The browning Christmas tree awaits its final fate at the curb. It’s the kind of grey January day that signals the return to schedules, alarm clocks, routine. I like it. I find beauty in the constants. But after weeks of family sleeping everywhere and tripping in line outside our one bathroom, an aching emptiness throbs in my throat.

This is a story of courage, perseverance, and victory. A shy six-year-old little Hunter first came to me, his teacher at children’s church, with a depth of soul that squeezed my heart. He climbed my lab and searched me eyes for something only he knew. We became friends, and I sensed it was a precious honor.