Christmas Miracles (15 page)

Alma Fisher wiped the tears from her eyes and told her hard-working, caring husband that they would just have to pray for a miracle that Christmas.

On Christmas Eve, John and Ruby sat quietly on the sofa in front of the Christmas tree.

“We had both noticed that Mom and Dad had acted very strangely during dinner,” John said, “and a seed of doubt had entered my mind. I didn't want to spoil things for my little sister, but I had begun to wonder if maybe the kids who teased me about believing in Santa had been right. I began to figure that perhaps the reason that Mom and Dad had been so quiet and kept giving each other weird looks throughout the meal was because they had hidden away all these wonderful toys. They were probably wondering how they were going to get them out of the hiding places and under the tree without our seeing them.

“I decided that I would somehow stay awake that night and see for myself once and for all if Dad and Mom were really the ones who gave us our gifts and if Santa was just a story for little kids.”

John recalled how he lay there in the dark after bedtime, listening quietly for any sound that might betray his father or mother getting out of bed and going down the stairs. “It must have been very late when I heard a peculiar kind of humming sound in the living room,” he said. “I got out of bed and peered down into the darkness. I gasped out loud when I saw a bright light and a shadowy figure moving around the Christmas tree. I crept down a few more steps, and I saw a really eerie light and shadows literally bouncing around the room. I figured that it had to be Dad with a flashlight.”

In the next few moments, John was puzzled when the eerily glowing light seemed to move directly through the wall and exit the house. “I got a glimpse of it outside the living room window before it disappeared,” John said. “I thought that somehow Dad must have got outside, but I knew he couldn't stay out there long in his pajamas, for it was really cold. I decided to sit there on the steps until Dad came back inside. I would quietly confront him with my newly gained knowledge of the Santa subterfuge, but I would promise not to spoil things for Ruby.”

John sat there for what seemed hours, drawing his bathrobe tight around him to keep warm. “Then I heard Mom and Dad speaking in their bedroom,” John said. “Since I was sitting there in the middle of the stairs like a little troll on a bridge, there was no way that either of them could have come up the stairs without passing me. I got up, crossed the hall, and knocked softly on the door to their bedroom.”

When he entered, John was astonished to see his father sitting up on the side of the bed, being comforted by his mother. “I had never seen Dad cry before, and I had no idea how to respond,” John said. “Then Mom said that Dad was heartbroken because they had no money to buy Ruby and me even the smallest of presents for Christmas. I kind of started to giggle because I thought they were teasing me, keeping up the Santa charade. I had seen someone moving around the Christmas tree in the living room.”

Fearing an intruder, his father went to investigate, baseball bat securely in hand. When he clicked on the lights, he gasped in amazement and shouted for everyone to come downstairs. There around the tree was the red fire engine that John had wanted so badly. And next to it was Ruby's doll with the golden curls. And there were other gifts, including some for Mom and Dad.

“In spite of my parents' protests to the contrary,

I assumed that they had pulled off an major illusion on behalf of the Santa myth,” John said. “But as the days went by with Dad and Mom insisting that they had nothing to do with the gifts, I began to believe that some kind of Christmas miracle had occurred in our humble home.”

John's parents believed that Uncle Don and Aunt Jan, who were aware of their financial problems, had crept in with a flashlight and left the gifts so the children wouldn't be disappointed at Christmas. They also suggested their next door neighbors, the Murrays, as possible candidates who might have done such a good deed.

“But for years to come, Uncle Don, Aunt Jan, and the Murrays next door always denied that they had anything to do with it,” John said, concluding his story. “So if Mom and Dad, my aunt and uncle, and the Mur-rays next door had nothing to do with our Christmas miracle, that's why I believe in Santa Claus. The skeptics can stay with the benevolent neighbors or relatives theory, but I long ago understood that what I saw that night was a holy light moving around next to the Christmas tree. I saw the very spirit of Santa Claus and the very energy of unconditional love manifesting to fulfill two little kids' dreams of a merry Christmas.”

E
ver since he was a little boy, Rick Horton's favorite holiday had always been Christmas, and he gloried in every aspect of the season. Nothing could keep Rick from a joyful celebration of Christmas.

Then, on December 4, 1987, a sudden heart attack at the age of thirty-eight took him from his wife, Melba, his three young children, and his loving parents, Louise and Charles.

In spite of the heavy cloud of grief that hung over the family, his parents decided that they would do everything that they could to make the Christmas holiday season as happy as possible. They knew that Rick would have wanted it that way.

Louise and Charles set about decorating their house, inside and out, just as they had since Rick was a small boy. They made certain that Melba and the grandkids knew that they were to come for a big turkey dinner on Christmas Eve and that they would all go to church as a family on Christmas Day. Everything would be just as it would have been if Rick had not died—for they knew that he was very much with them in spirit.

As Louise and Charles were assembling the miniature manger scene that they had placed on the fireplace mantel ever since Rick was seven, it came to them that they should fashion a small home altar to commemorate the memory of their son. They bought a terrarium to honor Rick's love of plants and nature, and Charles filled a tall purple urn with scented water. Around Rick's picture, they placed a tall red candle in a bright green holder and a number of Christmas-tree ornaments to add the touch of holiday color that he had always loved so much. Just off to the left, they placed a small incense burner in which they burned cones of sandalwood three or four times a day.

Solemnly, just a few days before Christmas, Charles lighted the tall red candle, and Louise placed a Bible on the altar and opened it to the story of the first Christmas as recorded in the Gospel of Matthew. Both of them gave silent prayers toward the same unspoken request: that they be given some sign that Rick's spirit was a happy one.

Louise began to cry softly, then lowered her head against her husband's shoulder.

“Don't cry, Mom,” he comforted her, taking one of her hands in his own. “If there is any way between Heaven and earth for Rick to make contact with us, you know that he will find it.”

Louise smiled. Charles had tried to tame their son's assertive personality when he was a boy, but he had come to admire Rick's aggressiveness. Their Rick had the knack of knowing how to turn on the charm and push for what he truly believed in, and he had used this talent well through high school, college, and the business world. If only he hadn't been taken from his family when he was so young, when he was just beginning to achieve a high level of personal and professional success.

Brushing back a tear, Charles chuckled softly. “You know, there didn't seem to be anything that Rick couldn't figure out,” he said. “Rick had that stubborn streak that made him just keep at things until he was satisfied he knew what they were all about. If there is a way to bring us a message, you know he will.”

On Christmas Eve day, Louise was up early to begin preparing a hearty meal for the family. In her mind, she had carefully planned the events of Christmas for the Horton family: Melba and the children would arrive about five o'clock for an early dinner. When they had finished eating, everyone would help clean up and then it would be time to open the presents under the Christmas tree. After the excitement of watching the kids unwrap their gifts, they would all enjoy some tasty glasses of eggnog—with a little something special added for the grown-ups. Then Melba and the grand-kids would stay overnight so they could all attend an early church service the next morning.

Louise was somewhat annoyed when Melba and the grandkids burst into the house an hour earlier than she had mentally scheduled their arrival. Louise knew that she could be an awful perfectionist fussbudget about such matters—especially when she had everything worked out in her own mind—but she found herself getting a bit nervous and irritated when she felt as though the evening would not proceed as smoothly as she had visualized. She knew that the grandkids would start snooping around the presents and getting into things they shouldn't. Charles was sitting in the living room reading the evening paper, so she knew he wouldn't be doing much policing of his grandchildren. Melba asked if she could help, but Louise was fussy about finishing things that she had started.

Although she loved Christmas carols as much as anyone, Louise found the music coming from the radio getting on her nerves. Under any other circumstances, she would have enjoyed the familiar holiday melodies, but because of the stress of checking the turkey in the oven, preparing the trimmings for a perfect dinner, keeping an eye on the gifts under the tree, and feeling the pressure of guests—even if they were family—who had arrived an hour early, Louise found herself shouting at her husband: “Charlie, I know it's Christmas Eve, but can we please do without the carols for a little while?”

Charles was puzzled. “I beg your pardon, Mom. What did you say?”

With her nerves frazzled, Louise took his question to signal resistance to her subtle request to shut off the radio. She raised her voice, trying her very best not to sound really nasty: “Please, at least until I finish preparing dinner, please shut off the radio.”

Charles stood in the kitchen doorway. “Mom, there's no radio, no television, no phonograph playing Christmas music anywhere in this house,” he said quietly.

And then, for the first time, they all began to pay attention to the music that was filtering through the house. It was a lovely, haunting melody, strangely familiar, yet none of them could identify it. Sometimes there would be a chorus of voices with the music; other times, there would be only the lovely orchestral sounds filling the air around them.

“It definitely has a Christmas flavor to it,” Melba said. “But it is no hymn or popular holiday song that I know.”

Louise, Charles, Melba, and the three children looked everywhere for the source of the beautiful melody. Charles even went outside to see if someone had left a radio or tape player going in a car parked somewhere in the street. But search as they might— downstairs, upstairs, in the basement and attic—they could not locate the source of the wonderful music.

And then they all began to move to the one place that they had, on one level of awareness, been avoiding.

“We began to move toward the altar that Charles and I had prepared to commemorate Rick's passing,” Louise said.

Melba began to weep as the entire family, including the children, heard the ethereal, angelic music coming from the Christmas ornaments arranged around Rick's photographs.

“It was a true Christmas miracle,” Louise said. “It was as if each of the ornaments was some kind of receiving set for the beautiful, unearthly music that was being broadcast from Heaven.”

“Rick always loved Christmas music,” Charles said, his eyes misting with tears. “And now he's somehow arranged to send some very special Christmas music to us from the angels on high.”

And then, just as suddenly as the music had begun, it stopped.

Louise suddenly had a clear mental image of what was occurring on that most remarkable Christmas Eve. “The radio,” she said. “Rick wants us to turn on the radio. While I was fussing that I wanted a radio off, Rick was trying to get us to turn the radio on.”

Charles clicked on the old console model they still kept in the living room. The very first sounds that flowed from the radio were the words from the poignant holiday song that promises that the singer will be home for Christmas.

“We all stood there, tears flowing freely,” Louise said. “We all hugged each other, and those of us who knew the words sang along with the radio. We all felt Rick right there in the midst of us, hugging us, and singing along.”

Charles smiled, his voice quavering as he spoke: “I told you Rick would find a way to let us know that he was all right. He did it. Rick came home for Christmas.”

Louise concluded by saying that she believes that her son gave his family the greatest Christmas gift possible. “His spirit demonstrated the truth of the Christmas promise. He gave his children a proof of life everlasting that will strengthen them all the days of their lives.”