James

So often as humans we live under the impression time is endless. There will always be a tomorrow. Many a mantra or song or poem stresses the idea of living each day as if it might be your last. It very well could be. When I reflect on my life, I realize how very little of it has been shaped by me. It would be so very foolish to claim myself as the author or artist of my personhood. Who I am has been almost entirely formed by those who have come into my life. There have been the very few unwelcome who have come and chiseled away bits of my being. There have been hundreds, likely thousands of others who have instead added layer upon layer of purpose, understanding, depth, love, and beauty to who I am. While the obvious sculptors would be my parents, family members, close friends, and Sel, I am finding it is often the discrete impressions left by seemingly minor characters that define a huge portion of my being. The man recovering from a stroke who always let me hug him when I was little. The stranger who became a lifelong friend in only a matter of seconds who I would likely never see again. The professor who ignited an unknown passion who never knew my name. The extraordinarily compassionate Young Women’s leader who knew exactly what I needed to hear and feel every single week. The three high school teachers who reached inside of me and pulled out all the best parts I didn’t know I had. Or the friend who said “Hi” to you every single day in the hallway and sat with you through never ending class periods or teased you about being gangly or made you laugh or was the only 6’2, muscle bound Asian you’ve ever met. You know the one. The one you never really talked to after high school or thought of too much. The one who is now paralyzed from the chest down. My friend was in a warrior dash in Grand Rapids on Sunday. He dove into a shallow mud pit, fracturing his C5/C6 and now the doctor’s are unsure whether his body will heal. The boy I knew in high school was so extraordinarily tough it often times didn’t feel real. There was a Facebook group created for those “Who have ever been hurt by James Sa”. The funny part about the group was though James looked like he could saw through cement with his fist, he would never, ever hurt anyone (unless they were asking for it by hurting someone he cared about). I didn’t text or call him very much if at all. I didn’t spend every weekend hanging out with him. I didn’t know all the fine details about his life. Despite not doing all of these things in high school or having talked to him since, I still feel as if the layer he added to my being suddenly became more prominent, more important to who I am. I do believe in miracles. I believe who we are and what we can do are more powerful than what are bodies seem capable of handling. How many times have we heard the remarkable “I Shouldn’t Be Alive” stories. Or doctors marveling at the inexplicable recovery. I believe James can defy the fate the doctors are predicting. For anyone who reads this, can you offer a little prayer (whether you believe in God or not) that he will be the miracle I know he can be. Pray for him and his family. Pray for the people in your life who have added the fine layers that make up who you are. Pray that those who gave you a miracle will receive one for themselves.