When I was well into my 40's, a baby girl was born into our family … born to a woman who had traveled for over 20 years on the path of infertility. Born when I was sure that any chance for another baby was dead and buried.
But God has a way of transforming death.
And that changes everything.
My baby girl turns four tomorrow. And today, as I kiss my little girl and gaze into her wide, brown eyes, as she giggles and wipes her boogers across her cheek, as she throws her arms wide for a hug from Mommy, I hold her tight and can barely breathe for the wonder of it.
God did this. He did it with the same power, the same love, that raised Jesus from the dead. He resurrected my dead hope. He made a way, a miracle.
Does it always happen that way? No. Does God always give the barren woman a houseful of children? Does he always cure cancer? Does he always save prodigals? Does he always mend marriages?
But he has risen from the dead. And that still changes everything. There is always hope because Jesus defeated our last enemy. He defeated death itself.
And so there is nothing—NOTHING—that cannot be transformed by his love, the same love, the same power, that rose Jesus from the grave.
Nothing is impossible. Nothing is hopeless. Nothing is beyond his reach.
I remember that today as my miracle girl spends her last day as a three-year-old. I remember, and I rejoice.