Author’s Note: This is the business section so I’m going to tell you the meaning up front, but I’m using a story because only stories can communicate intricate meanings. None of this story is based on people or places in reality.

This is a story about the power of love.

There once was a man named Mike, an architect, well thought of by his community. He was born and raised there, in Charleston, to church-going parents who raised him well.

So well, in fact, that it took Mike years to finally learn just how much he thought of himself. Sure he had flaws, but they weren’t apparent to him until he and his wife had 3 miscarriages.

The babies they lost formed a wall between them, and he and his wife fell apart. She withdrew into herself and he threw himself into his work, setting new goals and driving for greater projects.

His office was successful, setting records for firms their size. He hung awards on the walls and worked long hours, a faithful leader. But his team resented him, and he knew it.

One day, stuck in traffic, he thought about his wife and the plans they had for their lives. He was 35 now, she was 36. Kids were fading along with his hairline and grand dreams.

As traffic started to move, his truck was hit from behind by a semi. The police report later said the driver had a heart attack and the truck never stopped.

Mike woke up 3 weeks later in the hospital, and his first thought was for his wife. She was there, by his bed, asleep. He grunted, she came to, and they wept together.

She held up a mirror and he saw himself as if for the first time. Beard needed trimming, hair a mess, his eyes red and other-worldly.

He had a hard time remembering which was real—his life before the accident, or the memories of his dream-state, memories defined by his childhood, church life and studies.

His wife rushed around with the nurses to get him food and magazines and his phone, and the whole while he sat there and reflected, riffling through his childhood memories like they were wonderful memories belonging to someone else.

Later that night the doctor told them he could go home in a few days.

His wife of 12 years, his wonderful wife, drew in close to him and they held each other. Time stood still as they shared each other’s embrace and affection.

He looked into her eyes and saw her like he’d seen her that day 12 years ago and he knew he could never explain it, but that he was thankful for this accident.

After a few weeks he went back to work, slowly. His partners and employees greeted him warmly. His desk had been kept clean for him and he realized he wasn’t sure who did the cleaning anyway.

He realized he didn’t know much of anything about anyone else.

His calendar was already cleared, so he set a schedule for himself to get to know each member of his team at the firm like he wanted to be known. If God wouldn’t grant them children, maybe these were his family.

Over the next 20 years that firm grew at a steady pace, never achieving Mike’s grand dreams, but they changed. Mike treated each person as if they were his child and he loved them. Some didn’t respond well, others took time.

But as each year passed, the firm changed until finally they treated each other with love. Their clients benefited, of course, and so did their families. So did their world.

Every year was new as each person bought and paid for this lifestyle of love. Mike paid for it with hospital time, time he was thankful for, but each person paid their price too.

While love is voluntary, it isn’t cheap. But it will lead to the miraculous.