A Miracle in Our Midst: Why This Easter Means More
Easter has always been a time to reflect. A time to remember the hope and miracle of Jesus—how He conquered death so that we could truly live. But this year, Easter feels especially personal for our family. Because over the past three years, we’ve lived through a story we never expected. One that’s tested us, shaped us, and ultimately reminded us that miracles still happen.
Our son Jett was diagnosed with HHT, a genetic condition that causes abnormal blood vessels (AVMs) to form in the body. In his case, it meant two brain surgeries to correct life-threatening AVMs—and then last fall, doctors found four more in his lungs. We were told it would take at least two procedures to go in and repair the damage.
We were heartbroken but prepared ourselves the best we could. We prayed. We stayed hopeful. We held onto faith.
But when the doctors went in to start the lung procedure, they couldn’t find the AVMs.
They were gone.
The places that had clearly shown up on scans… had vanished. No surgery was needed. No explanation other than this: God stepped in. And He healed.
But Jett’s story wasn’t the only one unfolding.
Because HHT is a genetic condition, my wife Leasa had to be screened as well. Her scans revealed that she too had AVMs in her lungs—ones we were thankfully able to have treated and removed successfully.
But during those same scans, something else was revealed. Something unrelated. Hidden.
They found a tumor in her jaw.
We went through the full process—specialists, scans, biopsy, cancer screenings. It was one of those moments that made the world feel small and heavy and uncertain. We learned that if the tumor was cancerous, it would have to be removed—no question. And because of where it was located, right near a major nerve, surgery would have left Leasa with permanent facial paralysis.
We prayed. We waited.
And by God’s grace… it was benign.
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t ask why us?
Why our son?
Why my wife?
Why this much?
But looking back, I see God wasn’t punishing us—He was protecting us. Guiding us. Writing a bigger story. One we never would’ve chosen, but one that’s marked by His presence through it all.
This Easter, we’re not just celebrating an empty tomb. We’re celebrating lungs that are clear. A tumor that was benign. A face that still smiles. A son that breathes freely.
We’re celebrating the truth that God is still in the business of miracles—not always flashy, not always immediate—but real. Personal. Undeniable.
So whatever you may be walking through right now—whatever weight you’re carrying, whatever questions you’re asking—know this: God hears you. He sees you. And He loves you more than you can imagine. So much so, that He sent His only Son—not just to die, but to rise again—so that we may live. Not just someday, but today. Right now. With hope, with peace, and with the kind of love that never lets go.
He is risen.
He still heals.
And even in the hardest moments, He is still good.
Happy Easter—from our story to yours.