MIAMI - The base of the Christmas tree in Carlos Boozer's home is surrounded by a stack of presents, a mass of colorful paper and bright bows that are being torn into this morning as Boozer and his family celebrate their Christmas together.
    Boozer isn't sure what is under the tree for him, but he knows his most meaningful gift isn't there. It is running at him through the living room, a pint-sized tornado of smiles and giggles and pattering little feet.
    No power voltage in the world could make the lights on their Christmas tree shine brighter than Boozer's eyes do when they settle on the whirlwind of joy tearing through the house.
    "Boom Boom," he says. "Where you going?"
    Dad's arms are the usual destination for 18-month-old Carmani, who tracks his dad throughout the expansive house like a defender on the basketball court, dodging would-be screens of toys and furniture to stay near him.
    It's here, in the middle of a luxurious home overlooking Biscayne Bay, afforded by Boozer's six-year, $68 million contract, that the Utah Jazz power forward has found his true Christmas joy. He watches Carmani laugh and play. His dump trucks, the stack of toys by the infinity pool that anchors the back plaza of the house, the big flat-screen TV that is showing "Finding Nemo," and even a visitor's camera are all objects of Carmani's wandering attention.
   

"He has always been a happy kid," Boozer says. "Thankfully, that didn't change."
    Thankfully, hopefully, other things about Carmani are different.
    Carmani is well on the way to recovery from sickle cell disease, an inherited disorder that makes red blood cells abnormally shaped. Consequently, the cells have a hard time passing through small blood vessels and can cause immense pain, blood clots, anemia and even death. As carriers of the sickle cell trait, Boozer and his wife, CeCe, unknowingly gave Carmani the disease. They were determined not to give him a lifetime of torture within his own body.
    They took a chance on a relatively new surgery: a bone marrow transplant that meant killing Carmani's deformed cells with chemotherapy and replacing them with normal stem cells taken from CeCe's umbilical cord after she gave birth to twins Cameron and Cayden in July.
    Carmani was in the hospital 40 days, all of which CeCe and Boozer spent with him.
   
    Test of faith
   
    Forty - it's a recurring number in the Bible that often is associated with trials and tests of faith. The Earth is flooded for 40 days and 40 nights, Jesus is tempted in the desert for 40 days and 40 nights and he spends 40 days on earth after the resurrection.
    As she sits in her kitchen, CeCe's eyes tear up at the memories of their own 40-day trial, days when she and Boozer watched their son get so sick from chemotherapy, their strong religious foundation was tested.
    After Carmani was released, Boozer rejoined the Jazz and left CeCe alone with the children in Miami, an arrangement they had had since Carmani was born because the high altitudes of Salt Lake City make the symptoms of the disease worse. CeCe admits the times being left alone with her fears were the hardest.
    "There are times when things are going wrong when you find yourself mad at God," CeCe says. "You ask why do these things happen, why are we going through this and what is the point when he is back and forth in the hospital and we're thousands of miles from each other with nothing in sight of us being reunited. You start to feel like you are being put in bad situations to lose your family."
    But Boozer and CeCe survived their test and are stronger for it. Together nine years, they have a newness in their relationship and a deeper understanding of God's grace.
    Last year for Christmas, Boozer gave CeCe a recommitment ring as a reminder they were still connected even while separated by distance. The way the two finish each other's sentences, tease each other and look at each other for confirmation in their opinions show how that connection remains.
    "Getting through something like this makes you stronger and brings you closer together," Boozer says. "We were already close and good friends, but it has made us a lot stronger now and even better friends."
    Carmani isn't in the clear yet. Only four months into a yearlong recovery period, he'll be tested and closely monitored as his body recovers from the procedure that left him ravaged. So far, all tests show that the bone marrow transplant successfully replaced the abnormal cells with normal ones. Because of the transplant, his immune system remains compromised and the couple's home must be sanitized every day. Everything has to be wiped down with antiseptic wipes. Fresh flowers are banned because the bacteria the water harbors could make him sick. The Christmas tree has to be fake, too.
    The feelings, though, are real. Boozer hasn't seen his kids since Thanksgiving, and he is reveling in the few days he has at home. He is running errands, going to the grocery store with CeCe to get items for Christmas Eve dinner, taking Carmani to the movies and acting as a human jungle gym for his three kids.
    They're all everyday activities the couple appreciates more after the disease robbed them of such normalcy during the last year and a half.
    "Last Christmas, we were just trying to find doctors and people who would help us," Boozer says. "That is why we are so thankful now, absolutely."
   
    Richness of life
   
    Fiercely competitive, Boozer has a new perspective for basketball. Winning a game is great, but watching his son throw rocks off the edge of his dock, his laughter rolling like the ripples on the bay, is more satisfying than any victory.
    "We try to win basketball games to the fullest, but at the end of the day, if your family is doing well and everyone is healthy, what more can you ask for?" he asks. "You never know what can happen to your family, and they are the most important thing."
    By this afternoon, Boozer will be on a plane bound for Salt Lake City so he can practice with his teammates in preparation for Wednesday's game against Dallas.
    His bachelor-like life in Salt Lake City is nearing an end. CeCe and the children will join Boozer in Salt Lake City in January now that Carmani appears to be cured.
    "It has been a long road," CeCe says. "Being home alone wasn't easy, and as long as the next appointments go good, we'll all be together. At least now we're hopeful. The nights are hard because when the kids go to sleep, that is when you feel very lonely."
    In his Miami home, Boozer has all the prizes of a typical NBA star. He has the multimillion-dollar view, a home movie theater, a fleet of luxury cars with his jet-black Escalade, Bentley and Ferrari. He has a nanny, a chef and a guest house. The lavish rooms above his garage are adorned with all his career souvenirs, everything from a piece of his old high school gym floor to a signed Duke national championship ball to his 2004 Olympic bronze medal.
    "I like to keep basketball away from us," he says, explaining why his main house is devoid of basketball mementos. "Over there, that is just us."
    'Just us,' - this Christmas Boozer has a better appreciation of the value of such a normal Christmas. His talent lets him buy virtually any object he could ever want, but it took the gift of a disease to truly give him life's richness.
    "The money, cars, private planes - all of that is great, it's crazy," he says. "But when it comes down to it, nothing beats having your family together and healthy. Having that makes this Christmas the best ever."