Christmas Miracle

by Jay Donald Wiseman

  She pulled the quilt up around her shoulders and walked over to where Ben was sleeping on the couch and pulled the quilt off his head so he could breathe better. He was lying face down and all she could see was his unruly reddish hair—something he had inherited from his Scottish ancestors, her father always said. She needed to get him into his bed, but he was too heavy to carry.

  “Ben,” she whispered softly in his ear while ruffling his hair with her fingers..

  He didn’t respond so she gently pulled the quilt off him. That made him hunch up in a ball and pull his arms under his body.

  “C’mon buddy, you need to go to bed.”

  Slowly he got onto his feet but just stood there in a stupor with his eyes closed.

  Rachel smiled at how lost he appeared to be, then put her arm around his shoulders and walked him toward his bedroom. While he stood teetering next to her she pulled back the covers and nudged him to lie down. She decided not to undress him but did pull off his shoes before covering him up. He hadn’t said a word and promptly fell back to sleep.

  As she left the room it struck her again. What will Ben do if he wakes up to no Christmas? What if Dad doesn’t make it? What if there has been an accident? She sighed.

  She walked back into the living room and looked at the tree that the three of them had decorated. It looked the same way her mother had always done. This gave her comfort and a sense of closeness to her mom even though she wasn’t there. She was also planning to cook a Christmas breakfast of Swedish pancakes, a tradition handed down on her mother’s side. She had already baked the Scottish short bread like her father’s McTavish’s side earlier that afternoon. Doing things the same way as her mother used to direct made her feel good and warm as if her mother was there to answer to. She leaned against the corner of the wall placing her head against the wood molding and paused looking more intently into the living room bedecked with all of the decorations along with the tree trimmed with the same ornaments as with previous Christmases. A smile formed on her lips and for a moment she slipped into the dreamy past where she didn’t have the empty hole in her heart. Her mother’s influence was clearly visible bringing back many sweet memories. As she shifted her weight to reposition her feet the veil of reality clouded her vision of cherished memories evaporating her temporary joy. She couldn’t help but feel her heart sink with the emptiness left by the reality of her mother’s absence.

  The drafty old house was not well heated. It had a coal-burning furnace in the basement, but coal was also rationed so the immediate heat came mostly from a wood-burning cooking stove in the kitchen. She turned around and went to the stove and opened the fire door. She stared at the mesmerizing bed of glowing coals as they would often issue a hiss and a little spurt of flame when they found a pocket of sap. Then she loaded some more wood into the opening and watched as it flared to life. The heat not only warmed her face but also gave her an encouraging outlook which made her forget for a moment her anxiety. It won’t be long until he gets here, she assured herself.

  She thought about what she could do if her dad didn’t make it back in time. She was well beyond the age when Christmas was still magical and mysterious, but at seven years of age, Ben was still a believer, although he was growing just a little skeptical. After the crushing loss of their mother the previous year, Rachel wanted him to keep his innocence for at least this Christmas, which was now only a few hours away. What could she do?

  Just then, like a flash of genius, she remembered that two brethren from the branch had brought over a sack of apples and some Vermont maple syrup as a gift and Ben didn’t know about them.

  Having a bright, red apple Christmas morning would be a real treat. The demands of the war had made fresh fruit including apples scarce and expensive in the stores. These apples, one of the men had said, came from his family orchard in Vermont. Each year he made a traditional visit to bring back enough for the winter. They had been kept in cold storage and were, he assured, especially crisp and juicy.

  “Yes!” Rachel whispered, “Fresh, crisp apples will be an excellent surprise treat for Ben.” She went to the kitchen pantry and found a basket, which she lined with a red and white cotton gingham cloth napkin. Then she got the sack of apples from the enclosed back porch and polished six of them with a towel to fill the basket. The shiny red apples shone in bright with the color coordinated red and white design of the napkins. This isn’t quite what Ben is expecting, but at least it’s something, she thought, as she covered the apples with another napkin the same as the bottom and laid the basket under the decorated tree.

  She then went back to the rocking chair and sat down pleased with her resourcefulness while covering herself with a handmade quilt her mother had quilted. Remembering she needed to get more wood for the stove, she hurriedly tossed the quilt aside and went back to the dark and cold back porch where her dad had made a substantial pile of split logs. She gathered up an armful and dropped them into the wood box at the side of the stove then wrapped herself up in her quiltt again and sat back down in the rocker. Staring at the glow from stove, she let her mind wander. She thought about the presents Ben might not get, and how getting a lot of presents was not that important to her anymore. Two years before, while her mother was sick but still able to function a little, Rachel had watched her mom and dad as Ben was tearing away the wrapping on a Christmas gift she knew he really wanted—a pair of twin-holstered, Tom Mix’s toy six-shooters. Her parents were sitting close together on the couch, holding hands. And each of them was smiling with delight at their little boy’s enthusiasm and excitement.

  Rachel was twelve years old that year and just beginning to discover how enjoyable it is to give someone else a present. She had saved her money and bought what she thought were special gifts for her mom and dad—some inexpensive perfume for her mom and a pair of cufflinks for her father. In the midst of her own excitement Christmas morning she had suddenly remembered the gifts for her parents and hurried to hand each of them a wrapped package. She watched with anticipation as they opened them, then she glowed with happiness as they hugged her and raved over her thoughtfulness and generosity. For a few moments she had forgotten herself and her own gifts. She remembered thinking, Maybe it really is better to give than receive, as her mother had so often told her. Thoughts of her mother again permeated her heart as she thought of how her mother had lived. Her mother seemed to always be concerned with others and ministering to their needs. Maybe this was a source of her positive nature. Rachel used to think that doing service just didn’t give one time to think about one’s self, but when she was polishing the apples and just after she placed them under the tree she couldn’t help notice how good it felt. It wasn’t just forgetting about one’s self, it really felt good! It was a good thing to do. It was true that she wasn’t concerned about herself at that point. Yet, it had nothing to do with being too busy. It was a genuine good feeling knowing the joy that others would have because of her act.

  Chapter 4

  Wrapped in her blanket, Rachel sat in the darkness of the kitchen. The only light in the house came from the candle she had lit in the window and the glow from the isinglass window of the cooking stove. Outside the storm continued to rage. Still worried again about her father’s late arrival she concluded that there was nothing else she could do but wait. Her train of thought went back to the pondering of giving gifts at Christmas time, and the desire to know the meaning of Christmas came strongly to her. Why do we celebrate the birth of the Son of God the way we do? What is Christmas really all about? She thought again about her mother’s curious statement: “Christmas is a good time to pass through the veil.” Why would she say that? How could it be a good time? How could dying be thought of as good in any respect? It was a holiday for having fun and making good things to eat, exchanging presents, being with family, and it just didn’t make sense for her mother to make such a statement. Passing through the veil at Christmastime, didn’t allow her to enjoy any of these holiday festi
vities and those that were still here would be missing her.

  Of course Rachel had heard and knew the story of the first Christmas. She did understand that Christmas was the celebration of the birth of Christ, the Son of God, but she could not fully comprehend its significance and magnitude as it related to her mother passing through the veil. She only understood that everyone should believe and live good and honest lives as set by the example of Jesus, like her father always said. The religious part of Christmas had never meant much to her and now she was wondering again what Christmas might have to do with the timing of her mother’s death.

  All of a sudden a vivid recollection came into her mind. She remembered,

  Seek and Ye shall find.

  Wow, where did that come from she wondered. But where do I seek and what am I looking for?

  Rachel’s mind was racing now. Another long-forgotten thought came to mind:

  For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten son …

  Her eye brows furrowed as she stared at the golden glow of the fire drifting out of reality into a thoughtful trans. It was if her mind was suddenly opened up witnessing the nativity story with feeling and clarity. Her heart was being drawn into a whole new dimension. The first gift was love, embodied in the baby Jesus she thought. She had never considered this and always thought that the first gift was from the wise men. She remembered how she felt, giving gifts to her parents and a few moments ago placing the apples under the tree.

  She experienced a sudden flicker of shame at how unaware she had been of her parents’ love for her and Ben. Her father worked hard to provide for the three of them. Unpaid medical bills still soaked up much of the money her father earned at the bank, so they didn’t live extravagantly. She thought about the portrait of her mother she had drawn for her dad, wrapped with old newspaper pages and placed under the tree last Christmas; suddenly seemed so meager. But, she had nothing else to offer. She thought about how much she had always taken for granted and tears spilled onto her cheeks and dripped to the floor as she held her head down.

  Remembering the last days of her mother’s life here, she put aside the memories of the suffering and focused on the essence of her mother’s words. Her mother had made a promise that she would always be with her even if she should go from this life. Even though her mother wasn’t there Rachel still loved her and felt that her mother still loved her. Love, she thought, doesn’t die—it is too important and too strong to just disappear. These were things Rachel had never given much thought to, but alone in a drafty, old house, on Christmas Eve, sitting in near darkness, made her more introspective than usual. God’s love must be the same if not much more. Love has a lot to do with Christmas, she mused. It opens up a new dimension of giving and caring during the holidays. Gifts, it seems aren’t the only reason for giving, but just the token of the love behind the act.

  Rocking back and forth in the rocker time seemed to have stood still. Gradually she could hear the squeaking on the floor penetrating the stillness that surrounded her. She didn’t know how much time she had been there contemplating the pure love at Christmas time. It was then that she realized the wind that had been howling outside had stopped. She tossed her quilt aside and went to the front door and opened it. The large snowflakes were falling softly in the stillness of the night settling on the landscape. The single street light down the lane cast its limited glow and the frosted limbs of the trees stood as quiet sentinels in the dark. The silence created a feeling of reverence and peace that was interrupted when she thought again of her father and where he might be. She wondered again if his Ford with its bald tires would be able to make it from the commuter station to their house, if the train from the city was even able to bring him that far.

  She glanced at the clock. It was 11:30 now but even so her mood lightened a little with the thought that the train was most likely delayed because of the storm. Her dad had promised faithfully that he would be there for Christmas and that he would bring presents with him. Rachel knew that his word was something that could be counted on and that he would be there if he could. She had never known him to break a promise. He had often said that “Your word is the measure of who you are, and that honesty is based upon truth which is the foundation of everything.” Knowing his commitment to his word, Rachel knew it would have to be something out of his control that would prevent him from being home on time.

  Her dad had been going to the big city for training to become the local bank manager in King’s Point where they lived. When he first came to the rural town, the bank had been cooperative in letting him relocate because it was beneficial for his wife’s health issues. The local branch president was now moving to the main branch in the city for a promotion and because of her father’s work ethic and job proficiency, the bank now wanted him to be the new branch president at King’s Point. He wanted this position because the bank was only a half mile from both home and the schools. Being the branch president would offer him more freedom to come and go should the need arise which benefits offered him peace of mind. However, lately it had been hard on everyone because he was away from home so much on account of his training at the bank’s main office in the big City.

  Rachel was beginning to feel the cold so she slowly closed the door but left it unlocked in case her dad didn’t have his key. She came back to the warmth of the stove and used a poker to stir up the fire. She then added more chunks of wood, closed the door and sat back down in the rocker and wrapped herself with the blanket tightly around her neck and shoulders.

  Her thoughts began to return to her mother and what her mother had called her “testimony.” Rachel thought it strange that her mother had said she knew the gospel was true. When Rachel asked her how that was even possible, her mother told her that a testimony is a gift from God and that she had gained her testimony only after studying, fasting, and praying. She urged Rachel to do the same, but when Rachel’s prayers were unanswered for her mother’s recovery, her feelings of God’s indifference kept her from following through with her mother’s advice.

  Still, whenever her mother would talk of life after death and her eyes would glisten—even when she was very ill—it made Rachel wonder if there wasn’t something to this faith that her mother never surrendered or was it given and just not understood?

  She thought about a saying often quoted by her mother, “Faith does not grow in the house of certainty.” Rachel mulled that over but decided she didn’t really fully understand its meaning.

  Rachel may not have enjoyed her mother’s gift of faith, but there were other, more practical things Rachel had learned from her mom that were becoming more apparent since her passing. She learned how to be patient and uncomplaining in taking over greater responsibility for the home and for Ben. Rachel had been surprised at her reaction to dealing with the annoying “boy stuff” Ben would do and the things he would drag into the house from his explorations, which she would have to clean up afterwards. She also recognized that she was caring more about whether he was happy, had clean clothes, and had enough to eat. She soon came to realize that boys have hollow legs and contents of their pockets were not predictable. She had even ventured to become an expert cookie maker for Ben’s benefit. She had found a new source of joy and accomplishment, yet she was still bothered that the other girls would be doing activities at the school, while she had to tend to the family’s needs. She had moved, at least a little, from self-concern to concern for others. She was astonished to discover the load that her mother carried. Ofttimes Rachel wished her mother was there to ask how to do something she had never confronted. Having no one else in the house to rely on, Rachel discovered many other things about her mother that she had taken for granted or just been oblivious to. Rachel was surprised to discover that she had changed into caring more about Ben and her father than herself. It wasn’t something she consciously decided to be, it just happened.

  Chapter 5

  It had never dawned on her that she had been sch
ooled and how much she had learned during her mother’s illness. Before the cancer became severely debilitating, her mother would often spend time instructing Rachel on how to perform various household chores. Rachel didn’t mind that. but what she didn’t appreciate as much was the time her mother spent instructing her about religion. For Rachel, religion was not useful in everyday activities. She tended to believe her father’s approach to life—just be a good person and let people alone regarding their religious beliefs. She thought it was even a little cruel for her mother to say, as she often did, “even if I might leave someday, I will not be far away and gone forever, and we will be together in the end.” How was that going to help a little boy who’d lost his mom and who couldn’t see her?

  It was only six months after moving from the city to get cleaner air in the countryside and back to where her mother had been raised that Ben and Rachel’s mother passed away. One of the unexpected benefits of the move was getting to know an elderly couple who lived down the lane little. They were Francillo and Nora Stewart, and the sweet elderly lady took an immediate interest in Rachel, especially during the final days prior to her mother’s passing. Nora and her Francillo had lost a set of twins—a boy and a girl—shortly after their birth and she and her husband had then been unable to have any more children. Rachel became the daughter that Nora never had. The Stewarts were also Mormons, though poor health of late kept Brother Stewart from regular church attendance, and Nora often stayed home from branch meetings to tend to his needs.