Spending time with my daughter with a backdrop like this–it’s a miracle, for sure!

Ever wonder why some people have a life-and-death experience and live to tell the story while others keep having the same old life? Sorry, there is nothing extraordinary for you today.

I ask because it’s crossed my mind a time or two.

Annie Lennox, anyone? It’s time for Walking on Broken Glass. It’s my all-time if-I-could-only-feel-this-good-when-I’m-going-through-a-hardship song.

It feels spiritual, not that I’m the songwriter in the family, so I reached out to Skylar to see if she’d write me a song like Walking On Broken Glass, only better. We’re going to be Walking On Miracles before long.

Maybe I’m plunging into deep waters here (but don’t I always?). All songs on the radio are about the many facets of romantic love: dreaming of, falling in, being in, breaking up with, and in Annie’s case, feeling shattered by it when it’s gone.

So can there be a song about anything else? And, if there were, let’s say, a song about miracles, would anyone listen to it? They’d play it on the Christian channel for sure. But not just Christians have near-death experiences.

So what’s my definition of a miracle? It might mean something different to you. It’s when we see a glimpse of eternal life here on this temporal scale. It has the same impact as seeing a rainbow. It’s a blessing from above that shakes us off our feet. We will never be the same because of it.

It’s that moment when we have death breathing in our faces, and we get to say, “No. Not now.” It’s unexplainable because everyone’s talking about the latest sports win or the weather. And you’re like, really? Don’t you know what just happened to me? I had a wake-up call from above, and it feels surreal, and “nobody cares” (as my friend always says).

We all had that moment when we reached past the darkness and saw what didn’t stare us in the face. We see past the suffering to something much bigger than anything we can touch, feel, and see.

We’ve been walking on broken glass for too long, and we finally remember there’s something more to life than suffering.

Oh yeah! Life’s a miracle.

When a baby is born, there’s suffering, all right. (Cursing and childbirth go hand in hand.) But at some point, it’s over, and we understand what a miracle birth can be. We’re all teary-eyed to finally hold our miracle in our arms.

Of course, sleepless nights ensue. We get tired and run down, and we forget.

But not everyone has kids. So it’s not like they get a miracle-free life. Where might that person find a miracle? Maybe they were like me (before cancer) and never even had an operation. No life and death experiences as far as health is concerned.

Health isn’t the only hardship we might have to face. Maybe it’s not physical at all; perhaps it’s mental or emotional.

Please show me that person who had a life without hardship. There’s broken glass everywhere.

So, oddly enough, we have to strip this down to the basics. We find miracles in our roughest challenges—the parts of life that have us crying, uncle. Please, stop the torture already. I can’t take anymore.

In that darkest hour, we give up all hope that anyone can help us–no one on this earth can, not even the romantic love that all the songwriters coon about.

Maybe you’ve had your moment. It’s terrifying, dark, and lonely. We don’t talk about it much. Who would? Everyone’s too busy talking about the weather.

A fan once asked Wilt Chamberlain, “How’s the weather up there?” Wilt spat on him and said, “It’s raining.”

When someone’s talking about the weather, there are better times to bring up our suffering or, in the case of Wilt, our height differences.

But in the darkness, we see a tiny shadow.

In despair, we follow it. We have nothing on earth to hinder us. So we let a mere shadow be our guide.

And then we see the light. It’s so strong we’re blinded and disoriented. We are still determining what we’re even seeing.

Ah, that near-death experience everyone always talks about but never happened to us. Here it is!

Everything’s so magnificent, so glorious. We fall to our knees, forgetting that anything earthly ever mattered.

It’s our miracle–that place on the horizon where heaven meets earth.

But now it’s time to come home, but where’s home? But maybe you have unfinished business, and you return to earth.

The grass is so green and glorious now. The colors of the autumn leaves are so magnificent that the fiery red sunset brings together pinks, oranges, reds, greens, and purples, which you never would mix in one outfit unless you were a clown. But life’s glorious because you’ve seen the other side of it.

Now you understand.

You see all the problems of life with a new lens. There are miracles everywhere you walk. Everything that seemed fractured, like broken glass, is glistening now.

Now you have your chance to walk through life and not forget; you’re not walking on broken glass anymore; you’re stepping on one miracle at a time.

So now, if Skylar writes this song and Alexandra composes the music for it, you’ll understand what it means.

That near-death experience taught us there’s more to life than a fight. What are we fighting for anyway, and why was Wilt Chamberlain spitting on people?

We’re walking on one miracle at a time—a stairway of miracles; no more broken glass.