. The question is when.

If my sister should beat this disease - that will be a miracle, and when it happens, I will fall to my knees, look up at the sky and thank God, because no matter what marvels modern medicine can conjure to make her road more comfortable, only He can ultimately lead her out of the darkness.

I'm still waiting for that miracle. But I've witnessed other miracles along the way.

Last night, Taylor attended her school dance. When my parents met John and me in the school parking lot to deliver her to us, my mom had tears in her eyes, because in our world, every 'normal' experience is emotionally charged. We smile and laugh on the outside, but on the inside, we wonder, 'Will she be able to handle it?' and 'Will this be her last one?'

As we walked down the short hallway to the cafeteria, where the dance had already started, I worried that the kids would ignore Taylor. I silently thanked God for my husband, knowing he would take Taylor's hand and lead her onto the dance floor if no one else would.

But my fears were unnecessary.

True story: three boys danced with Taylor last night. As I watched from my wallflower spot, an uncanny warmth spread from my head to my toes. And in those moments, I knew I was witnessing a miracle in its purest form - an extraordinary event manifesting divine intervention in human affairs. Because those were angels twirling my sister around the room.

Dancing in the Stars

Taylor went to her first school dance on Friday night. Decked out in a sparkly pink and purple top adorned with dream catchers over a denim skirt, chocolate tights and Ugg boots, my sister spent two hours on the arm of her date, Scott. And since parents were strictly forbidden from the school grounds during the dance by the sixth graders, I was the lucky girl who got to spend a Friday evening as a fly on the wall (the only fly in the world that can operate a digital camera and camcorder), there only if Taylor needed help (she didn't).

Having never attended a dance with a date until my junior prom when I was 17, I got to bear witness, via my much younger sister, the best parts of 'crushing' on a boy pre-high school (and all of the attending drama). The smiles on Taylor's face said everything. There were no teen-charged mixed signals to analyze: she was having the time of her life. And there, in the Fletcher School cafeteria with '80s music playing in the background and neon deejay lights painting the air, the fly on the wall was having the time of its life, too - holding assorted cell phones for pre-teens, catching the scenery on camera and bottling up the dream catcher girl's courage and her date's kindness for the days to come.