Stories from Heaven's Library - Vol. 21
Note: The stories in this issue may not be suitable for younger children
Copyright 1997 by Aurora Productions, Inc. -- DFO
Featuring:
Divine Forgiveness
The Christmas that Changed a Life
DIVINE FORGIVENESS
Silent night, holy night Mariah Carey's angelic voice can be heard in the background on the stereo playing her new Christmas CD. It is Christmas Eve. The house is beautifully decorated and the tree is lit. Melanie is as happy as could be; it is her favorite time of the year. In addition to celebrating the birthday of Jesus, it is also the birthday of her son, Christian, who arrived on this blessed day, six years ago.
Melanie is happily married to her sweet and loving husband, Julien. Christian is also the proud brother of his little sister, Chantal; a name which proved to be an appropriate choice for this spunky little girl. Her name finds root in the French verb chanter, meaning to sing. Although only three years old, Chantal is hardly ever seen playing without being heard singing at the same time.
The lovely round oak table, set for six, is chock full of delights that Melanie has lovingly prepared for what is sure to be another wonderful Christmas dinner.
Julien and Melanie Dubois have made it a practice, ever since they've been together, to invite two street kids--children who had nowhere to go--to come have dinner with them every Christmas Eve. Living in a quiet neighborhood on the outskirts of Paris, Julien has done lot of work with troubled youths, so he never had difficulty finding candidates for their invitation. Needless to say, not everyone he approached would immediately accept; some looked at him suspiciously, others thought it strange and would say things like, "You're weird, man! No one does that!" or, "What's your trip, anyway? Are you for real?!" It was an unusual invitation, to say the least, and Julien was well aware of it. How could he trust these perfect strangers, invite them into his home, and not be afraid that they would mug him or hurt his family? But in spite of these risks, Julien never failed to bring home a couple of youths to join them for Christmas. He preferred to invite a boy and a girl who did not necessarily have to know each other--although it did not always work out that way.
Each year the Dubois family has looked forward to this time, as they had personally witnessed miraculous transformations in the lives of many of their Christmas visitors. Julien had a special knack for picking out the ones who were, as he liked to call them, "searchers."
Melanie is quite the trusting soul, bless her heart. She gives lectures on the importance of reaching out to others, particularly those less fortunate. "In regards to these encounters"--referring to the stranger guests--she says with a smile, "one thing that I can assure you of is that my husband does not judge anyone by their outward appearance." She could truthfully say that, as she had seen him bring home some pitiful cases. Most were dirty, others sick, or on drugs, some were ex-criminals; the worst were a combination of all of the above. But she had perfect peace, because she knew that it was God Himself Who was reaching out to these lost souls, trying to persuade them of His love.
Julien runs Seconde Chance (Second Chance), a rehabilitation center for homeless and troubled youth. Some of the people there have previously served time in correctional facilities. Others have never been incarcerated*, but for one reason or another ended up on the street, with no future to speak of. While most of them are rejected by society--classified as incorrigibles*--Julien has the conviction that they could change; truly believing that as long as there is life, there's hope.
The center, designed to provide an opportunity to adjust to a normal way of life, is a beautiful farm set in a picturesque valley at the foot of a mountain range. It has enough acreage to sustain a variety of animals, with land to spare to grow grains. A large, productive garden provides the majority of food that is consumed by their little community. The lovely orchard between the barn and the lake is the source of many delicious desserts which are frequently served.
Everyone is expected to carry their share of the workload. Julien is a very good organizer. Although caring and understanding, he does not allow anyone to just hang around for a free ride. The doors to Seconde Chance are open to all, provided they're a minor. Initially, newcomers are on probation. If someone is out of line or does not work, they're brought before a panel of elected judges, and a verdict is passed. These judges are not old people in black robes, but teenagers wearing jeans or baggy shorts. You see, Julien is a wise leader. He gathered all of his young people together and had them agree on a standard and set of rules, and gave them the responsibility to enforce them. Consequently, the "accused" are "judged and sentenced" by their own elected peers. This has proven to be a very effective system, and while Julien and his staff are consulted, the place more or less runs itself, governed by the young people themselves. Seconde Chance also has a medical staff, well equipped to handle a wide variety of problems, including detoxification*.
During the course of the Christmas evening, Julien would tell his two guests about the center. "I'd be very happy if you'd drop by," he'd say. "Here's my card with the address. Go there and check it out. No strings attached, okay?"
Meanwhile at the center, the young people in the program were also having a wonderful Christmas dinner, to be followed by exciting activities, largely organized by the young people themselves.
It was now the fourth consecutive year that the Dubois had strangers over for Christmas. This year's Christmas guests were a couple of troubled youths who had recently run away from home and, while happy for the moment, they were obviously quite lonely and confused. While serving seconds to the rather shifty-eyed young man that sat across the table from her, Melanie couldn't help but think back seven years earlier, when she, too, was having a difficult time during what seemed to be the most trying Christmas of her life.
* * *
Melanie was the surgeon on duty at the emergency ward of a small suburban hospital. She did not expect to be very busy; they did not have as many emergencies as the main hospital downtown. Except for the occasional accidents caused by drunk drivers, the holiday season was usually quiet as far as serious emergencies were concerned.
Watching a Christmas program on her small office TV, she hoped and prayed that her night-shift would be a quiet one.
Meanwhile, a few kilometers from the hospital, Monsieur LeBlanc, a well-to-do businessman, was driving down a tree-lined country road leading into the small town. Monsieur LeBlanc was a widower, still grieving deeply over the loss of his precious wife who had died of cancer two months earlier. But this was not an evening for sorrow. He actually had a smile on his face. On the seat next to him lay a nicely wrapped Christmas present, the size of a shoebox. The man could hardly wait to see his daughter's face when he would put it in her hands and watch her open it.
His beloved daughter was his only child, now in her mid-twenties. She was the image of her mother, and the most precious thing that he had left on earth. The present he would surprise her with was a golden cross, inlaid with rubies and diamonds. It had belonged to his wife's grandmother, Rosemarie, and had been traditionally handed down to the first daughter of each consecutive generation.
Before Madame LeBlanc died, she had asked her husband to give the cross to their daughter. He was to wait and give it to their daughter at Christmas. Even though this was indeed a very costly piece of jewelry, the sentimental value was far greater. The symbolism behind the cross was the most important thing. Grandmother's wish and prayer had been that each succeeding generation would not lose their strong faith in God--no matter how many hardships they would face. The cross was a reminder to always remember Jesus in their time of need.
Throughout her life, Grandmother Rosemarie had experienced both poverty and wealth, but regardless of her state, she had always felt very close to God, and knew that He would never forsake her. Even during the war and the most dismal of times, her faith never wavered; she never once doubted the goodness, love and mercy of her Savior, Jesus.
Stopping at an intersection, Monsieur LeBlanc's pleasant reveries of years past were interrupted by the sudden appearance of an armed man at his window. With a handgun pointed at his head, he had no other choice but to cooperate.
Fer, as his friends called him--a diminutive for Ferdinand, which also happens to mean iron in French--yelled, "Come on, get out, we need your car!"
The old man was terrified. How could this be happening to me? he thought to himself. He, too, had strong faith in God, or so he thought--yet this situation put his faith to the test. "Please don't hurt me!" he pleaded. "You can have everything, just don't hurt me! Please, I beg you!"
Fer was not alone. His partner, nicknamed Lame (pronounced Lam--meaning blade), had earned his name and reputation by being very skilled with his knife. A martial arts expert, he often had to fight his way out of various gang-related situations using his blade and his fighting skills. Lame ordered Mr. LeBlanc to put his hands up against a tree, and proceeded to search his pockets for valuables. He took his wallet, his watch, and ripped the gold chain from his neck.
Fer and Lame had agreed not to kill the person from whom they would steal the car, but only to hurt him in order to buy themselves time before anyone could call the police. "Go on!" said Fer.
Lame pulled out his switchblade and stabbed the helpless old man in his side. Monsieur LeBlanc fainted and collapsed to the ground. Lame raced back to the vehicle, took the wheel and sped off with his friend.
"Yeah, we did it!" grinned Fer, with a psychotic* look on his face.
"Shut up, you idiot! Shut up!" Lame screamed back. Although Lame kept a cool and tough front--and was ruthless in many ways--he had never actually killed anyone. Deep inside, in what could have been a prayer, he wished that someone would find the old man before he bled to death or died of exposure.
God wasn't about to forsake Monsieur LeBlanc, or let him die alone in a ditch on a cold Christmas Eve. A passerby, out for a walk with his dog, responded to the excited barking of his golden retriever, who found the unconscious man. He took off his coat, covered the victim, and ran to the nearest house to call the police and an ambulance.
* * *
A short while later, at the hospital nearby, Melanie was paged and asked to go to the telephone.
"Doctor LeBlanc," explained the police officer on the other end of the line, "your father has been robbed and stabbed. He's unconscious, but not in critical condition. The ambulance should be arriving at the hospital any minute now. I'm very sorry, Doctor, to be giving you this news, but I thought you might want to know in advance, so that you could be prepared."
Melanie stood there speechless, shocked by the news she had just heard. Her father had just called her not too long ago announcing that he would be dropping by with something special for her--a special Christmas present. She collapsed onto a nearby chair, and with her face in her hands, sat there crying--yet, at the same time she thanked God that her father hadn't been killed. Then she prayed. "Dear Jesus, please help me to regain my composure, so that I can be fit to operate on my dad!"--something that she had never imagined she would ever have to do. As she headed for the emergency room, angry thoughts began racing through her mind. God, how could You let this happen, on Christmas, of all days? It's hard enough to celebrate Christmas without Maman! But then, the words of her mother rang in her ears.
Remember, sweet girl, that whatever happens in the life of a Christian, God always has His Own purpose for. This is something that her mother had told her several times during her upbringing. Whenever things seemed to go wrong, her mother was always faithful to remind her that God knew best and that He was in control.
* * *
"La croix d'or, ils ont pris la croix d'or!" (The golden cross, they took the golden cross!) cried her father, regaining consciousness. As his blurred vision slowly returned to normal, he recognized one of his daughter's operating assistants. "They stabbed me, didn't they?" he exclaimed. "Those damned kids!"
"Please calm down, Monsieur LeBlanc," replied the nurse. "You've lost a lot of blood and have been operated on, so please try to remain calm. You need to rest now."
"Okay! But first I want to see my daughter. Please call her for me, will you?"
"Yes, sir, I'll ask her to come as soon as she can!"
A few minutes later Melanie arrived. "You'll be okay, Papa. How are you feeling?"
"Well, considering I could be dead, I feel pretty good," he answered with a slight chuckle.
Melanie always admired her dad for the great gift of optimism he seemed to have. He invariably found a positive side to everything that happened to him. What's more, he possessed a wonderful sense of humor. However, no matter how hard he tried to stay calm and optimistic, when he thought about the cross, his emotions got the better of him. He started to sob and the tears ran down his cheeks.
"Don't worry, Papa," said Melanie, as she too started to cry. "Everything is going to be okay. Your wound should heal soon. The knife did not puncture any of your vital organs. It won't be long before you'll be back on your feet."
"I know I'll be okay, dear!" He replied with an utterly forlorn look on his face. "I'm just sad about the present I was going to give you."
"Don't worry about that, Papa. The fact that you're alive tonight is the greatest present I could wish for."
"You don't understand! This present was something very, very precious your mother wanted you to have. It had great sentimental value. Now it's gone and can never be replaced," he continued in a hopeless sounding voice.
While Papa was explaining all of this, Melanie felt a very strange sensation, as though someone was trying to speak to her. She had never experienced anything like this before, and found herself fighting against what she thought were weird feelings until she could do so no more.
"Ne t'inquites pas, mon gros lapin," (Don't worry, my big bunny.) she blurted out, as though beyond her control, "Je sais o est la croix." (I know where the cross is.)
Melanie's father looked up at her. Surprised and wide-eyed, he inquired, "Did you say mon gros lapin?" This was a special term of endearment his wife would whisper in his ears within the confines of their bedroom. "And how did you know it was the cross?" he continued, in utter astonishment. "I didn't tell you what the gift was. There's no way you could know where it is!"
"It it's really weird, Papa. I don't know what got into me actually, I do know," Melanie corrected herself. "It felt like Maman was here, and she wanted to speak to you. At first I resisted it, because I thought maybe all of these emotions were making me lose my mind. Then I saw Maman's beautiful face in my mind's eye. She looked so happy. I had this feeling that everything was under perfect control, and that this was all somehow part of God's plan. Please, Papa, promise me you won't worry! All things do work together for good; this situation will too. You promise?"
"I promise I will try," said Papa, with a new glimmer of hope in his eyes.
"Docteur LeBlanc la salle d'urgence!" Melanie was being paged to go to the emergency room. On her way there, she met the police officer who had talked to her on the phone. He was talking to the emergency room assistant.
The assistant quickly filled Melanie in on the nature of the emergency as they hurried to go to the operating room. "Can you believe it?" the assistant commented. "Of all things, this guy drove into a light pole after a twenty-minute high-speed chase with the police. The policeman told me the vehicle he was driving belongs to your father."
Melanie was stunned. How many more terrible surprises can this Christmas Eve bring? "One last thing," the assistant added, "they found a blood-stained knife in his pocket. He could be the guy that stabbed your father!"
Somewhat dazed, Melanie began to scrub and dress for surgery, wishing she knew nothing about the person whose life might now depend upon her. Melanie had the reputation of being a level-headed girl, never losing control over her emotions. This time, however, she would need all the self-control she could muster: She was about to operate on someone that in all likelihood was the one responsible for assaulting her beloved father.
When she entered the emergency room, Lame was already on the operating table, unconscious. The assessment looked pretty bleak, and it was easy to see that he was in very bad shape. He had suffered a massive wound to the top of his head, had several broken ribs, one of which had apparently perforated his lung; his face was covered in blood from the shattered glass that had pelted his face. As she listened to the paramedic's brief rundown, she couldn't help but think that this fellow had gotten what he deserved. She realized, however, that he would most likely survive and recover fully, although in her anger, she thought that maybe his just reward would be to die.
This was definitely one of the greatest tests Melanie had ever gone through. She had been trained to stay focused during operations, and up until this day, it had always been a mind-over-matter affair. This, however, was a very emotionally charged situation. Never before had she felt so many different emotions all at the same time. She felt anger and hatred, but at the same time felt constrained by her conscience to love and forgive.
Giving orders to her assistants to get everything ready, she took a few moments to pray and implore God to help her. "Please, dear Jesus, I can't handle this situation. I'm simply not strong enough. I wish another surgeon were here to do this job; it's just too much. But there is no one else right now. I know, Jesus, that You are the great Physician, so please help me not to think about what this person just did to my father, but use my hands as if they were Your hands. I wish I could forgive this man, but I don't have it in me. So I ask You, please give me Your grace and love, and divine forgiveness. Help me to realize this young man could be one of Your lost children and that You love him as much as You love me. I ask You now to help me overcome my anger and take care of this man as You would. Your Word tells us to love our enemies. You know I am finding that very hard to do. But help me to help him as You would."
While Melanie was performing the operation, she saw how close the rib had come to puncturing the heart, which would most certainly have been fatal. She realized then that if God had wanted to take this man's life, He could have very easily done so, but for some reason He had spared the young man's life, and so, she rationalized, He must have some plan and purpose for him.
Melanie again felt her mother's presence, as if she could hear her say, "That's right, my dear child, God has a plan. So fix him up good, and forgive this young man."
After she finished operating on Lame, Melanie went to check on her father. She knew that if she explained what had transpired, and that his car had been found, he would surely inquire about the cross. Stopping at the reception, she called the police for information. To her disappointment she learned that there had been no sign of the cross in the car.
The police explained that just moments before Lame crashed, while driving down a narrow passageway between buildings, Fer managed to jump out of the car, taking with him the stolen goods. The policeman in pursuit, being alone, had no other option than to follow the car, and let Fer go. He figured if he caught one, it would eventually lead to the other.
Upon seeing her dad, Melanie decided not to mention that his car had been found, thinking it would be wiser not to cause him any more concern, and let him rest instead.
A few days later, Lame regained consciousness. He had regained all of his faculties, and remembered everything up until the accident. He was recovering well from his head wounds, and had not suffered any internal damage to his brain. Overall, he seemed to be making steady progress.
On his way to see Lame, and post an officer to guard him, as he was now under arrest, the police chief, Inspecteur Favre, a personal friend of Monsieur LeBlanc, stopped to say hello to him.
"Louis, qu' est ce que tu fais l?" (Louis, what are you doing here?) asked Inspecteur Favre, in a jolly tone of voice. He and Louis had been friends for many years, and were accustomed to each other's joking manner.
Louis played along. "Well, you know it was quite busy at work before the holidays, and I thought I needed some rest. What better place to rest than here?" A hearty laugh was a welcome relief for Louis, who in reality could hardly wait to get out of there.
"All pleasantries aside," continued the chief. "I've decided to investigate this matter myself. Don't you worry about a thing. I assure you that I'll do everything within my power to find those responsible. We're going to get back all your goods and have them returned to you. Then you can sue for damages and turn this misfortune into a lucrative business deal." They laughed again. "By the way, you're going to need a new car. Your Mercedes is a twisted pile of metal; it's a miracle that kid survived."
"Actually, I've been thinking of buying an old second hand car, then I wouldn't get mugged or stabbed again."
Even though Louis was very wealthy and could afford many luxuries in life, he did not attach that much importance to material things. Sure, he liked his car. It was very comfortable, but the prestige was neither here nor there, as far as he was concerned. He knew very well that material things come and go, and that they are all left behind when one departs from this life; and that rather the love and help we extend to our fellow man carries eternal dividends, both in this life, as well as the next. As a result of his beliefs, Louis donated large sums every year to a variety of charitable organizations and was known as a very generous man.
The chief then broke the rest of the news to his friend: The one who most likely stabbed him was recuperating in the same hospital.
* * *
"Lame," asked Inspecteur Favre, "you want to talk?" The chief was familiar with his nickname; it wasn't the first time he had dealt with him. He had been caught several times for misdemeanors*. This, however, was definitely more serious. The chief tried to show himself friendly; he figured Lame would be more apt to cooperate if he tried to be reasonable and understanding. Lame, however, stayed cold towards him. After all, cops were always considered his enemies. Lame did not even look at him, and simply pretended he wasn't there.
"Look, Lame, we can do this the easy way, or the hard way. I know you don't have to talk. You can wait until you get your lawyer, and we can make this a long and drawn out process. The bottom line is, the weapon was found on you, and it happens to have your fingerprints on it; no one else's. So, you're going to do time, one way or the other, no if's, and's or but's about it. The question is, how much? You should know the rules by now. If you cooperate, you do less--if you don't, you do more; that's just how it goes. So why don't you come to your senses and give us the name of your friend? We know there were two of you. Getting those goods back can only work in your favor. You wouldn't want to have to pay for them, now would you? That cross is worth a lot. You would have to work a long time to pay for it--I mean a very long time."
"I'm not talking to you!" growled Lame. "I'm certainly not going to turn anyone in." It had always been a hard and fast rule of their gang that if anyone was caught, they would not "rat" on others.
"I know you're not stupid. You used to be a good kid. What happened?"
"What's it to you, anyway? You don't give a damn what happens to me. I wouldn't be missed by anyone if I spent the rest of my life in jail."
"Look, Lame, I do care. I would love to see you turn your life around. I know you can--you just haven't tried hard enough. I know about your dad, and your mom; you just got mixed up with the wrong crowd. Some things you can't change, but some things you can. Don't blame others for the conditions that surround you. You've got to take responsibility. I know you haven't had it easy, but there's still time to start over. Try to make a difference in this world. Try to change things for the better, instead of just giving up and making trouble for others."
The chief's words sounded all too true. Lame knew that the possibility of starting all over was not beyond his reach--he just hadn't wanted to, up until now. The fact that he almost killed someone was now haunting him. Narrowly escaping death himself was another indication that perhaps this was the time to forsake his foolishness and start anew.
"Look, Lame, if you change your mind and want to talk to me before you get out of here, give me a call. I do want to help you, son, I really do!" To Lame, it was not uncommon to have the cops show themselves friendly, and make you feel that they're on your side, that they understand and want to help you. But to him, it was usually all a phony pretense just to get information. This time was different; he felt that the chief was sincere. He believed that he meant what he said.
On the way out, Inspecteur Favre met Melanie at the reception. "Melanie, comment vas-tu?" (How are you?) He was on a first name basis with her, as he had known her ever since she was a young girl. "You're quite a brave woman. I admire you. Quite a Christmas this year, huh?"
"Sure was!"
"You know, I feel funny asking you this, but I think that you can help this kid. He doesn't really have anyone. After all, you fixed him up physically, maybe you can help straighten him out other ways too. I know you're a Christian with strong faith in God, and you believe in miracles. Besides, you're just about the same age maybe he'll listen to you. I can't help but feel sorry for him. He's an only child, just like you, but somewhere along the line his life got screwed up. Maybe you want to ask him about it, he might tell you. Okay, see you around, little angel!"
Melanie was now curious as to what it was that had caused Lame to turn to crime, although she still had mixed feelings about talking to him. Although the Lord had answered her prayer the night Lame was admitted, and helped her to perform a successful operation, Melanie had asked one of her colleagues to do the follow-up for her. She wasn't ready to see him again, much less talk to him.
Two days were left in the old year, and somehow now she felt that she had to talk to Lame. She did not want to enter the new year with a grudge or bitterness in her heart. Papa was doing fine and was scheduled to be released before the new year. There was still no trace of the cross, as Lame hadn't been willing to talk or confess.
Also, Melanie kept having a recurring dream in which her mother came to tell her that she needed to talk to Lame.--That she alone would be able to help him, that he would listen to her. She was to tell him about God's love and Jesus and forgiveness. He would listen to her, her mother said, because she was a living proof of these gifts. In her dream, her mother also mentioned that if she would truly forgive this young man, God would put a blessing upon her, which she would feel for the rest of her life. This one thing intrigued Melanie very much. She always loved puzzles and mysteries, and wondered what this meant. So, between the dreams and not knowing what made Lame become a criminal, she couldn't get him out of her mind. Finally, on New Year's Eve, she mustered up the courage to go and talk to him.
Her heart was pounding as she approached room 202, Lame's room. She smiled at the officer posted outside the room, a reminder of how much trouble this fellow was in, and where he was most likely headed next. Melanie found she was almost trembling as she opened the door. She felt very awkward, yet somewhat expectant, knowing that her mother really wanted her to help this man.
Lame had learned from the nurses and newspapers that the surgeon who operated on him was the daughter of the man he stabbed. Melanie walked in, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still as she stood there speechless, staring at him.
Wow, who's this gorgeous girl? were the first thoughts on Lame's mind as he stared back at her. Lame's head was still wrapped in bandages, and his face was covered in scabs.
Underneath the bandages, Lame was a handsome looking fellow. I wish he weren't such a creep, Melanie thought. This lasted just a few seconds, although it seemed like minutes. Finally, she took the plunge.
"Hello, I'm Docteur LeBlanc."
Lame suddenly realized who he was looking at, and all at once was filled with shame. He could hardly look back at her. He had always been the big tough guy, yet at this moment he felt totally humbled by the fact that here stood the one responsible for fixing him up, although he had so badly and intentionally hurt her father and stolen his belongings. Lame covered his eyes and fought hard to hold back the tears. For the first time in a long time he felt conscience-stricken, and felt the urge to ask for forgiveness for what he had done.
"I I don't know how to tell you how terrible I feel and how sorry I am. You must just hate me!" he said in a choked voice.
Melanie felt compassion for him, and in what seemed a supernatural intervention, moved her hand on top of his. She patted it and said, "No, I don't hate you!"
Lame took his other hand off of his eyes, and looked at Melanie, as the tears started to run down his face. "I'm sorry, please forgive me! I'm sorry about your dad. I did it. I was the one who stabbed him. I don't deserve to live. While you operated on me, you should have just stuck that scalpel through my heart; that would have been the best thing that could have happened to me. I don't want to live any more, I can't face what I've done."
By now Melanie had tears in her eyes as well. She knew it wasn't an act; this man was truly sorry for what he had done. She knew that God would be ready to give him forgiveness, if he asked for it, and that she was to be the one to give him that news.
"I forgive you, because I know that you are really sorry. My father forgives you too. You see, both my father and I believe in God, and that He forgives us. Now He wants to forgive you. God also gives us the strength to forgive others and that is why I can forgive you, and tell you these things. God wants to give you a second chance, He loves you and wants to help you. All you have to do is accept His love, mercy and forgiveness."
Melanie could feel an angelic presence in the room. It seemed to be filled with a wonderful calm and peace that was so real it could almost be felt.
That same day Lame asked God to forgive him for his sins, and accepted the Son of God, Jesus, as his Savior. Melanie's words "second chance" kept running through his head. That day Lame promised Jesus that if He would give him a second chance, he would turn his life around and use it to help others.
The first few days of the new year Melanie was off duty, but every day she went to see Lame, and every time they ended up talking for several hours. Melanie started to witness a miraculous transformation in Lame, and soon they became close friends. Melanie bought a Bible for Lame, which they would read together. She found great fulfillment in sharing with him what she had learned over the years. Every day was another milestone of progress for Lame.
It was a wonderful testimony of the Lord's love and forgiveness to everyone at the hospital, and it wasn't long before it became the talk of town. It was the kind of sensational story that tabloid editors loved--"Victim's Daughter Befriends Assailant!" read one headline. "Surgeon Falls in Love with Man who Stabbed Her Father!" stated an embellished version.
We all know how fast rumors can start. This one, however, was not entirely unfounded. While at the hospital, during her days off, Melanie had offered to take care of Lame and change his bandages. This was a bit unusual, and she should have realized that people would talk. Somehow she seemed to be oblivious to everything except Lame. With each passing day they were becoming better friends.
The feeling appeared mutual. "You're my number one choice for a nurse!" he teased, as he lay there bare chested and relaxed, enjoying every minute of her bandage-changing procedure. "I must be a pretty important character, I get my bandages changed by the surgeon herself," he added jokingly, while trying to keep a straight face.
"She's acting like a teenager in love for the first time," remarked a number of people. It was one thing to change a patient's bandages, but it was quite another matter for a doctor to become so involved with her own patient.
Melanie did her best to act and appear professional in her conduct, but in her heart she knew something more was happening. Still, she knew Lame was a criminal who would be incarcerated as soon as he was well enough to leave the hospital. In spite of the problems and risks, Melanie remained committed to helping him.
She did in fact convince him to come clean and cooperate with the police. "In the end it will be better for everybody. Your sentence will be reduced if, as a result of confessing, the stolen goods are recovered. Fer is only an accomplice and will be out in no time. Maybe we can try to help him get out of the gang and straighten out his life. I know a good lawyer. He's a friend of mine, and I'm sure he'll agree to represent you."
During the course of their encounters, Lame had told Melanie why he had turned to crime. He had a fairly normal upbringing, and considered himself as happy as the next guy. Raised in an upper-middle class family, all his needs were met. His parents' relationship, however, was less than perfect. As a result, they ended up separating when he had just turned 14. Shortly thereafter, his dad remarried a younger woman, the news of which totally devastated Lame's mother. She started drinking heavily, became an alcoholic, and was now living in a rehab center.
This was when Lame took up martial arts, as a way to vent his anger and frustrations. He was studying psychology and doing very well. He had always had an aptitude for learning, and everything had come pretty easy for him. Then, when all seemed to be crumbling around him, he dropped out and gave up. Fed up with everything, he started to blame his unhappiness on anything he could think of--his father, society, the government, life in general. It didn't take long before he started to take drugs and turned to crime. He eventually joined a gang. Although this gave him the feeling that he belonged to something, he still did not have a purpose in life and didn't care whether he would live or die.
Acting on information Lame gave them, the police were able to catch Fer in early January, and Monsieur LeBlanc's stolen items were recovered--the cherished cross included. Melanie was at her father's house celebrating the Christmas that they didn't get to spend together that last Christmas day when the doorbell rang. It was the inspector.
With a big grin he said, "Eh Louis, regarde ce que les rois t'apportent!" (Look what the kings are bringing to you!)
"Que Dieu te benisse, mon frre!" (God bless you, my brother!) answered Louis. Then he continued, with an air of surprise at seeing the cross in the inspector's hand, "This isn't mine. It belongs to you, my dear daughter." He handed the cross to Melanie. "You certainly deserve it, mon ange (my angel). Your mother, grandmother and great grandmother must be very proud of you. Your Christian virtues have been tried, but you have passed with flying colors. Congratulations!" This was the Christmas celebration they had missed, except now it had even more meaning. Father and daughter had tears of joy in their eyes as they hugged affectionately.
Everything had finally worked out--almost everything, I should say. Lame was to be released from the hospital the next day, and taken to prison. This was not a happy thought for Melanie. After leaving her father's house, she dropped by the hospital to say good-bye to Lame. He knew that she was coming, so he made sure that he looked his best. He wanted to make a lasting impression, as he had grown to love Melanie very much, and hoped that she would not forget him while he was in jail. His wish was that they would stay friends and that she would visit him every now and then.
He wasn't one to plan very much into the future, but to be honest, he had fallen deeply in love with this wonderful person, and had the conditions been different, he would have asked her to marry him. But knowing Melanie for such a short time, plus being on his way to jail, he didn't feel that that question would be appropriate. He decided to wait until his release and propose to her then, should they still be friends.
Upon entering the room, both Melanie and Lame broke out into big smiles. They were so happy to see each other. Even though a certain amount of sadness was mixed into their emotions, they felt assured that they would meet again. Having gone through so much together in so little time, they felt that no matter what, they would always remain friends and could not lose what had grown between them. The officer on guard politely left them alone for a few moments. They swiftly approached each other, and embraced tenderly. For the longest time Melanie tried to figure out her emotions. Was the great love she felt in her heart towards Lame something that God did to help Lame during this time?
Why do I feel so strongly drawn towards him? She wondered. And why do I get so excited inside when I'm near him? Bewildered by it all, she resolved to not try to figure it out, but to take things one step at the time, and trust the Lord for the future. This was the first time that they had hugged. "This feels wonderful!" Melanie almost blurted out. Lame pulled away for a moment, and looked deeply into Melanie's eyes. He had promised himself not to give any indication of how much he loved her, because he thought that it would be too hard on her.
"You are the most beautiful girl I have ever seen!" he said, not being able to resist.
Melanie was touched; those words were like music to her ears. She had dated before, but up until this time it had always been superficial; shallow at best. She had never found anyone who shared her deep beliefs in God, and with whom she could have a meaningful conversation. Here she was, passionately looking into the eyes of a convicted felon, yet she felt that she could live the rest of her life with this man. If he would ask her to marry him, she would say yes, right there and then.
With his compliment still ringing in her ears, she replied, "You're pretty gorgeous yourself, especially without the bandages." The biggest wound on the back of his head was still bandaged up, but most of the smaller facial injuries were hardly noticeable. He was quite handsome, indeed. Once again they hugged, fighting a near irresistible desire to kiss.
It all seems so sudden! Is this the time and place? What would be the effect of such an exchange? Is it the right thing to do? The questions raced through both of their minds.
Finally Lame pulled away and implored, "Melanie, will you please come and visit me in prison--often? You know I need more Bible classes," he added, jokingly.
"Sure I will. I'll be there as often as I can. You know, I don't really like good-byes, so this is bientt! (See you shortly!)"
After the customary kisses on the cheeks, Melanie proceeded to leave. Just about to step out the door, she seemed to sense her mother say, Kiss him, kiss him! This time she wasn't so sure if she heard her mother; it could very easily have been her own mind. It wouldn't have been the first time she entertained the thought. Deciding to throw all caution to the wind, she rushed back into Lame's arms and kissed him passionately.
This kiss lingered on Lame's lips long after Melanie was gone, and was a great source of strength during the difficult months of jail-time ahead. It also gave Melanie faith that no matter what people said about their "strange" relationship, God saw things differently.
As anticipated, prison was difficult for Lame. Not only was he mocked for his newfound faith, but the news that he had turned in his friend was also common knowledge. For Fer, forgiveness did not come easily. He did not have any Christian virtues to fall back on. Consequently, they were not on speaking terms for a considerable time. Through the months, Melanie visited Lame on a regular basis. In spite of the opposition in the prison, Lame's faith grew stronger. He boldly shared his beliefs with anyone who would listen. As time went on, more and more inmates showed interest--after all, he had a captive audience.
Eventually, Lame started giving regular Bible study classes himself. As a result, numerous lives were touched and changed. Fer certainly lived up to his name; he was tough as iron. But not tough enough for God's love. Even he came to know Jesus, in Whom he found the strength to forgive Lame for turning him in.
And so ended this happy story. Unless you're wondering what happened to dear Julien. Well, he, his wife and children had a very pleasant Christmas with their two strangers from the street, who by the end of the evening showed great interest in wanting to check out Seconde Chance. Melanie put the children to bed, as Julien said good-bye to the teenagers. Being the good husband that he is, he helped clear the table while his dear wife settled Christian and Chantal for the night.
Julien then heard his wife call from their bedroom. There they embraced, thanking the Lord for another wonderful Christmas, praying that the two young people they shared dinner with would also get to know the Savior in a personal way, and find in Him true and lasting joy.
Then, while looking at the beautiful cross hanging on their bedroom wall, Julien said to his wife, "I never did have to steal that cross after all, did I?--I only had to steal your heart."
"That's right, cheri," answered Melanie, "and that's what you did."
* * *
About a week after Lame, or Julien, as we have now come to know him, had been incarcerated, he could not keep his secret any longer and proposed to Melanie. They were married at the prison--which, incidentally, also became the place of Christian's conception not long after that.
Once he got over the initial shock of his daughter's marriage, Louis came to love Julien very dearly. Julien became the son Louis had always wanted, but never had. By the same token, Louis became the father Julien had lost. Julien has been a loving husband to Melanie, and has given Louis lovely grandchildren.
When Julien came out of prison, Louis presented him with a plan. The rehabilitation center for juvenile delinquents was Louis' idea. He thought of it after he had been stabbed. He wanted to invest money in something that might be able to help troubled youth. Who would be better qualified to run such a place than an ex-juvenile delinquent son-in-law? Julien had promised God that he would serve Him and others in return for all He had done for him, but seeing he didn't finish his education, he wasn't sure what opportunities there would be for him. Louis' proposal was the perfect answer to his prayer. Louis explained that he would finance it, but that Julien could run it whichever way he thought best, and that he should also come up with the name for the center. This had been the easiest part of it all. That same instant, he pictured the words 'Seconde Chance'--the memory of the first time Melanie had said it to him was still vividly implanted in his mind. He felt that if the Lord offered him divine forgiveness and a second chance, everybody in this world deserved the same.
THE CHRISTMAS THAT CHANGED A LIFE
The sun had scarcely risen over the city, and Christine was already up and about. Looking out the window of her hotel room, she could see the sky turn colors of blue and purple amidst the tall buildings of New York City. "New York, here I come," she said to herself out loud. Her voice exuded confidence.
It was unusually bright for a Christmas day, which are often clouded and snowy in New York. But the sun was shining, and so was Christine. Today was the grandest day of her life; the day that she had been working towards for years. She counted herself fortunate indeed to have come this far at her young age--she was hardly 18. Tonight, she thought to herself, is the beginning of my life! And what a life it would be! She could hardly believe how quickly her dreams were coming true.
She paused for a moment. "Naturally," she said, as she admired herself in the full-length mirror, "why should I be surprised? After all, I worked hard to get to where I am today. It wasn't exactly handed to me on a silver platter. If anyone is responsible for my good fortune, it's Christine Sanders," she remarked with a slight smile.
Christine's thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the door to her room swinging open, and her younger sister Mary rushing in proclaiming, "Merry Christmas! This is such an exciting day!"
"Mary!" Christine exclaimed angrily. "Haven't I told you a million times to knock before coming in? You're such a rude little sister! If you ever want to grow up to be someone important like me, you're going to have to learn some manners."
Mary plopped herself into the chair by the bed. Inside she felt hurt by her sister's harsh remark, but she tried not to show it. Besides, she was so full of admiration and excitement at her big sister's success that she could only think of how proud she was to have a sister like Christine--so talented, so beautiful, and destined for fame.
So excited was Mary that as she sat down in the chair, she neglected to notice that Christine's carefully-ironed dress was draped over the back of the chair. When Christine turned and saw what had happened, she let out a scream.
"Mary! You're such a little pest! Now I'm going to have to iron it again! Why do you come in here to bother me like this? Can't you see that I've got to get myself prepared for tonight! Go and find someone to play with!" she exclaimed, as she pulled Mary out of the chair.
Mary ran out of the room, slamming the door, and rushed down to the hotel lobby. Hurt by Christine's insensitivity, a tear or two rolled down her cheek.
I have such a wonderful sister, she thought, so talented, so beautiful. Why isn't she nice to me? If only she could understand me and love me for who I am.
Mary often compared herself with her older sister. She was only five years younger, but felt that they were worlds apart. Born to different fathers, they didn't even look alike. Christine was tall, with beautiful long chestnut hair and blue eyes that could make any man weak in the knees. She'd been the high school beauty queen with a string of boys knocking at her door asking her for dates. So eager were the boys to take her out that they would even befriend Mary in hopes that she might put in a good word for them.
Best of all, Christine had a voice like an angel. When she was little it was said that when she sang, even the larks who nestled in the garden of her beautiful Georgia home would be silent and listen. Her talent made her the envy of her town.
In contrast, Mary was short and plain. She was just beginning to enter adolescence, but was developing a bit slower than other girls her age. Her rather flat chest was the butt* of cruel remarks by other girls in her school, who often compared her unfavorably to her older sister.
Worst of all, as much as Mary admired her sister's voice, her own singing resembled the sound of the wind whistling through the shutters of her room. She wished that she could someday sing like her sister, but with her voice, it seemed that wasn't meant to be.
Despite her seeming misfortune, Mary was a happy and good-natured girl. Having such a gifted older sister could have made her bitter, but she was happy to accept her lot in life, confident that she, too, would find something to excel in. When she was tempted to feel down about the hand that she had been dealt in life, she often took comfort in the Scripture which her mother used to read to her from the large-print Bible which sat prominently on the coffee table in their living room: "All things work together for good to them that love God."
At least Someone appreciates and loves me, she thought to herself, as she discreetly wiped the tears from her cheeks so that no one in the lobby would notice she was crying.
Back upstairs, Christine hadn't given much thought to the way her sister left the room or how she might be feeling. She was much too busy with her own plans. As she prepared to go out for a morning jog, her thoughts drifted back in time to how it had all begun.
* * *
Christine was raised in the small Georgia town of Hoboken by her mother Carolyn. Christine's father had left Carolyn when Christine was still a baby, and for the first years of her life, she and her mother had lived alone. Their fortunes changed when they met Tom Sanders, a wealthy but kind-hearted businessman from a neighboring town. Tom and Carolyn fell in love, and quickly married. Three years later, Mary was born.
Tom and Carolyn loved both of their daughters dearly, and treated them both with love and care. Mary was sometimes clumsy and did poorly in school, but she had a heart of gold that endeared her to all who knew her in their small town.
As Christine grew older, her talent for music and singing became increasingly apparent. She entered local singing contests, sweeping first place and stunning audiences and judges alike with her talent. Her parents encouraged her to develop her skills, and hired a private singing tutor to teach her various types of singing, including opera, which Christine particularly fancied. The Sanders' home was often filled with the sounds of Puccini, Verdi and Mozart as Christine dreamed of one day becoming a great diva* herself.
Christine's talents were soon noticed outside of the small town of Hoboken, and after winning a state singing contest, she received the news of a scholarship at the Juilliard School of Music in New York. What a day that was! Christine could still remember the moment the envelope came with the news of her acceptance. Even then, though she was only 14, she could sense that it was the beginning of her dream.
Christine moved to New York, where she worked hard and studied day and night, developing her voice and fine-tuning her talent. She was soon considered one of the rising stars at Juilliard, and was both admired and despised by her fellow students. As her voice grew, so did her estimation of herself, until she became known in the school as much for her sharp temper and disdainful character as for her singing. Her ill disposition didn't win her many friends, but Christine didn't mind. After all, she'd have lots of friends once she was famous, she told herself.
Tom and Carolyn were both devout Christians, and had tried their best to raise Christine and Mary to love God and their fellow man. Christine believed in God and tried to do good when she could, but she considered herself much too busy with her life to have much time for service for others.
After all, if I work hard now on honing* the gift that God has given me, then when I'm rich and famous I'll be in a much better position to be able to help others and do something for them, Christine often told herself. She had a kind heart, but as the years went by, it was becoming increasingly hardened by her own aspirations for success.
Unfortunately, Mary frequently bore the brunt of her older sister's conceit. Christine loved her sister Mary, but would often become frustrated with her demands for her time and attention which she felt robbed her of time needed for practice. She was relieved when she finally moved away from her family to New York City.
Finally, Christine's years of hard work, often pushing herself to the limit, had paid off. Earlier this year she had been auditioned for the Metropolitan Opera, and so impressed was the Opera with her skill that despite her young years, they had signed her up to play a leading part in Puccini's La Bohme, which was to open on Christmas day! It was the break that every aspiring performer dreams of.
And now, the long-awaited day had come. Christine had spent months preparing for and rehearsing her part. Though she was a bit nervous, she felt confident that she would not only do fine, but make a lasting impression on both the audience and the critics. She knew that if she could pull this one off, it would be the start of a promising career.
* * *
It was Christmas day, but Christmas was the last thing on Christine's mind. She was too preoccupied with thoughts of tonight's performance. Nevertheless, as she sat, pensive, on the bed of the hotel room where she was staying with her parents and sister, who were visiting for the event, she felt a sudden urge to pray. She had thought of God from time to time, but her life had been much too busy for prayer, and she thought it a bit odd that with everything else going on right now, she would suddenly be struck with a feeling to pray.
As she knelt by her bedside, she remembered the promise that she had made, many years ago now, that if God would fulfill her dream of becoming a diva at the Met, she would try to use her position to do good for others.
"Dear God," she said quietly, "thank You for giving me the strength to come this far, and for making my dreams come true. Help me to keep my promise and find a way to be of help and service to others."
It was a short prayer, but Christine felt it with all her heart. It was one of those rare moments when she sensed just how close the Lord was.
* * *
As Christine ran through the hotel lobby, heading out to 34th Street, Mary spotted her and immediately ran up to her.
"Can I come with you?" Mary asked.
"No, of course not! I'm going for a run and can't have you tagging along. Why can't you find something else to do?" Christine retorted, as she ran out the front door into the street.
Mary ran out the door, and onto the sidewalk, eager to see which way her sister would go. As Christine stood at the corner, she turned around to once again admonish her sister not to try to follow her. Mary was about to argue that she would be more than able to keep up, but the words were never spoken. Before Mary could utter another word, the piercing sound of screeching tires echoed through the street.
Christine, who had been so preoccupied with getting out on her own, hadn't noticed the car racing around the corner, nor was she aware that she had stepped off the curb, and was now standing a few feet into the street. Christine let out a scream, but it was too late. As the car darted past, she was knocked off of her feet, thrown into the air, and through the side window of the corner store.
* * *
"Come back, Christine! Please come back," were the first words that Christine heard when she awoke. She fluttered her eyelids, and the sound of a stifled sob echoed in her ears.
"It looks like your daughter will be alright, Mrs. Sanders," she heard another voice say.
Christine's eyes opened, and slowly focused in the dimly-lit room at St. Vincent's Hospital. At her side stood her sister Mary, and her parents, anxiously looking at her.
"Oh, honey," her mom sobbed, "I was so worried about you! But look at you, you're awake! You're awake! You're going to make it, everything is going to be alright!"
She tried to answer, but to her surprise was unable to produce even a sound. It was then that she realized the serious condition that she was in. As she looked down at her body, her eyes widened in horror at the sight of the machines, tubes, and wires connected to her.
She started to jerk herself up, but was held back by her dad, who was sitting by the side of the bed. "It's okay, Christine!" he said, having anticipated her reaction. "Don't worry about all this stuff, okay? You're going to be fine!"
Fear lingered in her eyes as she slumped back in shock, trying hard to remember how she had gotten here, and what had happened.
Dad continued, in a calm and soft voice, telling her what had happened.
"You were hit by a car, honey, and it threw you through a window. You were hit pretty hard, and one of your legs has been broken. Also " Tom's voice quivered, and he paused for a moment to swallow a lump that had risen in his throat, " your larynx* has been severely damaged, and that is why you cannot speak."
Christine lay still for quite some time. Now everything started to come back. The concert my singing my life!! Tears welled up in her eyes. Lost in a world of her own silence, she lay there, dazed, as she half listened to a hushed conversation that had now begun across the room.
"She may learn to speak again," the doctor was saying. "There are a number of different therapies available, although it will take considerable time before she can make herself understood.--But her voice will never be the same again."
* * *
Christine sat in a comfortable armchair, staring out of her bedroom window. A few months had now passed since the accident, and Christine had withdrawn further and further within herself. She had moved back to Hoboken, to live with her parents and sister, hoping there to find a way to somehow put her shattered life back together.
She was still coming to grips with the fact that she could no longer speak, and adjusting to life without a voice was not easy for this previously talkative and outgoing girl. In her mind she kept replaying those last minutes before the accident--the accident that had claimed the voice she had trained and nurtured for so long.
She remembered the anguish of that Christmas day in her hospital bed, recovering from surgery, with her leg in a cast. When she had heard the sounds of Christmas carols wafting through the hallways, all she could do was silently listen. No longer could her voice ring out the songs as it had once so lustily* done.
Her silent memories were broken by her younger sister's voice. "I've brought you some iced tea. How are you feeling today?"
Christine looked up at Mary, who was ever her cheery self. She gave a little smile, as Mary put down the tray, and pulled up a chair next to her older sister.
Christine grabbed a notepad that sat on a dresser beside her, and scribbled a "Thank you!" to her sister.
"Now, come on," Mary began, "quit just sitting there and pining away. Look at you, your hair's a mess. Let me iron your dress, and then we'll be off."
Christine looked at Mary with a puzzled expression on her face, as she took a sip of the soothing cold drink her sister had brought her.
"Because we're going outside, of course. You need some fresh air, and to get out of this stuffy room for awhile. Come on, let's go!" Mary said matter-of-factly.
Christine had rarely ventured out of the house since the accident. In part this was due to the fact that she was still rather weak, and had been recovering from both her broken leg and the shock of the accident. But now that her leg had healed, Mary tried to get her sister out of the house as much as possible. She could not bear to see her beloved sister isolate herself in the quietness of her room.
Christine rather reluctantly rose out of her chair and sauntered over to the mirror, where she sluggishly combed the tangles out of her hair. As she gazed in the mirror, she inspected her face and neck. Although she had been severely cut by the glass of the picture window she had been thrown through, most of the scars were slowly fading and becoming less noticeable.
Shifting her gaze in the mirror from herself over to where Mary stood, she could see Mary take a wrinkled dress that was draped over the back of a chair next to her bed; humming as she went, she took it over to the ironing board in the corner, and proceeded to iron it.
Christine couldn't help but remember the dress draped over the back of the chair that fateful Christmas morning. She recalled how upset she had gotten at her younger sister for sitting on it, and for always seeming to be in the way. Yet now, she had a deep appreciation for all that Mary did to help her. For the past few months, she had been increasingly dependent on her sister, and they were fast becoming the best of friends.
Mary, on the other hand, thought it terribly unfair that her sister, whom she admired so much, had lost her voice. But she never spoke of it, not wanting to add to her sister's sorrow. She maintained a cheerful countenance, keeping her feelings of sympathy largely to herself. Her sister had received enough sympathy from her well-meaning friends and relatives anyway, she often thought.
* * *
Two years passed, and Mary was now 15 years old. Although she had been a late bloomer, she was now a maturing and beautiful young woman, well absorbed in her studies, and starting to make good grades.
Christine still largely stayed at home, kept house, and channeled her still very musical mind into mastering the piano. She had become proficient enough to where she now gave lessons to a handful of young students from the neighborhood.
There was hardly anything that the two sisters did not do together. Mary still spent as much time as she could after school with her older sister. Christine had learned--after much difficulty--to speak again, although her voice was no longer the clear and vibrant one she had once had. Instead, it sounded low and rather raspy.
Mary had missed the sound of singing that used to regularly echo through the hallways of their house whenever her sister was practicing, or simply singing out of the fullness of her heart. But by now she had become used to the mostly silent house, except for occasional notes from the piano that would waft through the rooms whenever Christine would give lessons or play on her own.
Mary would often recognize many of the pieces of music that Christine played as being the accompaniment to the parts of opera that she used to love to sing. Familiar as they were, Mary would find herself humming along with them. A few times, in the solitude of her room, she would even try to open her mouth and sing the parts she knew. But she never got too far before she would get discouraged with her quivery voice. You're not a singer, and you know it. So quit trying to fool yourself, Mary. You're not Christine, and you don't have to try to be, she would think to herself.
But in truth, Mary loved music and singing more than she would admit. Deep in her heart was a desire to sing, a desire that she herself often suppressed, thinking that her voice was far too plain to ever sing as her sister had. Besides, she knew that it was difficult for her sister to hear people singing. She never said anything about it, but it was plain to see. Every time that they would go out for a walk together, and happen to pass by a place where the sounds of a song on the radio could be heard, Christine would pretend not to notice. But Mary could always see the tears hidden beneath the surface of her silent blue eyes.
So it was a surprise to Mary, when, on a cold and snowy December evening, as Christine sat at the piano playing "Silent Night," she suddenly stopped, and called to her: "Mary "
"Yes," Mary responded, rising up from the comfortable living room couch where she had been reading a book.
"Sing," was the next word that Mary heard.
With a puzzled expression, Mary walked up to her sister, sitting at the piano.
"You want me to sing?!" Mary asked, with a stunned look of disbelief on her face.
"Please sing for me."
"Okay," Mary answered. "What do you want me to sing?"
Christine started to play "Silent Night" again, slowly and deliberately striking the notes on the piano, so that her sister could pick up the key.
"Silent night ," Mary began with a quivering voice. "Holy night ," she continued, but then stopped. "I can't sing. It sounds terrible. No, forget it. The piano sounds nice enough on its own."
Christine looked up at her sister pleadingly. "No, go on " she whispered.
Mary reluctantly picked up the song, and, in her own sullen way, sang almost too loud.
"All is calm, all is bright. Round yon virgin mother and child. Holy infant, so tender and mild. Sleep in heavenly peace. Sleep in heavenly peace "
Mary stopped there, even though Christine kept on playing. Christine looked up at her sister, nodding for her to continue, but Mary obstinately kept her mouth closed.
"Don't stop, please, It's okay ," Christine encouraged her.
"Silent night, holy night. Shepherds quake at the sight. Glory streams from Heaven above. Heavenly hosts sing 'Allelujah.' Christ, the Savior, is born. Christ, the Savior, is born ,"
Christine stopped playing, and looked up at Mary. "That was beautiful ," she managed to say.
Mary, surprised by her own voice, cracked a shy smile.
Christine picked up the notes on the piano again, nodding to her sister to finish the song.
"Silent night, holy night. Wondrous star, lend thy light. With the angels let us sing, Allelujah to our King. Christ, the Savior, is born. Christ, the Savior, is born."
When the song had finished, Christine had tears in her eyes. She flung her arms enthusiastically around her younger sister. Mary sat down on the bench next to Christine.
"That was beautiful!" Christine whispered, as a tear rolled down her cheek. "You should sing more."
"Okay," Mary said, struggling to keep back her own tears of happiness at this encouragement from her older sister. "But you'll have to help me!"
Christine nodded, and she and Mary hugged one another again.
And so it was that the Sanders house was filled once again with music. As the days went by, Christine and Mary spent more time together at the piano, playing songs and singing. In whatever way she could, Christine helped Mary to recognize the potential in her own voice. She taught her to stand up straight and tall, to breathe deeply, and let her notes come forth with greater strength. Everything that Christine had learned in her years of singing, the experience and knowledge that she had tucked away in her own sorrow, started coming back to her. And she passed it all on to Mary.
The more Mary sang, the more confident she became, not only in her singing, but in her everyday life. She didn't know that it could be so fulfilling to express her inner self through the songs that she now vibrantly brought to life with the sparkle in her voice. Christine had never seen Mary so happy, and did all she could to help her younger sister cultivate this newly discovered talent.
* * *
Mary felt nervous. This was her first time on stage, and the hall was packed. Although she had spent months practicing for this moment, she couldn't keep from feeling butterflies in her stomach.
A full year had now passed since that Christmas when she had first sung for her sister Christine. On the insistence of both Christine and her mother, Mary had agreed to be auditioned for a singing role in her high school's annual Christmas production, and had been chosen for a solo number near the end of the play.
Mary gazed at the audience in front of her, locating Christine and her parents, who were all there for this momentous* occasion. When their eyes met, Christine gave Mary an encouraging nod.
The music started, and the notes of the orchestra echoed softly through the large hall. Mary closed her eyes, imagining herself back at home, standing at the piano with her sister. Somehow she felt more comfortable that way. At just the right moment, she picked up the song, and softly began to sing.
"Oh, holy night. The stars are brightly shining " With perfect intonation and poise*, and oblivious* to the crowds she was singing for, she lost herself to the pure joy of singing the song from the depths of her heart. She gave the song her all, and when she came to the chorus, she belted it out with ardent* gusto*.
"Fall on your knees. Oh, hear the angels' voices "
When the orchestra played out the last notes of the song, there was a moment of silence. Mary stood there, her face aglow with joy as she looked up towards one of the spotlights that was focused on where she stood. Then a burst of applause brought her back to reality. She looked down, trying to focus on the audience through the glare of the lights that shone in her face. Mary gave a short bow, and proceeded off the stage, to join her family in the audience.
"Oh, Mary, that was absolutely beautiful," her mother complimented her, with the trace of a tear still on her cheek.
Mary hugged her mother and father, and then turned to Christine, who had also stood up to hug her sister.
"That was beautiful ," she whispered in her ear, over the noise of the Christmas program continuing, "I knew you could do it!" she smiled, and her face radiated, reflecting the happiness that she saw in her younger sister's eyes. "You're a born singer, girl " Christine nodded to Mary, as they both sat down.
Mary looked over at her older sister, as a tear rolled down her cheek. "Thank you!" she whispered into her sister's ear. "Thank you!"
* * *
Under Christine's faithful tutelage* and encouraged by her success on stage at Christmas, Mary continued to hone her singing talents. Not long thereafter, she proudly received a scholarship to the Juilliard School of Music, where she went on to excel, as her older sister once had years before.
In time, the big moment came, when Mary, like Christine before her, was chosen to sing in a play opening at the Metropolitan Opera. Mary's performance was enchanting, and when she had finished her aria*, the crowd rose to their feet in admiration and applause.
As the clapping died down and the public again took to their seats, Mary stepped forward. It was highly unusual for a singer to make a speech after a song, but Mary felt compelled to give credit where credit was due. She softly said, "I would like to dedicate the song I just performed, and all of the songs that I will yet perform throughout my career, to Christine Sanders, the most loving and caring sister anyone could ever hope to have. She might have been the one standing here tonight, but when she lost her voice in a tragic accident, she imparted to me what she once had. And so, I am forever indebted to my sister who, rather than give up in despair, chose to live on, and impart her gift to another. Thank you forever, Christine."
Tears rolled down Christine's cheeks as she sat in the audience listening to her sister's words of appreciation, and the crowd again applauded enthusiastically. After the accident she had felt like she could never be happy again, but now she felt an even greater joy and excitement than she had felt that day when she herself was to perform at the Met. Christine's career was not over; no, it had only begun. She was living on in her younger sister.
One would have thought that her younger sister's success at what Christine had once longed for would have made Christine envious, but not so. She had gained something much greater. She had learned that through giving comes the greatest joy and fulfillment. By giving her all to her sister, she had found herself again, and the sadness and despair that had engulfed* her after that tragic Christmas day was gone. She had changed from a self-centered and sometimes mean-spirited girl to a truly loving, caring and devoted young lady, who through her love and kindness became known as the "angel of Hoboken."
For a while, with Mary in New York, Christine passed her days teaching the children of Hoboken and surrounding towns the joys of music and singing through her piano and singing lessons. It wasn't long, however, before Christine also received an invitation to return to the Juilliard School--as a teacher. The faculty* had learned of Christine and the great help that she had been to Mary, and so it happened that Christine came to help tutor and coach other girls in their singing. Though sometimes she missed the stage herself, she found great fulfillment in helping so many others achieve what she herself had been unable to; she truly felt happier now than she had ever been before.
And so it was that Christine understood how God had answered the prayer of her heart on that Christmas, now many years ago. What at first had looked like a curse, she now knew was the greatest Christmas gift she could have ever received.
DEFINITIONS INCLUDED THROUGHOUT BOOKLET:
* incarcerated: put in jail
* incorrigible: those who refuse to heed correction
* detoxification: medically supervised treatment for alcohol or drug addiction designed to purge the body of intoxicating or addictive substances
* psychotic: in mental disorder
* misdemeanor: a minor offense, less serious than a felony
* butt: an object of ridicule or contempt
* diva: leading soloist in an operatic play
* hone: to perfect a skill through practice
* larynx: part of the throat containing the vocal cords
* lustily: in a lively way, with a lot of power
* momentous: important or significant
* poise: to be composed, sincere, not pretending or embarrassed
* oblivious: forgetting, not thinking of something
* ardent: with feeling, passionate
* gusto: obvious enjoyment
* tutelage: instruction or teaching
* aria: solo piece in an opera, sung with musical accompaniment
* engulfed: overwhelmed
* faculty: body of teachers
Copyright (c) 1998 by Aurora Productions