This was the evidence we'd been waiting for.

By Christmas 2012, Annabel wasn't just maintaining a balance; she was recovering from both the disorder and the brutal side effects of the treatments. None of her doctors ever suggested that she could have been misdiagnosed initially. In fact, we were told that she presented as a textbook case of antral hypomotility disorder and pseudo-obstruction motility disorder. That never changed once she was diagnosed. She'd been seen by both her pediatrician and Dr. Siddiqui, and they were thrilled with her progress but were at a loss to explain what was happening to her. They actively discouraged use of the word cured, however.

"No one is ever cured of these disorders," we were told.

Kevin and I tentatively settled on the word well; it was the meaning of the word that mattered anyway, and to us well meant in this moment, on this day, she is in good health. We were willing to trust that G.o.d's hand would be in whatever came our way the next day or the next moment.

We were about to mark a full year without a single visit to the emergency room, not a single frantic call to the doctor, not a day away from school with debilitating GI issues. Along with Anna's body, our battered spirits began to mend. The deeply ingrained habits and att.i.tudes that had protected us began to ease away. Our armadillo skins started to soften.

Anna began to let go of this terrible frenemy that had been by her side since she was four years old; yes, it had caused unimaginable pain and frustration, but it had also given her an excuse to stay home from school and watch TV. It had given her lots of attention from Mommy and Daddy, who were now able to divide their attention more evenly with her sisters.

A friend of mine who had cancer as a young woman told me that there was a weird period of grieving afterward. Everyone was saying she should get back to normal, but she had learned that there is no such thing as normal. She had to process this traumatic thing that had happened and make it part of who she was going forward.

The same was true for Anna and for Kevin and me and for Abbie and Adelynn. Each of us had been kicked in the head by this thing, and we had enough respect for that to give it the time and counseling required to give it its due.

"I miss Dani," Annabel said one day. "I wish I could still see her sometimes."

"Well, maybe we can," I said. "I think we should flip her an e-mail and see if she'd like to have lunch with us. Three healthy ladies going out to lunch."

Dani was delighted to hear from us, and when we met her in the hospital cafeteria, she was blown away by the new and improved Annabel.

"I've decided," Anna told her over Chick-fil-A waffle fries, "when I grow up, I want to be a child life specialist. I would be able to help kids because I know what it's like."

"You'd be really good at that," Dani said, "and you would get to meet a lot of wonderful people."

Besides all that, how many jobs are there where you get to color all day?

We arrived at Gran Jan and P Paw's on Christmas Eve, and within minutes, the girls were out climbing the trees. A breath caught in my chest when I remembered how that had worried me the year before. What if I'd gone out and said, "Get down from there immediately," or if I'd stopped Anna a few days later when she was going out to play? I remembered her saying how they played a game. Climb the tree and save the world.

I'd written it in the journal in which I kept track of all Anna's medications, doctor's appointments, and nutrition stats. In the margins and between the lists, somewhere along the line, I'd started adding my thoughts about what was happening. My prayers. My frustrations. As Anna's health issues took less and less s.p.a.ce, my thoughts took up more. It was as if a part of me that had been locked away was now being let out to breathe in the light of day.

I shared the journal with Gran Jan, and when she brought it back to me, she had tears in her eyes.

"I guess I never realized the true extent of it all," she said. "I mean, we tried to be there for you, and we prayed-G.o.d knows, we prayed for her and for you and Kevin."

"I know you did, Jan. And I know my parents did too. Daddy says my mom was down on her knees every day."

"I just keep thinking about..." She pointed to the page, drew her finger along the lines where I'd recorded the notes I hastily thumbed into my phone that day. "She says He told her, I have plans for you to complete on Earth that you cannot complete in Heaven. It's time for you to go back, and the firemen are going to get you out of the tree and when they do, you will be totally fine. There will be nothing wrong with you.' I knew He was saying she would be healed, and just look at her-after a whole year."

I still wasn't ready to say it myself, but I was ready to hear it now. I put my arms around Gran Jan and let Christmas come over me.

I will always think of 2012 as a year of amazing grace, especially when I think about where the words of that song come from. In the Gospel of John, we're told about a blind man who was healed by Jesus and went on his way rejoicing and praising G.o.d. People who knew this guy couldn't believe it. They were saying to each other, "No, that's just a guy who looks like the guy we used to know. It can't possibly be the same guy. How is this possible?"

And the man said, "I don't know. All I know is, I was blind. But now I see."

Kevin and I watched Anna's transformation with absolute awe. We loved it when doctors and nurses, teachers, pastors, and friends who'd known her all her life would come up to us and say, "We can't believe she's the same little girl."

We didn't ask, How is this possible? We just rejoiced.

Chapter Ten.

They will be like a tree planted by the water that sends out its roots by the stream.

It does not fear when the heat comes; its leaves are always green.

Jeremiah 17:8 IT'S BEEN ALMOST THREE years since Anna and I last went to Boston-two years, eleven months, and a week, to be exact-so I've lost a bit of my travel-wrangling edge. I used to have this trip down to a science, but this time, Anna and I end up sprinting for the gate. Frankly, it feels good to have gotten rusty, to have this trip to Dr. Nurko's office be so out of the routine. It's a final follow-up Kevin and I felt we needed for a seal of approval on Anna's wellness, and we felt Anna needed it for closure as she continues to process this incredibly traumatic phase of her life.

Waiting for our flight to board, loaded up with hats, scarves, and winter coats, we have just enough time to snap a mom-and-daughter selfie I can text to Kevin and post on Facebook.

"Oh, Anna, look!" I nudge her with my elbow and show her my iPhone. "Angela posted a picture of that little pipe-cleaner bracelet you made her last time we saw her."

"What? No way!" Anna giggles.

"Way, sister. Look right here."

I remember the chill that went down my spine when Annabel said, I made this for you so you won't forget me. Purple, because that's your favorite color, and pink, because that's my favorite color. And white is for peace. It was clear that Anna did not expect to see this sweet friend again. At that low moment, we thought G.o.d didn't get the memo, but it turns out the memo was for us. We just didn't know it yet.

In his book The Purpose Driven Life, Pastor Rick Warren says, "Your greatest life messages and your most effective ministry will come out of your deepest hurts." That has been true for our family in ways we couldn't have imagined-in small ways that are intimately personal and in ever-expanding circles that take us farther and farther out into the world.

And that started with Angela and the little pipe-cleaner bracelet. She e-mailed me later and told me this: "When I got home, I was talking to my children about Anna's health-physical and mental. My son went on a rant about how much he hated G.o.d and how unfair this all was, not just for Anna and her family, but for all the pain and suffering in the world. My daughters were quick to agree. Not knowing what to say or whose side to take, I went to bed. I lay there holding my bracelet, and I cried for the longest time. Over and over, I asked, What can I do for her?' Then without even thinking about it, I found myself praying. I humbly asked G.o.d for forgiveness and asked for strength and peace for Anna and her family. I felt a wave of peace come over me, and I had to believe and accept that He had a reason and a plan better than ours, so I had to just let it be..."

A moment of peace and prayer, from one heart to another-that's where it starts, and where it goes, we never fully know. After Anna's rescue, the Briaroaks Fire Department started training and equipping crews to antic.i.p.ate tight-s.p.a.ce rescues. I love the idea that she may have already helped save the life of someone she'll never meet, maybe someone who isn't even born yet.

In Boston, we're met at the airport as usual by Beth and Steve Harris. Their ministry to us has meant more than they'll ever know. I could go on about what G.o.dly folks they are and what prayer warriors they are, but c'mon-as much as I appreciated it whenever someone said, "I'm praying for you," it was the practical application of love that was life-changing for us in that moment. Anna was always glad to have Beth come and stay with her at the hospital so I could duck out for a quick shower or a breath of cold air. We were weary travelers, and the way they took us in makes me think of Jesus in the "upper room" the night before he was taken away to be crucified. His disciples gathered there to celebrate Pa.s.sover with their Lord, but they'd walked many, many miles to get there. Before they did anything else, Jesus sat them down and washed their dirty, aching feet.

That humble, loving gesture brings tears to my eyes. I have received the love of Jesus so many times in so many small but powerful ways through people like Angela and the Cashes and Beth and Steve-who are smack-yer-daddy amazed when they see Annabel galloping down the concourse in pink jeans and a bedazzled shirt that says "Love to Smile" in big sparkly letters.

Catching up over dinner, Beth says, "Anna, I can't believe you turned twelve years old in September!"

I can't believe it myself.

Anna is a happy, healthy middle schooler who wants to be a child life specialist when she grows up. She's at that pivot point in a girl's life where she dreams of seeing Paris, but she still thinks that the word chicken is completely hilarious. We told her she could celebrate her birthday any way she wanted. She thought it over.

"How about..." Anna's eyes lit up. "Pool party!"

"Doable," I said.

"But not a big party. Just a few people."

As we made the short guest list, I asked her about some of the girls in her cla.s.s with whom she liked to hang out individually, even though she wasn't part of their clique.

"No," she said, "that group of girls makes fun of other people and causes drama. I don't need that."

In addition to a few good friends who'd stuck by her when she was sick, Anna invited a little girl who was new in school and shy about making friends. She also wanted to include a little girl who'd been getting bullied and had never been invited to a birthday party. This little girl's mom actually called me to verify that it wasn't a cruel joke being played on her daughter. (You know what sixth graders are capable of.) "Oh, Lord, no," I said. "Not at all. Anna knows how it feels to be the odd one out. She just wanted to have a small group of girls who'd be chill and happy to hang out in the pool with her for the day."

That's Annabel's rubber-meets-the-road brand of ministry. You just love people, and you act on that. Today. In this moment.

That's the kind of pragmatic, service-minded ministry Kevin and I always expected to practice, so it took us a while to figure out what we were supposed to do with all this. We weren't sure we wanted to put ourselves out there when Pastor Scott asked if Kevin, Anna, and I would be willing to make a video to show to the Sunday school cla.s.ses at church and then to get up and speak in front of the whole congregation. This was not long after Anna's encounter with the cottonwood, so the changes in our lives were very new, and we were still feeling vulnerable.

But when he asked us, before I could politely decline, Annabel breezed by with a cheerful, "Okay!" Didn't break stride. Didn't wonder if she'd be any good at that. Didn't twist herself into an anxiety pretzel about what to wear or how to phrase things or who might have blah-blah-blah to say about it.

"Well, how would that work?" I asked. "Would you give us the questions in advance so I could prepare?"

"Sure," he said. "But I really want you to just be yourselves. We'll keep it casual. Conversational. You know."

No, I certainly did not know. I knew no such thing. Never in my life had I considered getting up and speaking in front of... well, figure about 250 people, three services... oh, G.o.d in Heaven. That was eight million people. Okay, 750 people, but still!

In the end, after all the worrying, it was rather wonderful.

One night when I was grilling myself, I asked Kevin, "Do you want to go over this list of questions?"

"No," he said, flipping the page of a mystery novel he was reading. "I'll wing it."

"Don't make me smack you, Dr. Beam."

"Christy, you'll be fine. He said be ourselves. I don't know how to be someone other than myself, and I love your self. I happen to think your self is pretty fine."

Our church, like our family, was going through a major transitional period. The quaint old sanctuary had been outgrown, and the new sanctuary was in the planning phase, so worship took place in a big multipurpose s.p.a.ce. The stage up front was set with a sofa and chair. Very casual. Conversational. While the opening songs were sung, I instructed myself to breathe in through the nose and out through the mouth. Finally, it was time for us to step up there. Abbie squeezed my hand, and Adelynn gave me an encouraging smile.

I don't remember what all I said; I just told the story-where we'd been, where we were now, how we felt G.o.d's hand on us. There were moments when I heard sniffles, gruff clearing of throats, and saying some of those things out loud-especially how Anna had expressed the desire to go be with Jesus-I felt tears burning in my own eyes. I used the notes I'd typed on my phone and computer to reconstruct what Anna had told me about her experience in Heaven. I wanted to get it right. Then Kevin spoke, and he pulled it all together so beautifully with the heart of our family, I felt myself welling up again.

Apparently it went well, because after the first service, someone in the congregation got on the phone and arranged for someone to be there with a video camera at the third service. I told our story again, and then Kevin spoke.

"We've been in the exact same seat where you're sitting right now," he said, "and I've been in a lot of pain. Times can be challenging and very rough, and some of you may be in that place today. I've been out there and listened to these songs that just brought tears to my eyes, as I knew my daughter and wife were in Boston in a children's hospital, and I was here, trying to take care of the other two. We've been through hard times, and we probably will have others. Certainly you have also. The thing I have found is that the faithfulness of G.o.d has been what I can count on and rest a.s.sured upon.

"I'm a positive person. I try to say, Everything's going to be okay.' But I've had to allow myself times to say that it's hard, and that's okay. When you spend three weeks living in a children's hospital, you get a different perspective on life. Many times I prayed, Lord, I can take this. Let me have what she's dealing with, and let her be okay.' I'm sure many parents and grandparents have prayed that prayer. But G.o.d had different plans for Anna's life, for our lives, for our entire family, and for your life and your children's. G.o.d knows a lot better than letting me or you write the script.

"Very few of us get to say, I sat in Jesus's lap, and I'm okay.' That's something we will cherish as a family, and Anna will cherish as her personal testimony her entire life. But even without that visual representation, He is with us every single day. I was beside myself thinking, She's been inside this tree by herself for hours. She is going to be hysterical. What is she going to be like?' She actually came out of this experience better, knowing that G.o.d has a plan for her life, and she wants to be able to fulfill her purpose in life. That's made me rethink-maybe I do need that childlike faith a kid has. Learning something from your nine-year-old daughter can be humbling and beautiful.

"We're here in church and hear amazing messages and things, and then we go home and go about our daily life. But this is something that has had a profound influence on me. This is real. This is life. It has been hard, but it's real, and G.o.d is real. It's given me the chance to learn from my daughter, and maybe go and jump up onto Jesus's lap myself a little bit."

Kevin started to hand the wireless mic back to Pastor Scott, but Anna suddenly decided she wanted to say something too. There was a brief moment of Oh, dear. She's bogarting the mic! She's bogarting the mic! Please, G.o.d, don't let her say anything about the time her daddy tipped his motorcycle over and swore his head off.

"We were rock solid till that point," Kevin said to me later. "I thought, if all of a sudden Anna says she saw My Little Pony, then-kaboom. We all look ridiculous. I handed her the mic, and I'm thinking, G.o.d, this is on you. If you don't stop it, then..."

"Then what?" I asked him.

"Then let her be G.o.d's vessel."

"I have been believing in G.o.d before I was even in pre-K," she began. "I don't hear Him every day, but I hear Him a lot. I heard Him and saw Him that day inside the tree. So I know that G.o.d is real, and I know that He has glory, 'cause if He wasn't real, I would have broken my neck when I fell in that tree. I would have died from my stomach problems 'cause I've had them since I was born. I would have not been what I am today. I'd be hurting, and I'd be dead probably, if there wasn't glory from G.o.d and if He didn't love us. He always does, and if He didn't, He would have just let me die. He wasn't going to do that. He led me to different doctors, and two or three of them actually knew how to help me. So G.o.d does care about me. And He does have glory. And He has a purpose for every single person in the world. You weren't just made for fun. You were made to be a beautiful creation. So if we all come together and we all believe in G.o.d, then I'll see you in Heaven later."

Like I said. It's about where the rubber meets the road.

A year later, Anna and I were invited to speak at a United Methodist church in Alvarado on Mother's Day. By this time, Kevin and I were certain of Anna's healing, and I was ready to claim that promise, loud and proud. But I wasn't about to do that unless it was absolutely okay with Anna and Kevin.

"I just want to get it right," I told her. "And I never want you to feel bad or uncomfortable about any of it."

"About all that stuff you wrote down, you mean?"

"Right. Anna, if there's any part of this story that maybe I didn't understand correctly... or maybe now you remember it differently... or if there's anything you'd just rather we didn't talk about..." I kept pausing, trying to give her a chance to wriggle out of any or all of it, promising her no one would be mad or disappointed. "Is there anything I should say differently when I speak in church?"

"No," she said, "that's right."

"Would you like to say a closing prayer at the end?"

"Okay," she said brightly. "Sure!"

"Great." I smiled. "Maybe we should practice that part."

Annabel gave me the tweenage whatever eyebrow look. "Practice praying?"

"Well, there will be a lot of people there," I said. "You might feel nervous. I already feel nervous, and we're not even there yet."

"Am I still praying to G.o.d?"

"Yes."

"Then what difference does it make?"

Busted.

On Mother's Day, she got up there and prayed her little prayer-a heartfelt, unrehea.r.s.ed altar call, inviting others to know the peace and love she's found with her Savior-and there was not a dry eye in the place. "Honey, I want you to know this was the best Mother's Day of my life," an elderly lady told us. Two weeks later, the girls and I were out having a mani-pedi day, and a lady approached us to say, "Are you the Beams? You spoke in my church, and it changed my life. I just want you to know, I've been going to church all my life, but since that day, I've been looking, and I can see G.o.d's faithfulness all around me. In all the ways you said. He is faithful. And now I want to prove to Him that I will be faithful."

She left us sitting there amazed and humbled. I lay in bed that night thinking about it, and a thrill went through me when I thought about being a small, sparkling drop in G.o.d's great ocean of love. That peace Angela had felt as she held the pipe-cleaner bracelet, the loving-kindness that includes a lonely little girl in a backyard pool party-the profound healing effect of Anna's miraculous story had begun to ripple out into the world.

OUR FINAL APPOINTMENT WITH Dr. Nurko is scheduled for midmorning, but Anna wakes up insanely early, excited about seeing him, excited about going to the Children's Museum later, excited about how cold it is on the streets of Boston, which are already decked out for the holidays. She's excited that the cab smells very strongly of garlic bread. She's excited about life.

Arriving a little early at Boston Children's, Anna catches sight of Dr. Nurko in the hallway, and she runs to him and throws her arms around him, squealing, "h.e.l.lo!"

"Well, h.e.l.lo... Anna, my gosh!"

"You still have your Elmo lanyard," she notes happily.

"I do, yes. And look at you!" He hugs her and smiles his great, wide smile. "Amazing! I'm so glad I get to see you."

"When it's our turn," I tell Anna, steering her into the exam room.

As the nurse prepares to take Anna's vitals, she hands me two pages listing all the medications Anna was on last time Dr. Nurko saw her.

"Could you please go over these?" she says. "I need you to review for accuracy so I can update on the computer. Just mark the ones she's still taking."