A Treasury of Christmas Miracles (4 page)

Paul felt his heart skip a beat as he stood frozen in place, stunned by the news. “But I thought she was only in for routine
tests.”

“That’s right, sir, she was.” The nurse lowered her clipboard and frowned. “Then a few hours ago her heart just stopped. We
worked with her for some time trying to bring her back, but her body didn’t respond. I’m sorry.”

Paul thanked the nurse and turned back down the hallway to the elevator. He felt as though he were in a trance as he walked
through the hospital to the waiting room on the first floor. When he entered the room, the others saw how strange he looked
and the room became quiet.

“What is it, Paul?” Sam asked, worried that Vince might have taken another sudden turn for the worse.

“It’s Mrs. Johnson, Dad.” Paul’s voice was flat, void of emotion. “She’s dead. She died a few hours ago—about the same time
Vince began making a comeback.”

“That’s impossible,” Ronni said. “Mrs. Johnson was only here for routine tests.”

“The nurse told me her heart stopped,” Paul added. “She went to sleep last night and died before she ever woke up.”

The room grew silent again as each of them absorbed the amazing truth. Sadie Johnson had prayed for Vince to live, asking
God to let her go in his place. Now that very thing had happened and doctors had no explanation for either Vince’s recovery
or Sadie’s death.

“Do you think what happened was an answer to her prayer?” Paul asked, looking incredulously at the other faces in the room.

For a moment no one spoke. Then Sam sat up straighter and tilted his head thoughtfully.

“Well, son, I don’t think there’s one of us here who can discount the truth of what’s happened these past few hours. Sure
as I’m sitting here today, I’m convinced that Sadie returned to her room last night and asked God in all his mercy to take
her home and let Vince live.”

He looked at the others. “And sure enough, that’s what happened.” A sad smile came across his face. “Now they’ll both be home
for Christmas.

“I guess it’s like we were saying last night. The prayer of a righteous person is powerful and effective. Whatever we do,
let’s not forget that. Because that might just be all the explanation we’ll ever get for what’s just happened here.”

N
estled in the heart of the town of Cottonwood, Arizona, behind the post office in an unassuming house lived a little girl
named Jessica Warner. In many ways there was nothing unusual about Jessica. She was five years old with naturally curly, golden
blonde hair and blue eyes that shone with unfettered joy. She had a smile that brightened any room even in a town where the
sun shone almost every day of the year. And she had a favorite doll named Molly, tattered and smudged and loved into a raggedy
state.

The Warner family loved everything about living in Cottonwood. It was a town where parents visited at weekend soccer games
and people waved at each other up and down Main Street whether they knew you or not. Joe Anderson, the barber, and Steven
Simmons, the paint store manager, hung signs in their windows stating, “Mingus Rocks” as a way of cheering on the Mingus High
School football team, which every year toyed with the idea of a state title. It was a town where doors went unlocked, children
played safely on their rock-garden front yards, and teens complained about having nothing to do.

Although the seasons didn’t leave their mark on Cottonwood the way they might in a midwestern town or a seaport along the
Atlantic Ocean, the Warners savored the subtle changes. Sparkling spring days when the sun played on the distant red rocks
of Sedona; the heat of summer when great monsoons would sweep into the Verde Valley; and fall, when the wind kicked up and
Yavapai County Fairgrounds played host to the annual Harvest Festival.

But really, the months were like a yearlong crescendo building their way to the Warners’ favorite time of all: the Christmas
season, when the high-desert town of Cottonwood came to life as miraculously—the townspeople suspected—as Bethlehem had some
two thousand years earlier.

The official arrival of the Christmas season was marked each year with the ritual of the city manager and his deputy climbing
up the ladder on Ernie Gray’s fire truck and stringing the “Happy Holidays” garland across Main Street. Between then and the
morning of the Christmas parade homeowners around town took part in an unofficial house-decorating contest that was usually
won by someone living in the prestigious community at the top of Highway 269, not far from Quail Springs at the base of Mingus
Mountain.

Jessica’s mother, Cindy, knew they’d never have enough money to compare with the decorating in Quail Springs, but they decorated
all the same.

At least they used to.

As Christmas drew near it was clear to everyone in the Warner home that this year would be different. And so, when the garland
was strung up along Main Street, Jessica began to pray a special prayer out loud in her bed at night. Long after saying good
night and being tucked into bed—separately—by her parents, Jessica would close her eyes and raise one hand high above her
head, reaching out to God. “Dear God,” she would whisper. “I’m not telling Mommy and Daddy about this, so please listen good.
It’s Christmastime and that’s when you listen really hard to little girls’ prayers. My teacher told me so. My prayer is this,
God: please make Mommy and Daddy love each other again.”

Though they were no longer churchgoers and prayer was something forgotten in the Warner home, little Jessica prayed the same
prayer every night that season. And in that way, she was like many boys and girls in many homes all across the country praying
for their parents to love each other.

But Jessica was also very different. This precious one could neither run nor skip nor hopscotch with her girl- friends. She
could not jump rope or play hide-and-seek or run three-legged races.

She couldn’t even walk.

Jessica had cerebral palsy.

It was something the townspeople of Cottonwood both knew and understood. Something that made them protective of little Jessica,
causing them to go out of their way to wave at her in the aisles of Smith’s Market or tousle her beautiful blonde curls as
they passed and remind her that only angels were as pretty as she was.

Jessica was something of a fixture around Cottonwood and the people who lived there felt richer for her presence. The child
was too young to understand all of that, but Cottonwood was her home, her town. And Steve and Cindy Warner knew their daughter
wouldn’t want to live anywhere else for all the world.

That year, sometime after the garland was hung, Jessica asked her mother why her legs didn’t work the same as those of other
children. Cindy bent down and hugged her daughter close, her chest trembling as she tried to control the tears that welled
up at the question. Gently, she helped Jessica to the living room sofa.

“I’d like to tell you a story, okay, honey?” Cindy ran her hand over Jessica’s silky hair.

The little girl nodded and clutched more tightly to her Molly doll. “A story about me, Mommy?”

Cindy blinked back tears. “Yes, Jessie, a story about you. About what happened when you were born.”

Then Cindy told her daughter of how she had been born a little too soon, before she was ready. Doctors had tried to stop her
from delivering but it was no use, and Jessica Marie was born ten weeks early fighting for every breath. Three months later,
when she had gained enough weight to go home, it was with this warning from her doctor: “I’m quite certain Jessica has some
cerebral palsy. This is not something she will outgrow; but it is something that can be worked with.”

Cindy paused. “You’re very special, Jessica. God told me so himself the day he gave you to me.”

The rest of the story Cindy kept to herself. How for that first year Steve and Cindy had refused to talk about their fears
and how they’d blamed Jessica’s low birth weight when she didn’t roll over or sit up or crawl like other babies her age. How
in the days and months and years since then they’d anchored deep on opposite sides of Jessica’s health issues.

The truth was they’d stopped taking Jessica to church after her first birthday only to avoid the curious comments and questions
from their friends.

That was the year Steve purchased a pair of pink ballet slippers and hung them on a hook above Jessica’s crib. “You’re my
perfect little princess,” he whispered to the sleeping child. “And one day you’ll dance across the room for me, won’t you,
honey.”

But doctors assured the Warners there would be no dancing for Jessica. The cerebral palsy did not affect her mind but her
motor skills were severely lacking. She would be doing well to be using a walker by the time she entered kindergarten.

When it became clear how great Jessica’s handicap was, Cindy quit her job to stay home and work with her daughter. She helped
the child through hours of stretching routines and exercises and both mother and child were often exhausted by the end of
day.

“You’re wasting your time,” Steve would tell her. “She doesn’t need all that work, Cindy. She’s going to outgrow this thing.
Wait and see.”

And so they remained. Cindy’s days were spent helping Jessica live with cerebral palsy. Steve’s were spent denying she had
it. Worst of all, in the midst of their miserable lives, their love for God grew cold and distant. In time the only member
of the Warner household who listened to Bible stories and prayed to Jesus was Jessica, who after her second birthday went
to church each Sunday with her grandparents.

The years had passed slowly and in all the ways Steve and Cindy could see, Jessica made little improvement. Days before her
fifth birthday she learned to spread her knees wide and crawl across the floor in a series of short, jerky motions. It was
a victory, no matter how small, and Steve and Cindy shared Jessica’s excitement.

“That’s my girl,” Steve told her. “One day you’ll outgrow that cerebral palsy and wear those ballet slippers.”

But that night after Jessica was asleep Cindy broke down and cried. “Her progress is so slow,” she admitted. “I’ve done all
the exercises, all the stretches. I’ve watched her diet and read every book on the subject. I’ve done everything I can. Why
isn’t she making more improvements?”

“I’ve told you, Cindy. You have to be patient. She’ll outgrow this thing when she gets older.”

“She’ll never outgrow it, Steve,” Cindy screamed at him. “If we work with her she can make progress. But you’re never going
to come through that door one night and find her dancing in those silly ballet slippers. Don’t you understand?”

Steve didn’t understand, and after that their lives grew even more separate. They communicated only when necessary and began
socializing in separate circles. Cindy joined a cerebral palsy support group and finally found the understanding she’d been
missing. The members of the support group did not deny Jessica’s problems but rather brainstormed with her for solutions.

Meanwhile, Steve had been given a promotion and with it the task of organizing after-work events. His office friends were
cheerful and upbeat and Steve was often the life of the party. He liked them because they did not know about Jessica’s cerebral
palsy and so they never talked about muscle coordination or support groups or daily exercises.

Often, entire weeks went by where Steve and Cindy saw each other only minutes at a time, silently passing each other like
strangers in the hallways of the Warner home.

It was in her fourth year that Jessica had noticed something was wrong with her mommy and daddy. They didn’t kiss and hug
and hold hands like other parents. And by this Christmas Jessica knew there was only one answer. So each night before she
fell asleep Jessica would whisper her simple prayer, asking God to make her mommy and daddy love each other. But it hadn’t
seemed to make a difference.

Finally, two weeks before Christmas, Steve took Cindy’s hand gently in his own and studied her face. “It isn’t working between
us, is it?” he asked her.

Tears sprang to Cindy’s eyes but her gaze remained calmly fixed on Steve’s. “No, I guess it isn’t.”

“I’ll talk to a divorce lawyer,” Steve said gently. “But let’s wait until after Christmas. For Jessica’s sake.”

As with most children, Jessica could tell things were worse between her parents. She talked it over with Molly, her beloved
dolly. “I’m asking God to make them love each other,” she said. “But they aren’t very nice to each other anymore. I’m scared,
Molly. Really scared.”

At dinner one night Jessica broke the silence. “Please, can we all go to church together this Sunday?” she asked. “Preacher’s
going to tell the Christmas story and he said the whole family’s invited.”

Steve and Cindy exchanged a cool glance and then looked away, embarrassed. Steve cleared his throat. “Yes, sweetheart, that’ll
be fine,” he said. “We’ll all go to church together this Sunday. Like a family.”

When Sunday came they dressed Jessica in a white satin dress and sat beside her for the first time in years. The service was
put on by all the Christian churches in town and held at the high school auditorium as it was each year at that time. The
message was of hope and joy, the story of the Christ child born to a weary world so that men might live forevermore. It was
a message that was tried and true and in their private prisons of pain Steve and Cindy quietly realized the mistake they’d
made by walking away from their faith.

“God gave the greatest gift of all, the gift of pure love wrapped in flesh and bones, the gift of his son,” the minister’s
voice rang clear. “But what of you? What will you give to the Savior this year.”

There was silence in the auditorium.

Tentatively, Steve ran a single finger along Jessica’s stiff legs.

“I urge you,” the pastor added quietly, “to take time these next few days and lay something at the Savior’s feet. Something
you love ... or something you need to leave behind. Perhaps something that should have been laid there a long time ago.”