Last week I was working my way through a mountain of documents and paperwork, tired of the whole thing and wishing I could just burn it all. Tax documents? Who cares. Yeah, yeah, I know, the minute I throw something away I’ll get one of those nasty letters from the IRS telling me that I’m not really a writer, just a hobbyist, and that I owe them every bit of the deductions I’d taken five years ago–yeah, they do sometimes search past the three year period, but I’ve been there, done that, proved them wrong. Twice. So what are the odds they’ll try again?

Still, I was really sick of the whole thing.

But  just as I was ready to find a book of matches or a lighter and have a bonfire, which would probably have lit half of Nebraska on fire with all the wind, I came upon something unexpected, something I hadn’t seen before. It was a very old booklet kept by Mel’s paternal grandma, and in it were pockets that held Mel’s report cards throughout his school years, lovingly signed by either his mother or his father.

I was touched to see that someone recognized what a special young boy he was, and what a wonderful man he grew into. In fact, one of the notes by one of his teachers made it obvious she had never had a student like him–and that’s in a good way.

I knew all these things, of course, after being married to him for over 22 years, but it warmed my heart to see that, intellectual that he was, and bullied though he might have been, he turned into one of the kindest, most insightful, brilliant men I’ve ever known.

I enjoyed reading through each report card (He made me promise not to reveal that there was one time in his school career that he did not make an A) and reading notes and comments about him–nothing I didn’t already know.

His grandmother kept this booklet faithfully throughout those 12 years. That is, until his final year, his big finale, when he was hugely successful in his more intellectual pursuits, and had good reason to be proud. You see, he knew since he was ten that he was going to be a doctor when he grew up, and he excelled at science and math and read every medical journal he could get his hands on. He also loved English, debate,  and could type faster than anyone his teacher had ever seen. So well rounded.

His senior year, when he was valedictorian of his class and had the world at his fingertips, there was no report card in the pocket. Nothing  about his senior year.

It wasn’t until I glanced over at a picture of his father by the wall in the den that I realized what had happened. That sweet grandma who had kept her grandson’s school records all those years? Her own son died. Mel’s father fought cancer for seven years, taking his treatments, swallowing his pills before he went out to plow on the farm or milk the cows. Mel’s senior year was the year his father succumbed to that cancer. Their lives flew apart, and so did the life of Mel’s grandma. When I realized this I just sat and cried for that  poor lady and the young man who never got a chance to have his father sit out in the audience watching his valedictory speech.

So many years have passed. We know Mel’s father is with his mother in heaven now. Not long after his father died, his maternal grandparents died within six months of each other, casting a pall on the family that had hovered in the background for seven long years.

I don’t know how I’d have recovered from that. I think we’re realizing now, more and more, that one doesn’t recover from such a tragedy. One finds a new normal. Mel struggled as anyone would, but he never lost sight of his dream. Ten-year-old Melvin wanted so badly to be a doctor so he could heal his father. That passion still drives the grown-up Mel. Helping people heal is one of the driving forces in his life, and it makes him who he is.

My passion is writing. It’s what gets me up in the morning. Mel and I are both Christians, and we hope our testimony reveals itself in our chosen professions, because God drives us to our passions.

What gets you up in the morning? I’ve heard a lot of people say they don’t actually have a passion in life. I say dig a little deeper and find it. Maybe it’s hidden. But don’t stop looking. Never stop looking. Never let the tragedies in your life keep you from living your passion.