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was one of the best goalies in collegiate soccer, a transfer student, same as Emily. The two had been assigned the same residence hall, but they hadn’t met until yesterday at the soccer orientation meeting. They sat next to each other and snickered at the same bits of sarcasm from the coach. By the time they realized they were in the same “res,” as the others called the residence halls, they were on their way to becoming fast friends.
    Emily finished unpacking and sat back on her bed. The summer would be a full one. She had chosen PLU for two reasons. First, the scholarship included tuition, room, and board — entirely based on her soccer ability. Second, it put her on the West Coast, closer to her parents and her grandmother — who was selling the house she’d grown up in and moving to Southern California to be near Emily’s dad’s parents — people who had been best friends with her grandparents until twenty years earlier.
    A cool breeze drifted through a small window screen, bent and dirty from age. Between the gentle wind and the photographs she was unpacking, Emily’s thoughts drifted back in time. Twenty years earlier, her parents were teenagers, juniors in high school in Illinois. When they came to their parents and told them they were expecting a baby, life as they’d known it completely fell apart. The adults — Emily’s two sets of grandparents — grew angry and distrustful, pointing fingers of blame for the scandal. Her dad’s parents thought they solved the problem by moving to Southern California.
    Of course, the move solved nothing. Emily’s mother tried every day to locate her boyfriend, and days after Emily was born, her mother set off for California. Only after Emily came down with a dangerous case of pneumonia did her mother turn around and head back to Illinois. The next day, after holding vigil at her bedside all night and finally going home for a few hours of sleep, her mother called the hospital to check on her. But something went terribly wrong. Emily’s mother was connected to another patient’s nurse, who informed her that her infant daughter was already gone. Her mother figured that meant Emily was dead.
    Overtired, riddled with guilt, her mother determined never to forgive either set of parents for separating her from the boy she loved. So once again — this time alone — she set out for California and never looked back. Not until Emily finally tracked Lauren down and contacted her in Afghanistan last winter, did she know her baby girl hadn’t died from pneumonia that day, but rather had lived.
    The reunion took place last December in the days before Emily’s papa’s death. The Galanters came to Illinois, and they and Emily’s other grandparents finally made peace with each other.
    The scent of lavender mixed with the breeze and filled the room. Emily smiled. The fact that her grandparents’ friendships had been restored was one more part of the miracle. And now, in what could’ve been her grandmother’s most lonely days, she was living just down the street from the friends she’d spent two decades missing.
    Everyone was back together, and in just a few short months, Emily would stand up at her parents’ wedding. The event would be the culmination of a lifelong dream, something Emily had prayed and wished for all her life. Ever since the wedding plans were in order, her schoolwork had come easier and her soccer playing was better than it had ever been.
    She took hold of her foot and stretched the muscles along the front of her leg. It was as if now that her life was whole, now that her parents and grandparents were at peace, she could finally focus all her energy on her own life, on the gifts God gave her.
    Emily checked the clock on her dresser. Nine-thirty already. Practice was in half an hour. Though the season wouldn’t officially start until fall, they had six weekend tournaments scheduled between now and then. Practices were from 10 a.m. to 1 p.m. every day.