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My sister, whom we named Carolyn Faye, was born when I was only nine years old. Her birth was a bittersweet mixture of joy and sorrow. Joy because she was the first daughter after three rowdy boys. Sorrow because she was born hydrocephalic. At birth her head was larger than the rest of her body. She only lived three months. She died just before Christmas of my ninth year. And although she was only with us a short time, I’ll never forget her or the hope she brought into our lives—a desperate hope that cried out to God for a miracle—a miracle that did not materialize.
“Could not he who opened the eyes of the blind man have kept this man from dying?”
— John 11:37 (NIV)
Lord, teach us to trust You even when there is no miracle. Amen.