Our life had settled into a rhythm defined by a wheelchair. My son, a bright and endlessly optimistic seven-year-old, had never known life without it. The doctors’ initial prognosis—that he would never walk—was a fact we had long since accepted. He dreamed the impossible dream of becoming a runner, and his unwavering belief in that future often left me in awe of his strength. I frequently found myself wishing I could mirror his incredible capacity for joy and his refusal to be defined by his limitations.
The incident at the old church seemed insignificant at the time. We were passing by when he urgently asked me to stop, his gaze locked on a stone angel standing vigil in the yard. I complied, and what happened next stole my breath. He bowed his head, folded his hands, and offered a quiet, earnest prayer. He asked not for a toy or a game, but for the ability to walk, vowing to be a good person in return. It was a moment of such raw, pure faith that I was rendered speechless, a silent witness to my son’s profound inner world.
Months drifted by, and the memory of the prayer faded into the backdrop of our daily lives. Then, a routine doctor’s appointment became the stage for a shocking revelation. The physician’s demeanor shifted when my son mentioned feeling pain from a minor burn on his leg. The doctor explained, with barely contained excitement, that this sensation was a critical sign that not all nerve function was lost. For the first time in years, the word “hope” was spoken in a medical context regarding my son’s condition.
That hope, however, comes with a steep price—a sophisticated surgical procedure and extensive therapy that carry a significant financial burden. We have embarked on the daunting task of fundraising, and the response has been overwhelming. Our story has touched hearts, and help has poured in from every corner of our community, a testament to the goodness in people. This journey is no longer ours alone to walk.
I look at my son now with a certainty I never thought possible. The prayer at the angel’s feet was not a childish whim; it was the first step toward a new reality. I am now a true believer, not just in medical science, but in the power of faith. I know, with every fiber of my being, that my son will rise from his wheelchair. He will feel the ground beneath his feet, and he will run, fulfilling his dream and proving that some forces are indeed stronger than any diagnosis.
