Walking miracles . . .
Next week another birthday is rolling around and I can’t help but think about what a miracle it is that any of us are born. The circumstances that have to align in order for us to be brought into the world are mind-boggling. In fact, the odds are great that any one person will not be born. Our existence hinges on the probability of our parents meeting and their parents and so on. We are the end result of an uninterrupted lineage of life going back billions of years. Every one of our ancestors had to successfully reproduce. Think about it, the right sperm also had to meet the right egg to create, not only you, but your parents, grandparents, and so on until the beginning of time.
The thought of this and genealogy in general, fascinates me. Everyone has a story and their family has several stories about how they came to be. Each one of us is a walking history book.
I have a grandmother living in a small town outside Kansas City. She has a subscription to the Courier and reads it cover to cover every week. She is one of my biggest supporters. We all need a support system. It’s what keeps us strong, gives us peace and the confidence to be our authentic selves. My grandmother and I have a standing phone date every Saturday. She is part of the reason I am here on this earth. Her DNA is inside me and the miracle of her existence denotes mine. Her father was a Cherokee Indian from Oklahoma. Her memories and recollections of him fascinate me. He worked on a streetcar in Kansas City and survived an accident that ultimately led to his early death.
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