When God Gives You A Child With A Disability

November 12, 2021

From the first moment you discover you’re going to become a mom, you’re praying your child will be born perfectly healthy and beautiful. You have hopes and dreams for your baby. What will my baby look like? Whose personality will she have? Will he have talents like mine or his dad?

The last thing that most mothers are consumed with is the possibility of having a child with a challenge, with a disability. 


Sometimes, God gives you a child with a disability. It’s not what you feel prepared for and not what you prayed for. You might be shocked, angry, or sad. The fears, the uncertainties, and the doubts set in. What if I can’t handle this? What if I’m not good enough or patient enough? What if I can’t give her what she really needs? What if I mess it all up? Not to mention the guilt and the loneliness. What did I do to cause this? Who can I turn to?  Your whole world is different than you had been imagining. 


But, overtime, something starts to change. Something deep in your heart, in your being, begins to transform. Through the trials and emotions, you begin a refining process, smoothing your rough edges. Your flaws start to be supported by grace and start to strengthen. When God gives you a child with a disability, He molds you in ways you couldn’t have imagined.

Your eyes become more watchful. You watch everything about your child. You watch for things and people to avoid that could harm her. You watch for extracurricular activities to enhance his strengths, and those that help strengthen his weaknesses. You sometimes just know. No one is more watchful than a mother.


Your soul becomes more courageous. You finally find your voice. And that voice gets the message across, and people listen. It may school the experts at meetings and appointments. No one has a more courageous roar than a mom at an IEP meeting or an appointment in which her concerns are being dismissed. And, if they don’t listen, you get a second opinion. You’ll surprise yourself with your boldness. You’re the best advocate your child can have. Hands down.


Your mind becomes more knowledgable. College reading has nothing on the reading you do. You learn what therapies work best, which medical interventions you should accept, and which educational goals you should suggest. You know, by heart, the parent rights, and you even quote them when you’re challenged. The experts of our children are us, not the professionals we hire.

Your soul becomes more hopeful. Your mother heart is able to hope for things that some say are impossible. You may have to hope beyond what your child can hope for. When not even the experts can see it, you have a clear vision of hope. You know it can get better and that things can improve, even in the most subtle of ways. 

Your arms become more comforting. Your child may cry or be overwhelmed with what he cannot control. The tears that come down in those private moments at home are heartbreaking. Your arms are soothing tools to anchor your child in the storm. A gentle embrace may be all she needs.


Your hands become more prayerful. The prayers of a loving mother are powerful and precious. Sometimes you pray for a miracle. And, many times, you pray for small progress. Seemingly small steps are such a huge victory! You pray for the right specialists and the right answers. You pray that your children will have a good day and that they’ll have good friends. You pray for things other parents never have to pray. Those prayers remain in our hearts even when they aren’t in our minds. Our whole mothering heart can be expressed in a tearful prayer.


Your heart becomes more loving and forgiving. We may have lived life striving for perfection. What happens when things suddenly are outside of our own efforts. Your genetics, the vitamins you took, the vitamins you didn’t take, the not praying hard enough, the things you didn’t know at the time, all the what ifs. We can drive ourselves crazy playing the self blame game. The fear that we somehow caused this disability in our child is the worst fear a mother can have. When we allow God to work through our flaws as mothers and our imperfections, that’s when grace takes over. And we need grace to do this kind of mothering. Learning to forgive and love ourselves is one of the best gifts we can give our child. Our children with disabilities need to see us loving ourselves despite our imperfections, so they can love themselves with their own. 


When God gives you a child with a disability, it’s not because He knows you can handle it. He knows you can’t handle it on your own. But, with each roadblock, tearful prayer, challenge, and triumph, He transforms you more and more, like the wonderful Potter He is, into the mother He planned for you to be, even before He placed your intricate child in your womb (or in the biological mother’s womb). You are a wonderful mother of a wonderful child with a disability. God made your child for you, and He made you, mama, for your child.

A Check-In

April 17, 2021

“Thanks for checking on me”. I think I said those words, or something similar, maybe a couple of times last year, while the headlines rolled and the outcry roared. It’s 2021, and the headlines are crashing again. Times like these are what make me miss my pastor the most. Our pastor was one of the few that went out of his way to check in on us. One of the few. When families were being followed home and harassed and badge wearers were more than just verbally criticized, our pastor didn’t rant and rave, he didn’t lecture or rattle on. He didn’t run out and buy a thin blue line something or other. He didn’t share his favorite snarky meme. He asked how he could pray. He asked how we were. He listened and cared. He encouraged. Oh, Pastor Larry, how we miss you!

It’s odd to have so much conversation about law enforcement with only a couple of real check-ins. It’s times like these I wish he could call or text. Losing a pastor at the end of 2020 was more than devastating. We lost our back up. Our counselor.

There’s a lot of opinions and arguments over facts. There’s a lot of one liner memes. There’s a lot of name calling and blaming. But there’s not many check-ins or prayers. It’s been a bit since we’ve had one.

It’s a strange and lonely position. To learn to Netflix and chill alone. To schedule your whole routine around when he’s home, awake, or both. To attend holidays alone. To feel disturbed by the headlines and lose sleep. To have to pray, “please God, keep our daddy safe and keep us safe” with your kids on the days he’s at work and to pray “thank you, God, that our daddy is home with us” on the days he’s off. We’ve not had a prayer without those words. To debrief him after a trauma he’s seen. When was the last time you had to debrief your spouse? To trust that his 20 something dollar an hour is enough for wearing a bullet proof vest. To be a family of color and a law enforcement family. To know you won’t be understood by either side of the coin. To have to trust that God called him to wear the badge during this decade and have to rest in His sovereignty. To go 23 hours or more without even a text. To love the sight of his unlaced boots and the sound of the velcro. To have your financial advisor tell you that you REALLY need life insurance in case something happens to him and not if something happens to you. To hope others see you as a person. To know that the only other people that understand are fellow law enforcement wives. To never wear anything that marks you as an law enforcement wife when in public, or really ever.

Check in with us. Call us. Actually ask how we are doing in regards to the headlines. We don’t want to hear if you think the officer was wrong or right, because our thoughts will change based on the circumstances. We don’t need you generalizing things in either direction. Because, at the end of the day, you may be able to forget and move on to the next topic, but we don’t. He’s still the one that took an oath. He’s still called in someone’s worst hour or worst day. He’s still the one responding to a trauma or arresting someone that doesn’t want to go to jail, even if they need to. And I’m still the one that held the Bible. I’m still the one managing the home (good thing I’m good at it), the calendar and finances, our kids, our social life, schedules, my own career, and, all the while, praying for grace, protection, peace, and the wisdom to simply know the difference.

Netflix and chilling by myself

You Just Gotta Look

September 20, 2020

“You just gotta look”, my mom would say throughout my young life. And, without fail, she would move something and there would be the item I was looking for. Easy as that.

My mom could find anything and always knew where something was. It seemed like a mysterious superpower. A sixth sense. An eyes-in-the-back-of-her-head sort of thing. She could find anything. How did she do it?

The mystery was solved when I became a mom. I find myself repeating it to my husband and my kids. “Just look”. And, without fail, I can point out the hidden in plain sight ketchup in the refrigerator to my husband. “Have you seen my (fill in the blank)?” And, without effort, I had a picture of the exact spot of my husband’s item that I had seen earlier. Photographic memory. All my life, I had been told men were visual. Marriage proved that was a complete lie. They just don’t see it.

And when I’m not helping my husband find things, I’m helping the kids. “Where’s my other shoe?” “Where’s my soccer ball?” “Where’s my mask?” “Where’s this one picture I drew weeks ago?” I hear it all. Somewhere along the way, I’ve become the mysterious finder. I wasn’t trained in it, I didn’t sign up for it, and I didn’t become credentialed in it. Aneece Alicea Licensed Mental Health Counselor ,oh, and Expert Finder. Can I bill for my services?

I’m not sure what it actually is. I hear many men and women confirm that this is the case. No study needed. I see it play out in front of me when I see other families interact. Mom always knows. Is it intuition? Is it the Holy Spirit? Is it neon sign vision that points the way “It’s over here”? I’m really not sure. I can tell you what many moms can tell you. Sometimes, you just know.

Then, there’s things you may never actually find. Some priceless, sentimental things that came up missing. I had looked everywhere like the woman with the lost coin. Restless until I find what’s lost that’s mine. “Am I crazy? How did I lose these things? It can’t really be missing.” I never lose anything, and I don’t give up easily. No answer I could come up with made any sense. How did that many items suddenly come up missing? I searched high and low until I prayed “God, show me what happened.” I can’t say I was prepared for the answer. “No, it can’t be. Am I hearing this right?” But with each disbelief, was a clear, point back to the answer. Not long after, the answer was confirmed. And just like that, the truth can be found. The truth can be hard. It can be ugly. It can be painful. But I had my answer. I definitely wasn’t crazy. Sometimes, moms can just hear the answer, we can hear the truth.

But the knowing and the finding can also bring delight. I recently purchased a chandelier for a great bargain. It gave me just enough glam. When I pulled it out of the box to install it, I realized there were droppers missing from the sealed box. 31 of them. The store I purchased them from didn’t have them. I searched for a new chandelier, but no one was selling one for the deal I had purchased it for. But on a hunch, my mom went into an antique shop. And, what did she find? The exact type of droppers and the amount I needed. She found them on her first try. The store I purchased the chandelier from gave me a refund for the price of the droppers. Perfect. My mom has always been the expert bargain finder. Her skills did not disappoint.

Is it intuition? Is it a coincidence? Is it a genetic feature that we come with preloaded? I don’t know exactly what makes moms such great finders. But I know, if I need something to be found, I can rely on my mom. And I hope my kids feel they can rely on me to find what’s lost. To find what’s gone. To rescue their broken hearts with answers and honesty. To help them find the truth. And I hope, most of all, that I help them find their truth in Jesus. And that they come to know that God has never given up on finding them, even when they feel lost.

Mom Put Magic In The Christmas Stocking

December 23, 2019

Growing up, the Christmas stockings were the best part of Christmas morning. My brother would also agree. My mom would search for the perfect, meaningful gifts all year and at various places. “I got that while your dad and I were out of town”. My mom was always thoughtfully planning to make our stockings special, before Christmas was even a thought in our heads.

Each stocking stuffer was carefully wrapped, waiting to be uncovered by kids wondering what Mom had put in there this time. I’ve unwrapped mini 90s shimmery lipsticks and flavored lip balms. Novelty school supplies, such as a pencil topped with a vial of polished stones, because my mom knew I loved collecting rocks. There was also an oversized eraser with the printed phrase “Homework Causes Brain Damage”, because my mom knew what a struggle the school year had been and that I needed a laugh. Before there were fidget spinners and fidget blocks, there were my mom’s stocking stuffers. Mind puzzles that took fiddling with your hands to solve and items that quietly kept your mind busy. And for a kid that had an anxious mind, it felt like mom had put magic in the Christmas stocking. And sometimes there literally was magic in my stocking. I had a love for the art of illusion, optical illusion and the art of performance illusion. With dreams of growing up to be a professional illusionist, unwrapping magic tricks made my imaginative heart happy. To believe just for a moment that magic was real…

But for the observer, the stockings may have appeared to be filled with pointless, meaningless things. What a waste of time to spend all year on such small things. The perception of the observer and the perception of the giver and receiver can be worlds apart.

At the first Christmas, Mary had been fleeing for her child’s life when she gave birth in a stable. I’m sure it appeared less than magical. But for Mary, I’m sure it was more than magical. It was miraculous. Giving birth to her first child and holding him for the first time. Do you remember holding your baby the first time? The warmth, the smell, the joy. And not just any child, but the Savior. Mary was the first one to receive this beautiful gift that God had planned long ago. And this gift isn’t just for Mary, but is for each person on Earth. Tailor made for each of our needs since the first wrong. And for the receiver of Jesus, is found an abundant life for eternity. To have sins washed away, to have the promise of eternity, and to have the storms of anxiety calmed is more than magic. To the receiver, Jesus is a very welcomed miracle at just the right time.

And now I’m the mom filling my own kids’ stockings with perfect, meaningful gifts. Things that they love and make their hearts happy. I’ve come to understand that there was more than just magic in my stocking. There was Jesus. My mom had been pointing me to this precious gift the whole time with her thoughtful planning, love, kindness, and care. And my hope is my kids can find the magic and miracle of Christmas. I hope that I have pointed them to Jesus, especially in the smallest of ways. Even in their Christmas stockings.

When You See My Dog

December 11, 2019

When you see my dog, you may see an animal, but I see someone that is family.

When you see my dog, you may see a dog that’s loudly yapping at anyone that walks by, while leaving smudge marks on my window, but I see my guardian angel looking out for me.

When you see my dog, you may see an inconvenience, but I see a faithful, reliable, true friend.

When you see my dog, you may see a dog licking my face any chance he gets, but I see someone that loves me back.

When you see my dog, you may see just one more thing I have to care for, but I see someone that takes care of me.

I won’t deny my dog does doggy things and has his own quirks that are less than desirable. But what you don’t see are all the reasons he’s with me. The times I’ve cried, the times I’ve been ill, the times I’ve been anxious, the times I’ve grieved and been heartbroken. The times I’ve been filled with endless joy. The feelings of comfort and love my dog brings me that an observer can’t see but are real to me. They say that a dog is a man’s best friend. But have you ever seen a dog mom? She always has her dog by her side (more like in her lap). He knows no one loves him like his momma does. Because as much as I care for my dog, he always cares for me more. My family has me, and I have my dog. And I’ll be his person until the absolute end.

My Husband Is My Bestie

November 3, 2019

When my husband and I were first getting to know each other, I could tell he was really into me. No, he really had it bad. So much that he pointed me out to his dad and declared, “I’m going to marry that girl one day”. Of course, I didn’t know any of this until much later. But I could feel something was building, and I had to squash this idea immediately by making a declaration myself that I wanted to be friends. I had no idea what I was really saying, because a friendship was exactly where it was headed and was exactly what I needed and wanted. And not any friendship, a best friendship.

My husband is my bestie. He’s my best bud, best friend, best companion. This is coming from a girl with a lot of amazing girlfriends, many of more than ten years and some of more than 30. Some knew me as a kid, went through college with me, and walked me through break ups. These are girls I can call upon and rely on. But none of those friendships I have compare to the friendship I have with my husband.

I enjoy living each day with him. We love being alone and look forward to our monthly dates. We have a similar vision and similar goals, we share favorite songs and shows, we have a ton of inside jokes, and we even make the same joke at the same time, his stated more loudly, of course. I look forward to telling him about my day, even giving him the most trivial detail. I enjoy hearing about his day too.

They say love is blind. But I think true love allows the other to truly see. To truly see each other. I’m honest with him, even if it means the honesty may start a fight. It’s worth the risk and worth being accepted even after truly being seen. And just like besties, if we get into a fight, we find a way to make up again.

My husband is my bestie. I cheer him on, and he cheers me on too. It’s not a competition. It’s a friendship of mutual respect and admiration.

People sometimes treat marriage like you can’t lose it. They treat it like it’s a guaranteed forever, a vow that can’t be broken. And although you may decide to stay married, you can lose the friendship. Have you ever lost a best friendship before? I’ve seen many walk through divorce and the saddest thing about a dissolved marriage isn’t when the divorce is final, it’s when the marriage on paper is no longer a friendship. I don’t want to lose my best friend, even if we stick it out and stay married for life.

So, as cheesy and annoying as it may seem, we’ll continue to wear matching colors to weddings, we’ll finish each other’s jokes, and we’ll say “I need to check with my spouse first”. It matters that my husband is my bestie. Being each other’s best friend is the greatest benefit a marriage can offer. I choose each day to keep my husband my best friend, my confidant, and my person I check in with and tell everything to. I’ll make this friendship last through the end and will work each day at being his bestie too.

So, if your husband is your bestie too, hold on tight, cherish him, spend time with him, have fun together, pray for him and with him, listen to him, tell him how much he means to you, stay connected, believe in him, don’t keep secrets from him, and choose him each day. Take that risk to be vulnerable and honest. Make it a friendship that lasts until the end. And not just a friendship, but a best friendship.

To The Have-To-Work Moms

October 29, 2019

“I just wish you could stay home like I did”, my mom said while I was on a short maternity leave. And she wasn’t wishing alone. I wished I could too. It was a heartbreaking understanding that I accepted quickly in motherhood. I was going to be a working mom. But not just a working mom, a have-to-work mom. A woman whose husband had a humble paying career and a schedule, in which I high five my husband when he walked in, because it was his turn to parent alone. Fellow have-to-work moms know what that means without even an explanation.

To my fellow have-to-work moms, the ones that feel the pressure to provide. Who go without so her kids can have. Maybe your husband is a teacher or is in law enforcement like mine. Maybe you are a single mom who’s worked hard alone. Maybe your spouse is sick and cannot work. Or maybe there was a major job loss or financial hit. Whatever the case is, your household survives on your income.

You’ve heard the, “if you trust in God, He’ll provide a way to be a stay-at-home mom.” 9 years in, I’m still here waiting. And maybe you’re waiting too. Or maybe you love your outside job and have no plans to stop.

To my fellow have-to-work moms. To the ones that would love to stay home but can’t budget that one in. Or the ones that would still choose to work, even if finances were different. To the ones that just want the option. To the ones that say, “my husband works hard so I can too”.

To the ones that have missed school parties, Easter egg hunts, or bedtimes. To the ones explaining to their kids that mommy has to work. To the ones that are there when they can and still takes care of her family’s needs.

To the have-to-work moms, want-to-work moms, and stay-at-home moms.

You’re doing a beautiful job. You are refining under pressure. You are loving your kids. You are upholding promises. You are what your children need.

Don’t forget to take time for yourself. Don’t forget to love yourself. Don’t forget to forgive yourself. Don’t forget to find someone to talk to. Don’t forget to pray about it. It’s a lot of pressure that you shouldn’t muster it alone.

God will provide for you. He’ll provide you the grace to get through, the forgiveness when you mess up, the comfort when you’re hurting, the companionship when you feel alone, and the strength when you need it. He is faithful to help you do what you have to do, because He’s the want-to kind of Father.

When You Call On Your Brother

October 13, 2019

If you ever met my brother and I, you may think we are complete opposites. His favorite 90s music is alternative rock. Mine is 90s R&B. He’s black and white. I’m 1 million shades of gray with a ton in between. He’s more structured, and I’m more fluid with lots of “it depends”. He studied engineering, and I studied psychology. He understands numbers, and I understand people. He’s skilled at fixing and building things. I’m skilled at communication and words. I assess people, and he assesses houses. He voted for Trump, and I’m accused by him of voting for Hillary, no matter how many times I explain I did NOT (even though I didn’t vote for Trump). Yep, that sums it up.

And this goes way back. You can ask our mom. I can remember having very different interests as kids: I would spend hours listening to music and indulging in artsy stuff, and he would spend hours doing whatever nerdy numbers things he was doing. We had an elementary teacher once make the mistake of assuming we were just alike. It didn’t take her long to figure out that I’m not my brother. Even to this day, we have very different interests. I don’t think my brother gets what I do (even though science does, in fact, back it), and this may be the only blog post of mine he’ll ever read (if he even reads this). And I’m grateful there are people that are into that kind of a thing he’s into, because that kind of thing is dull and boring (even though it’s necessary).

Do you have a sibling? Maybe he or she is just like you. Or maybe just the opposite. Maybe you’re twins, or maybe you seem like you were raised in different homes or in alternate universes. Whatever the case, it doesn’t matter how similar you are. If you vote the same way. Or view life with the same lens. It matters how they respond when you call. Do they listen? Do they show up? Do they encourage or pray? Do they calm your anxious head?

My brother was the only one in my family I could practice learning how to drive with without losing my nerve. So, it makes sense I would call on my brother when I needed an ally the most. The time I had someone bothering me at school and needed a big brother to step in. That’s all it took. The time I was 800 miles away from home at college and hurting from a bad break up. It was very late. The time I was trying to get to know the cute guy at church, and he called him to come over. The rest is history. The time the cute boy and I were buying our first house, and we needed input. And the times we needed help doing a home project, because I married someone too much like myself.

When you call on your brother. If you have a sibling you can call on, be grateful. Some have losses and some have less than healthy. If you’re blessed like I am, you’ll have someone that’s there. If you’re lucky, you’ll have someone that shows up. And if he calls, you’re there too. Because it doesn’t matter if you fully agree or don’t agree at all, it just matters that you answer each other’s calls.

Daddy and The Carousel

September 13, 2019

“Oh, my gosh. She is so cute and so tiny. How old is she?” Our youngest daughter has always attracted a lot of attention because of her size. I’m tiny, and my husband isn’t tall. So, it makes sense we have 3 petite kids. But our youngest is the tiniest. No, really, super tiny. She’s on her own growth curve, and her percentage size is always an estimate: <3%. She was small in the womb with no medical reason. She was small at a full term birth: 5 lbs 6oz. And she’s small now as she turns 3: growing into 2T clothing. She does all the things other kids her age do and with a confident spirit. She does not seem phased by her size. She reminds you she is not a baby. She is sweet, darling, and tiny but is a force to be reckoned with. Being small has given her the extra boost to be assertive. And she’s in good company.

It was summer and fair time. Our family looks forward to our fair every year. We get there early to avoid the entrance fee, bring a ton of water, eat lots of fair food, get the ride wrist bands, and stay until the sunset. That’s how you do the fair. This year, our girls hit some milestones. Our older one could ride some of the bigger rides. Our middle one could ride more rides without an adult but with her big sis instead. And our little one was finally just big enough to ride more rides than the carousel and the big slide with her dad. Yep, she had to grow into the baby rides.

I took the two bigger kids to a kid coaster, and my husband took our littlest one to the carousel. I peered over to their direction to see if I can spot them. Did she choose a black horse, maybe a white one, inside or outside. That’s when I spotted them sitting on the carousel sleigh bench.

Afterward, I asked what happened, and my husband explained that our littlest one was too scared to be on a horse, despite her previous excited pleas to ride the carousel and despite her dad securely holding her. She had been on carousels before and was great. But this time, she became afraid and didn’t remember how big her daddy was. There’s no way in the world my husband would ever let her fall. He would risk breaking something before that would even happen.

Her dad has always rocked her, held her, comforted her. He held her as a newborn in the hospital and held her in her other hospital stay. He’s playfully thrown her up into the air, as daddies do, catching her with her grin and giggle. He’s danced with her, pushed her on swings, helped her on tricycles, held her hand navigating big playgrounds, and caught her at the end of slides. He’s even held her on the big fair slides. And those are fast! But this moment, it seemed, she was looking at how small she was, how big the carousel was, and not at how big her daddy was.

How you ever forgotten how big your Heavenly Father is? I know I have. He’s walked with you and held you through hardship before. He’s made things change in your favor before, maybe even done a miracle. Suddenly, you are looking at how big your problem is and forget about God’s strength, sovereignty, and love for you. Will God keep me safe? Is He really there? What if I lose this job? What if I lose my spouse or my kids? What if I lose everything? Our worries can haunt and plague us. In our hardship or our sorrows, we can easily lose sight of the One that holds us close and dear. The One that calms the storm, sometimes on the outside and sometimes just on the inside. We forget how big our Daddy is. It takes actively seeking Him to remember all who He is when the storm comes. When life’s carousel of ups and downs takes us for a ride.

Some time later, I took the big girls again to another big kid ride. And my husband took our littlest one back to the carousel. This time, when I looked over, I saw her happily on her horse of choice. No tears. Just a happy cheesy grin with her daddy. Her eyes were off of how small she was and off of the fearful what-ifs but were now on her strong daddy: the one holding her securely through the ups and downs.

The Day My Husband Became A Superhero

June 15, 2019

Artwork by MDCN

My husband is a superhero. Yep, you heard me right. My husband recently became a police officer. It’s been a dream of his since he was little. To protect and serve. “Why do you want to be a police officer”, he was often asked. “I want to help people”. Simple as that. He began applying fresh out of college. His passion for law enforcement never died despite some early disappointing misses. Throughout the years, he never shook this nagging feeling. Have you ever had dream unrealized? A desire you can’t shake? An unanswered prayer? An unanswered question? “Why didn’t that work out for me?” 

Until one day, with his birthday deadline approaching, he asked me, “Do you mind if I give it another shot?” And without hesitation, I replied, “Go for it.” And that was it. Something transformed in him. Something was reignited. This unrealized dream was now turning into a plan. An achievable goal. And it had to work. He was the old guy. This was it for him. All the late nights at the gym. The meal planning. The practicing interviewing. The praying. Becoming a police officer is not something anyone just stumbles into or tries out. It is an intentional lifelong service. A sacrifice. You are never really off the clock. Some sit on hiring lists for years. And some never make it. It has to be in your soul, and you have to blood, sweat, and tears it. God created the vision, and my husband ran hard with it. Many ask, “Why on Earth would you want to be a police officer this day in age where people don’t value, don’t respect, nor do they trust authority?” His answer has remained the same: to help people.

I was the first person he called when he got the news. I shared the news with our kids. “Daddy did it!”, our middle one had shouted. I had the honor of holding our Bible while he swore his oath and the honor of struggling to pin on his badge (it’s way more difficult than you think). The privilege watching him graduate from the Academy with a broken ankle and all! Still, so handsome in his uniform. The pride. The honor. The courage. The call.

But what if this was just a job? Just a title. What if his uniform was just work attire? What if his squad car was just another vehicle? What if 51 was just a number? What if his badge was just a fancy piece of metal? Because what if the badge doesn’t make the man, but what if the man actually makes the badge. A symbol is just a picture without the character to carry it.

What if the day he became a superhero wasn’t just when he took the oath or when he graduated but were also all the times before? The times he’s made his parents proud. Superhero. The times he’s helped people move, and he doesn’t even own a truck. Superhero. The moments he realized his new baby was a girl and the first time he held each of his girls in his arms. The late nights changing diapers and rocking sleepy babies to sleep. Superhero. The times he’s taught his girls to ride bikes and play ball. Superhero. The birthdays he went all out for and games and events he never missed. Superhero. All the times he lights up a room and makes that whole room cry from laughter. Superhero. The times he’s walked neighborhood dogs home, held doors for people , and returned other people’s grocery carts. Superhero. The time he pursued to take the oath when others turned the other way. The time he broke his ankle and returned the next day to finish what he started. Superhero. All the times he’s been the listening ear for family and friends. The times that he’s honored his wedding vows. The times he has cheered me on too. The times he’s followed God and brought his family to church when it’s easier to stay home. Superhero. There will be more to come. More times where he’s the first one on the scene. The one called on people’s worst days. The one having hard conversations. The one providing aid and direction.

I can’t tell you what day he actually became a superhero. I don’t think you can really pinpoint it. It’s more of a gradual transformation. A daily way of being. I just know he already was one when I met him. And now he has the badge.