Always believe in MIRACLES!!

Always believe in MIRACLES!!

Three years ago, a little boy and his grandmother came to
see Santa at Mayfair Mall in Wisconsin. The child climbed
up on his lap, holding a picture of a little girl. "Who
is this?" asked Santa, smiling. "Your friend? Your
sister?"

"Yes, Santa," he replied. "My sister, Sarah, who is very
sick," he said sadly.

Santa glanced over at the grandmother who was waiting
nearby, and saw her dabbing her eyes with a tissue.

"She wanted to come with me to see you, oh, so very much,
Santa!" the child exclaimed. "She misses you," he added
softly.

Santa tried to be cheerful and encouraged a smile to the
boy's face, asking him what he wanted Santa to bring him
for Christmas. When they finished their visit, the
Grandmother came over to help the child off his lap, and
started to say something to Santa, but halted.

"What is it?" Santa asked warmly.

"Well, I know it's really too much to ask you, Sant a, but
..." the old woman began, shooing her grandson over to one
of Santa's elves to collect the little gift which Santa
gave all his young visitors. "The girl in the photograph
... my granddaughter .. well, you see .. she has
leukemia and isn't expected to make it even through the
ho lidays," she said through tear-filled eyes. "Is there
any way, Santa ... any possible way that you could come
see Sarah? That's all she's asked for, for Christmas, is
to see Santa."

Santa blinked and swallowed hard and told the woman to
leave information with his elves as to where Sar ah was,
and he would see what he could do. Santa thought of
little else the rest of that afternoon. He knew what he
had to do. "What if it were MY child lying in that
hospital bed, dying," he thought with a sinking heart,
"this is the least I can do."

When Santa finished visiting with all the boys and girls
that evening, he retrieved from his helper the name of the
hospital where Sarah was staying. He asked the assistant
location manager how to get to Children's Hospital.

"Why?" Rick asked, with a puzzled look on his face.

Santa relayed to him the conversation with Sarah's
grandmother earlier that day. "C'mon .... I'll take you
there," Rick said softly.

Rick drove them to the hospital and came inside with
Santa. They found out which room Sarah was in. A pale
Rick said he would wait out in the hall. Santa quietly
peeked into the room through the half-closed door and saw
little Sarah on the bed. The room was full of what
appeared to be her family; there was the Grandmother and
the girl's brother he had met earlier that day. A woman
whom he guessed was Sarah's mother stood by the bed,
gently pushing Sarah's thin hair off her forehead. And
another woman who he discovered later was Sarah's aunt,
sat in a chair near the bed with weary, sad look on her
face. They were talking quietly, and Santa could sense
the warmth and closeness of the family, and their love and
concern for Sarah. Taking a deep breath, and forcing a
smile on his face, Santa entered the room, bellowing a
hearty, "Ho, ho, ho!"

"Santa!" shrieked little Sarah weakly, as she tried to
escape her bed to run to him, IV tubes in tact.

Santa rushed to her side and gave her a warm hug. A child
the tender age of his own son -- 9 years old -- gazed up
at him with wonder and excitement. Her skin was pale and
her short tresses bore telltale bald patches from the
effects of chemotherapy. But all he saw when he looked at
her was a pair of huge, blue eyes. His heart melted, and
he had to force himself to choke back tears. Though his
eyes were riveted upon Sarah's face, he could hear the
gasps and quiet sobbing of the women in the room. As he
and Sarah began talking, the family crept quietly to the
bedside one by one, squeezing Santa's shoulder or his hand
gratefully, whispering "thank you" as they gazed sincerely
at him with shining eyes. Santa and Sarah talked and
talked, and she told him excitedly all the toys she wanted
for Christmas, assuring him she'd been a very good girl
that year. As their time together dwindled, Santa felt
led in his spirit to pray for Sarah, and asked for
permission from the girl's mother. She nodded in
agreement and the entire family circled around Sarah's
bed, holding hands. Santa looked in tensely at Sarah and
asked her if she believed in angels.

"Oh, yes, Santa ... I do!" she exclaimed.

"Well, I'm going to ask that angels watch over you,"he
said. Laying one hand on the child's head, Santa closed
his eyes and prayed. He asked that God touch little
Sarah, and heal her body from this disease. He asked that
angels minister to her, watch and keep her. And when he
finished praying, still with eyes closed, he started
singing softly, "Silent Night, Holy Night .... all is
calm, all is bright." The family joined in, still holding
hands, smiling at Sarah, and crying tears of hope, tears
of joy for this moment, as Sarah beamed at them all. When
the song ended, Santa sat on the side of the bed again a nd
held Sarah's frail, small hands in his own.

"Now, Sarah," he said authoritatively, "you have a job to
do, and that is to concentrate on getting well. I want
you to have fun playing with your friends this summer, and
I expect to see you at my house at Mayfair Mall this time
next year!" He knew it was risky proclaiming that, to this
little girl who had terminal cancer, but he "had" to. He
had to give her the greatest gift h e could -- not dolls or
games or toys -- but the gift of HOPE.

"Yes, Santa!" Sarah exclaimed, her eyes bright.

He leaned down and kissed her on the forehead and left the
room. Out in the hall, the minute Santa's eyes met
Rick's, a look passed between them and they wept
unashamed. Sarah's mother and grandmother slipped out of
the room quickly and rushed to Santa's side to thank him.

"My only child is the same age as Sarah," he explained
quietly. "This is the least I could do." They nodded with
understanding and hugged him.

One year later, Santa Mark was again back on the set in
Milwaukee for his six-week, seasonal job which he so loves
to do. Several weeks went by and then one day a child
came up to sit on his lap. "Hi, Santa! Remember me?!"

"Of course, I do," Santa proclaimed (as he always does),
smiling down at her.

After all, the secret to being a "good" Santa is to always
make each child feel as if they are the "only" child in
the world at that moment.

"You came to see me in the hospital last year!" Santa's
jaw dropped.

Tears immediately sprang in his eyes, and he grabbed this
little miracle and held her to his chest. " Sarah!" he
exclaimed. He scarcely recognized her, for her hair was
long and silky and her cheeks were rosy -- much different
from the little girl he had visited just a year before.
He looked over and saw Sarah's mother and grandmother in
the sidelines smiling and waving and wiping their eyes.

That was the best Christmas ever for Santa Claus. He had
witnessed --and been blessed to be instrumental in
bringing about -- this miracle of hope. This precious
little child was healed. Cancer-free. Alive and well.
He silently looked up to Heaven and humbly whispered,
"Thank you, Father. 'Tis a very, Merry Christmas!"

The Angels Are Busy

This is a good example for all of us.

----

I was driving home from a meeting this evening about 5, stuck in traffic on Colorado Blvd., and the car started to choke and splutter and die - I barely managed to coast, cruising into a gas station, glad only that I would not be blocking traffic and would have a somewhat warm spot to wait for the tow truck. It wouldn't even turn over. Before I could make the call, I saw a woman walking out of the "quickie mart" building, and it looked like she slipped on some ice and fell into a Gas pump, so I got out to see if she was okay.

When I got there, it looked more like she had been overcome by sobs than that she had fallen; she was a young woman who looked really haggard with dark circles under her eyes. She dropped something as I helped her up, and I picked it up to give it to her. It was a nickel.

At that moment, everything came into focus for me: the crying woman, the ancient Suburban crammed full of stuff with 3 kids in the back (1 in a car seat), and the gas pump reading $4.95.

I asked her if she was okay and if she needed help, and she just kept saying "I don't want my kids to see me crying," so we stood on the other side of the pump from her car. She said she was driving to California and that things were very hard for her right now. So I asked, "And you were praying?" That made her back away from me a little, but I assured her I was not a crazy person and said, "He heard you, and He sent me."

I took out my card and swiped it through the card reader on the pump so she could fill up her car completely, and while it was fueling, walked to the next door McDonald's and bought 2 big bags of food, some gift certificates for more, and a big cup of coffee. She gave the food to the kids in the car, who attacked it like wolves, and we stood by the pump eating fries and talking a little.

She told me her name, and that she lived in Kansas City. Her boyfriend left 2 months ago and she had not been able to make ends meet. She knew she wouldn't have money to pay rent Jan 1, and finally in desperation had finally called her parents, with whom she had not spoken in about 5 years. They lived in California and said she could come live with them and try to get on her feet there.


So she packed up everything she owned in the car. She told the kids they were going to California for Christmas, but not that they were going to live there.

I gave her my gloves, a little hug and said a quick prayer with her for safety on the road. As I was walking over to my car, she said, "So, are you like an angel or something?"

This definitely made me cry. I said, "Sweetie, at this time of year angels are really busy, so sometimes God uses regular people."

The Concert

When the house lights dimmed and the concert was about to begin, the mother returned to her seat and discovered that the child was missing

Suddenly, the curtains parted and spotlights focused on the impressive Steinway on stage. In horror, the mother saw her little boy sitting at the keyboard, innocently picking out "Twinkle,Twinkle Little Star."

At that moment, the great piano master made his entrance, quickly moved to the piano, and whispered in the boy's ear, "Don't quit.""Keep playing."

Then, leaning over, Paderewski reached down with his left hand and began filling in a bass part. Soon his right arm reached around to the other side of the child, and he added a running obligatio. Together, the old master and the young novice transformed what could have been a frightening situation into a wonderfully creative experience. The audience was so mesmerized that they couldn't recall what else the great master played. Only the classic, " Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star."

Perhaps that's the way it is with God. What we can accomplish on our own is hardly noteworthy. We try our best, but the results aren't always graceful flowing music. However, with the hand of the Master, our life's work can truly be beautiful.

The next time you set out to accomplish great feats, listen carefully. You may hear the voice of the Master, whispering in your ear, "Don't quit." "Keep playing." May you feel His arms around you and know that His hands are there, helping you turn your feeble attempts into true masterpieces.

Remember, God doesn't seem to call the equipped, rather, He equips the 'called.'

Life is more accurately measured by the lives you touch than by the things you acquire. So touch someone by passing this little message along.

May God bless you and be with you always! and remember, "Don't quit."

"Keep playing."

Service

One Sunday morning, the pastor noticed little Alex standing in the

foyer of the church staring up at a large plaque. It was covered with names with small American flags mounted on either side of it.

The 7-year-old had been staring at the plaque for some time.

So the pastor walked up, stood beside the little boy, and said

quietly, "Good morning, Alex."

"Good morning Pastor," he replied, still focused on the plaque.

"Pastor, what is this?" he asked.

The pastor said, "Well, son, it's a memorial to all the young men and women who died in the service."

Soberly, they just stood together, staring at the large plaque.

Finally, little Alex's voice, barely audible and trembling with fear, asked,

"Which service, the 9:45 or the 11:15?"

Yellow Roses and T-Bones

I walked into the grocery store not particularly interested in buying groceries. I wasn't hungry. The pain of losing my husband of 7 years was still too raw. And this grocery store held so many sweet memories.

He often came with me and almost every time he'd pretend to go off and look for something special. I knew what he was up to. I'd always spot him walking down the aisle with the three yellow roses in his hands.

He knew I loved yellow roses. With a heart filled with grief, I only wanted to buy my few items and leave, but even grocery shopping was different since he had passed on.

Shopping for one took time, a little more thought than it had for two.

Standing by the meat, I searched for the perfect small steak and remembered how he had loved his steak.

Suddenly a woman came beside me. She was blonde, slim and lovely in a soft green pantsuit. I watched as she picked up a large package of T-bones, dropped them in her basket.. Hesitated, and then put them back.

She turned to go and once again reached for the pack of steaks.

She saw me watching her and she smiled. "My husband loves T-bones, but honestly, at these prices, I don't know."

I swallowed the emotion down my throat and met her pale blue eyes.

"My husband passed away eight days ago," I told her. Glancing at the package in her hands, I fought to control the tremble in my voice. "Buy him the steaks. And cherish every moment you have together."

She shook her head and I saw the emotion in her eyes as she placed the package in her basket and wheeled away.

I turned and pushed my cart across the length of the store to the dairy products. There I stood, trying to decide which size milk I should buy. A Quart, I finally decided and moved on to the ice cream. If nothing else, I could always fix myself an ice cream cone.

I placed the ice cream in my cart and looked down the aisle toward the front. I saw first the green suit, then recognized the pretty lady coming towards me. In her arms she carried a package. On her face was the brightest smile I had ever seen. I would swear a soft halo encircled her blonde hair as she kept walking toward me, her eyes holding mine.

As she came closer, I saw what she held and tears began misting in my eyes. "These are for you," she said and placed three beautiful long stemmed yellow roses in my arms. "When you go through the line, they will know these are paid for." She leaned over and placed a gentle kiss on my cheek, then smiled again. I wanted to tell her what she'd done, what the roses meant, but still unable to speak, I watched as she walked away as tears clouded my vision.

I looked down at the beautiful roses nestled in the green tissue wrapping and found it almost unreal. How did she know? Suddenly the answer seemed so clear. I wasn't alone.

Oh, you haven't forgotten me, have you? I whispered, with tears in my eyes. He was still with me, and she was his angel.

Every day be thankful for what you have and who you are. (Please read all of this, it is really nice)

Even though I clutch my blanket and growl when the alarm rings. Thank you, Lord, that I can hear. There are many who are deaf.

Even though I keep my eyes closed against the morning light as long as possible. Thank you, Lord, that I can see. Many are blind.

Even though I huddle in my bed and put off rising. Thank you, Lord, that I have the strength to rise. There are many who are bedridden.

Even though the first hour of my day is hectic, when socks are lost, toast is burned, tempers are short, and my children are so loud.

Thank you, Lord, for my family. There are many who are lonely.

Even though our breakfast table never looks like the picture in magazines and the menu is at times unbalanced.

Thank you, Lord, for the food we have. There are many who are hungry.

Even though the routine of my job often is monotonous. Thank you, Lord, for the opportunity to work. There are many who have no job.

Even though I grumble and bemoan my fate from day to day and wish my circumstances were not so modest.

Thank you, Lord, for life.