Every so often, a moment in life opens a window into a world of depth and beauty that runs counter to our culture's customary search for pleasure and "success." I experienced such a moment at a service for a young Carmichael man with a congenital heart condition who died suddenly at the age of 20.

Born with a heart the size of a thumbnail, the baby was not expected to live more than a few weeks. At 10 days old, he had open-heart surgery – the first of three open-heart surgeries and numerous other operations he was to have over his short life, some of which damaged his throat, which affected his speech.

So Peter O'Ran – handsome, with penetrating brown eyes, a glint of a grin gleaming through them – was a little "different." His parents wanted him to have as normal a life as possible, so, in spite of his learning disabilities, they and his teachers arranged a special education aide so that he could attend classes. The boy worked hard to overcome his learning and physical challenges and graduated from Rio Americano High School in 2008, one of the proudest days of his life.

When Peter's parents first learned the devastating news of his condition, they asked, "Why us?" But later, they turned the question into, "Why not us?" They had compassion, deep faith, and a large extended family for support.

For years, never knowing how much longer their son would live, his parents took him to ballgames, supervised his medical care, and brought him on his treasured family vacations to Santa Cruz and Lake Tahoe. In the decade that I worked with his mother, she never once complained about the disruptions to her life due to his many medical needs.

Peter loved sports, attended Kings games regularly, was a wrestling devotee, and memorized numerous details about his beloved teams. He loved to watch his older brother play baseball. He always wanted to play sports but because of his condition, he couldn't. So one day, Peter dressed in a blazer, brought out a chair, and said, "I'm just gonna be the coach." He suffered and smiled, his brother told us.

He lived with great passion. He loved family and friends unconditionally. He had tons of companions on Facebook. He clapped with gusto during his favorite shows, a habit that annoyed his cousins until they found themselves clapping too. In spite of his trials, he laughed and made you laugh. He loved to dance. His last experience was dancing, for which his family was grateful.

More than 650 people attended "Miracle Pete's" Celebration of Life. His father said that if Pete were there, he would look around, wide-eyed, and say, "Are all these people here for me?" his voice rising in the high-pitched rasp left by one of his surgeries.

Why did so many people come, and so many weep? Because a chord deep in our soul is touched by the unique value of a life beyond the borders of our cultural stereotypes of an "important" life – something that reaches us from another dimension. He touched a place in our hearts rarely reached and stretched our notions of inner strength.

A special-needs child is often considered a burden, but Peter taught us that such a child is a blessing.

"Coach us, he did," his aunt said.

The boy revealed that those who are different are a gift. We think we must teach them, but they teach us. He taught courage and cheerfulness in adversity.

"I was his hero, his role model," his older brother told us, but in fact, "he was my hero, my role model. Now he's up there playing sports, going out with girls, and I'm here suffering. But I'll suffer and smile, like he did."

Peter brought out the best from doctors, nurses, teachers, and neighbors, who dedicated their energies to his well-being.

He taught us to treasure life.

"Eat Chinese food every Monday," as Peter did, his father said. "Once you like a song, play it over and over again. Watch 'Friends' all by yourself and laugh out loud. When you have adversity, think of his image. Be kind to people, especially those who are a little different from you."

In a culture that so often extols self-indulgence, Peter taught us the deep fulfillment of devotion to another.

He taught us that life's toughest blows can turn into its greatest bliss.