By any measure, everything was going well. The dental practice was booming. Pam and David owned a lovely home, drove nice cars, and took frequent vacations. With their spare time and money, they pursued personal hobbies, which for David included flying lessons. Soon he was an instrument-rated pilot and took the plunge to buy his own personal plane.

The couple was living the dream, flying around on weekends, visiting friends in other cities, and even flying to nearby Philadelphia for dinner or haircuts when the fancy struck.

All this was made possible by their education, hard work, grit, and…no children to drain them of funds.

But in early 1983, an unexpected event changed all that.

Lee, David’s best friend from perio school and a fellow periodontist practicing in California, was in an airport shuttle bus in Mexico when a drunk driver crossed the highway center line and slammed into the bus in a head-on collision. Lee and two others were killed.

Lee was the last person this was supposed to happen to.

He was vibrant, high on life, and a “teddy bear” friend – the kind of guy you just wanted to hug. Lee was in his late 30s, just hitting the prime of life, building his career and enjoying the fruits of his labor after many years of education.

His death was a complete shock.

Pam and David attended the funeral in California on a Tuesday in March. The trip was a whirlwind that took them from the East coast to the West coast and back again, all while they were reeling from the sudden loss of their friend whose life was not too dissimilar from their own.

As they traveled back to Pennsylvania, David reflected on a few observations he’d made in California: Prior to Lee’s untimely death, he was at the top of his career. His brand new Mercedes Turbo Diesel had been parked in front of the funeral home. He had just placed a deposit on a piece of land in an exclusive housing development. His interests and pursuits seemed appropriate for his station in life, and prior to his death, his life mirrored David’s in many ways: Make as much money as possible and spend it all on yourself!

But none of these material goods mattered now. Lee didn’t have any of them anymore. They were all left behind.

On the flight back from Lee’s funeral, Pam turned to David with a question, “I wonder where Lee is?”

David’s answer would surprise her.

Full of fresh energy and new ideas, David and Pam’s new dental practice quickly made news in the small town of Williamsport, Pennsylvania, as they began to wine and dine the local dentists and build a business from scratch. After renting an apartment for a few months, they bought a small house in town for a couple years. Although the city bungalow was a place to call their own, they felt drawn by the “Mr. Blandings dream house” concept and soon had purchased a property that included 168 acres of rolling land, a modern barn, and a traditional 95-year-old farmhouse.

From a small house in town…

…to farmlands in the country.

They gutted the house (which did not have a pre-existing kitchen) and lived amongst the construction debris while managing many of the renovations themselves.

They added all custom finishes and furnishings throughout, transforming the old house into an executive home.

Before

During

After!

Times were good, and David purchased a brand new white Cadillac for Pam, mainly because she looked so good driving it.

David had his own preferred form of transportation – his personal plane:

It was all going according to plan. At least, it was going accordingly to David’s plan – earn lots of money and spend it all on yourself. There were no kids to spoil this dual-income-no-kids strategy. That had all been covered on the first date.

Pam brought up the topic of kids once, and David responded in a neutral manner to confirm that his position had not changed. Several years later, in the early 1980s, Pam brought it up again, testing the waters. This time, David’s response was swift and severe.

“If you want children, we should get a divorce!”

Pam never brought it up in conversation again.

Within two years of meeting, David and Pam were married. In what David would later describe as the best wedding he’d ever been to, they were married by a Jewish rabbi in a hotel in Philadelphia, surrounding by family and friends.

The wedding ceremony was simple and fairly non-religious – David was a non-practicing Jew, and Pam was a non-practicing Christian. They danced and partied and filled the night with their huge smiles and loud laughter.

Following the wedding and honeymoon on Paradise Island, the pair set off to open up a brand new dental practice – David as the periodontist, and Pam as the managing hygienist. Location was the key – where would these two set up their lives and livelihood? With possible options ranging coast to coast in the U.S., the couple weighed their choices: They could pursue life in California, following in the footsteps of David’s Jewish cousins. They seriously considered Atlanta for a hot second, even touring possible facilities and looking into licensing requirements, all while being charmed by the Southern hospitality. And then there was David’s home state of Connecticut, where his immediate family all resided.

But Don, Pam’s dad (also a dentist), recommended that they consider Williamsport, Pennsylvania – a town in a rural part of the state, situated halfway between Philadelphia and Pittsburg, that was under-served in the periodontal field. Maybe it was the prospect of being a big fish in a small pond, or maybe it was the proximity to family in the Northeast, or maybe it was just the familiar Pennsylvania dental licensing requirements. But whatever the underlying reason, Williamsport won the practice lottery in this round.

The real reason the couple landed in Williamsport, PA would not reveal itself for years to come.

Although it’s hard to find a true beginning to this story, the place I like to start is on a first date.

David and Pamela met at the University of Pennsylvania. Pam was part of the undergraduate dental hygiene faculty and David was a postdoctoral dental student. While passing through dental hygiene clinic one day, David spotted Pam “across a crowded room” and promptly asked the program director nearby who she was.

“Oh, that’s Pamela,” said the director. “She’s lovely, isn’t she?”

And so David, with his thick mop of black-brown hair and his equally thick mustache (all too appropriate for 1974) managed to arrange a meeting and ultimately score a date with a pretty little lady with a winning smile.

That first date started off pretty chill. Just a casual coffee at McDonald’s (thanks to a college-era budget) to get to know one another. It all seemed very light and benign until David pulled out the big guns.

“Do you want to have children?” he asked, catching Pam totally off guard. (How’s that for a first-date-getting-to-know-you conversation starter?!)

“Because if you do,” he continued, “we shouldn’t get involved. I don’t want to have kids!”

For David, children were a deal breaker. Even the consideration of children was a taboo topic.

Pam, pulling from her years of classical ballet training, maintained her poise under the pressure from such a weighty question from this soon-to-be dental specialist. She may not have realized it, but the couple’s future depended very heavily on how she answered his question.

She had grown up very active in her high school, captain of the cheerleading squad, secretary of her class, crowned homecoming queen, and on the go with lots of extracurriculars and social engagements. She had danced for years, pursuing ballet for the sheer love of the discipline. She had recently graduated from the University of North Carolina and was now teaching at an Ivy League school, focused on her career and shaping the next wave of hygiene students. She was in her mid-twenties and living in Philadelphia, enjoying all that life had to offer.

Now she was on a date with handsome older student who appeared to have a bright future ahead of him. And of all things, she was being asked about her family plans.

To put it mildly, David’s question was from way out in left field. This was not typical first-date chatter. But it seemed critically important to him, and his question required an answer.

“No,” she replied, “I’m not all that interested in children either.”

There would be a second date, after all.

And that’s the first miracle.

Stories. They’re how we communicate what has happened. How we preserve the memories we’ve created. How we reflect on our past to appreciate our present. How we change our future.

I grew up hearing my parents tell “their story” to dozens of people. Every time they had a dinner party, I heard stories about how my parents met, how they started their business, how they found their house. But the story that impacted me the most was the story of how I came to be. How a couple who intended to be childless ended up with four children.

Without that story, I literally would have never existed. It’s a story of an unpredictable chain of events. And that chain of events changed the course of my family’s history forever.

That’s what makes it a miracle. Or rather, a whole string of miracles.

Now I have a child. I want him to hear these stories. I want him to be fully aware of his family tree and know what it took for him to be a part it. I want the stories of these miracles to be passed down to the next generation. I want to preserve the past for the benefit of our future.

So as I act the part of a family historian, I hope that these stories encourage you. The miracles we have experienced are real and they are life-altering, but they’re not exclusive to us. They’re just a fraction of what Jesus has done in our lives and what He’s continuing to do throughout the world today. We thank Him for the work He’s done in this family, and we thank Him for the miracles we have yet to see.

So Axel, this series is for you and for all who come after you. This will help explain where you came from, how unlikely it was for you to even be, and how many lives were affected in the process. I hope reading these stories build your faith in this great big God we serve. Because without the power of His love in our lives, you wouldn’t even be here.

Axel, this story is the miracle of you.