My sister is a miracle. And not just in the figurative sense. By miracle, I mean word for word:

mir·a·cle

ˈmirək(ə)l/

noun

noun: miracle; plural noun: miracles

a surprising and welcome event that is not explicable by natural or scientific laws and is therefore considered to be the work of a divine agency.

Yeah, what Google said. And no this isn’t a story of infertility or a metaphorical retelling of what a blessing my sister has been.

This is a story of identity and faith, a story of an unbelievable wish come true, a story that started with a five-year-old who desperately wanted a playmate…

Now that five-year-old was me (you don’t say?), and five-year-old me had long since decided that a sibling was the best playmate to have. It was a desire that became especially prominent when my other friends fell asleep on their brother or sister in the car after beating them up, while I sat relatively unscathed and alone.

And this loneliness was something I wanted to change. Fast. So I proposed, quite brilliantly, to my parents: “I think I should have a sister.”

Cue expectant puppy face.

Their reaction was exactly what you’d expect. They gave me a measured look and said carefully, “Well sweetie, why don’t you ask God, and we’ll see. Siblings aren’t something you can buy from the convenience store.”

And naive child I was, that implicit ‘no’ completely flew over my head. I believed.

Now my belief wasn’t anything dramatic, and my desire for a sibling certainly wasn’t either, seeing as a good portion of my day was dedicated to being in crazy-land. But that little truth planted in my head manifested every day at 8 p.m. sharp, when my family gave thanks for the meal.

“Remember to pray for a sibling,” I’d whisper urgently, whether the occasion was public or private (you can imagine my parents’ hardships).

And I did this for the next two years. Two whole years of urging my parents as well as praying by myself: “God, I want a brother or a sister.”

And two years later, voila, my mom was pregnant. Now before you hit me over the head with: “No shit, people have kids!” let me say: this isn’t the miracle.

Or at least, not the miraculous part of the miracle.

See, that came after, once I started imagining what my brother or sister would be like. Because when my mom first told me: “Congratulations sweetie, you’re going to have a didi (brother) or meimei (sister)!” I thought it was my choice of which one I wanted to have.

Consequently, I decided on wanting a sister (after my mom told me twins were too much work).

And for the next eight months, my prayer became: “God, please give me a sister.”

Naturally, my parents were apprehensive of my expectations, because scientifically, I had a 50 percent chance of being disappointed. And this chance increased even more when I thought that perhaps, my sister could share the same birthday as me.

But in nice, Asian coddling, my mom broke the news: “No, she’s going to die.”

Thinking that it was just the month that was too early, I immediately responded: “Then how about May 1st?” It was a date that was over 2 weeks earlier than my sister’s due date, but my mom eventually answered with maybe.

A huge maybe.

And for the next seven months, my prayer became: “God, please let my sister be born on May 1st.” (Though at the time, we had no proof if the child being a girl at all.)

This was a ridiculous idea still to my parents, because heck, they wanted their baby born alive. But when the pains came on the around April 30th, the impossible suddenly didn’t seem so impossible.

It became a miracle. My sister, covered in blood and other miscellaneous fluids, came out on May 1st, not even an hour after 12 a.m.

Hence, her name was Grace. For by the grace of God, she was. She was exactly who I had asked for, exactly who I had imagined (and trust me, babies do look different). She was my first and most obvious glimpse of God. She was God's grace to me (harhar but no really). And though at the time I didn't truly understand the concept of religion, I approached it with the purity and mind of a child, free of doubt.

I asked, believing. And God answered, like he always does. Not immediately or in any way others expect, but over time, with love, and for the good of us and his glory...

And for the next eleven years of my life, my prayer became: "God, thank you for my sister, my miracle, my faith, all these which have grown to be, not because of my strength, but because of yours."

Amen.

And to think that if I had liked sports, I might've had a brother named Grayson instead.