My name is Mindy Gresham and I’m twelve years old. I’m a regular kid with a regular family, but something amazing happened to me once. I’d like to share the story with you; it’s a good one.

It began one Sunday in December. I was in Sunday school; I was a little bored, I mean, how many ways can you tell the Christmas story? Then in the middle of my off-track thoughts I heard the teacher ask, “What do you think the second-best Christmas present would be?” I started thinking; it was an interesting question. Amy raised her hand, “I think it would be a room of my own,” she stated. Mrs. Blair shook her head “I was thinking of something that can’t be bought with money,” she said. Then the bell rang, and I forgot all about it.

The sermon was on God’s wonderful love, but I didn’t pay much attention. I had heard many like it before.

At home things were the same; everyone went off to bed for a nap, except Matt, my 14-year-old brother. He started working on a car model. No one in our family ever bothered with lunch on Sundays unless they got really hungry and grabbed something themselves. I still wasn’t at the stage where I enjoyed naps and I didn’t know heads or tails about cars. I bundled up and went to play with Miracle, our dog. We named him that because it was a miracle that he lived. When we named him, I still believed in miracles.

The question came back to me, the one in Sunday school. What do you think the second-best Christmas present would be? I wondered what the best Christmas present was. Well, duh! I thought. It’s Jesus! Ok, now what would be the second-best? Immediately the thought came, a horse. I had always wanted a horse, but Dad said that a dog was enough.

Grandma says that when Dad was three, a horse followed him across a field. Dad thought it was chasing him, and ran faster, and then he tripped and screamed bloody murder because he was so scared. I think he’s still scared, though he claims the only reason he won’t buy one is because they’re so much trouble. Anyways, I’m getting off track.

A horse that would be it! Then I remembered, Mrs. Blair had said, “A present that can’t be bought with money.” So that at wouldn’t be it. I was stumped. I went back inside; it was getting cold out. “Come on, Miracle!” I called. I smuggled him in upstairs. We weren’t supposed to bring the dog in, but Matt and I did a lot. Miracle was smart and never yipped or made a noise until he was safe in our room. Then, he would run around in circles with joy, as if to celebrate that we had made it again.

Carefully, we snuck past Mom and Dad’s room, past Carrie’s room, up the stairs to Matt’s. Softly, I knocked on the door. “Come in,” Matt’s reply was quick. I opened the door and closed it softly. Then I let Miracle loose. He ran around in circles, as usual, but I didn’t pay any attention. I had a question. Dad says that when I have a question I can never rest until I’ve asked it.

“Matt can I ask you a question?” I probed to see if he was in a good mood. “Mm,” he grunted. I spoke quickly while I had his attention, “What do you think the second-best Christmas present would be?”

“A car,” he answered, right off the bat.

“I mean that can’t be bought with money,” I added. That was a hard one for Matt. He thought for a minute. “I dunno,” he finally said and went back to gluing something on his half-finished model. Matt wasn’t gonna be any fun right now I decided; he was too focused on building his model. . . . Dad says that when Matt starts something he will hardly stop to eat, which is almost true. So I grabbed Miracle and went to my own room. Safely behind the door, I let Miracle loose. Then I lay down on my bed, and started to think. Before I knew it, Matt was shaking me and it was time for dinner.

The next couple of days were normal. I did my school (I’m home schooled), went to a party on Tuesday and to Wednesday-night youth group. Wednesday night was normal, too. When we got home from youth group, we all grabbed something to eat and started laughing and talking about what so-and-so had said or done. Then Dad stuck his head out of his room and told us to “lower it down and go to bed.” We did. I let Carrie and Matt go up first. Then I let Miracle in and took him up to my room. I knew it would be a cold night. As I snuggled under the covers, that question came back to me—the one about the second-best Christmas present. I was sort of annoyed. Why does this question keep coming back? I tried to push it aside, but it wouldn’t go away. Miracle whined. I looked at him. He was scrunched up in a very small ball. I laughed quietly. “Are you cold boy?” I asked him softly. He looked up at me with pitiful eyes, then got up, walked over to the bed and stuck his nose on my arm. I laughed again. “Just this once,” I cautioned him as I lifted my covers up. Miracle crawled in and I snuggled up against his rather cold fur.

The next morning a loud knocking on my door woke me. Then Carrie stuck her head in. “Dad wants us all downstairs,” she said, then closed the door. Why isn’t Dad at work? I hurried into some clothes.

Downstairs, Matt and Carrie were already there with Mom and Dad. I sat down on the floor and looked expectantly up at them. Mom’s eyes looked red and Dad seemed to be having trouble with his throat. Finally Mom said, “Last night Grandmother died.” It took me a minute to take it in, but when I realized what she meant, the tears came quickly. Carrie had already started crying and Matt’s face was very red. Mom said something else, but I don’t remember what it was. Things were starting to buzz and I needed to get away.

Quickly, I got to my feet and ran upstairs to my room. I shut the door behind me and started breathing hard. Then I spotted Miracle. I sank down on the floor and sobbed into his warm fur. He must have sensed I needed something to hold onto ‘cause he didn’t wriggle out of my hands. After a while, I recovered enough to scoot over and lean against my bed. Miracle stayed with me, licking my face and roughhousing a little bit.

“You know what Miracle?” I asked in a shaking voice. “Grandmother’s dead. She’s gone Miracle, gone.” This time, though, I held my emotions back. I heard voices downstairs. The pastor must be here.

Miracle was whining at the door. “You’ve been inside long enough, huh? Okay,” I relented, “but if I get in trouble, it’s your entire fault.” I grabbed his collar and took him downstairs. Pastor Mike and Dad were talking. I overheard Dad say, “I’m a little worried about Mindy; she seems to be taking this hard.” I brushed past them and took Miracle outside.

Outside, I climbed up into my tree fort. Dad had built one for each of the kids. “Why?!” I yelled, “I loved her so much! Why did You have to take her? You broke Your promise. You said You would do what was best. This can’t be best! You don’t love me!” Then I broke down and softly said, “I’ll miss you, Grandmother.” I stayed in there for a while. I didn’t want to face everyone with his or her sympathy and stories of worse times. I just wanted to be alone. After a while, my stomach started growling. So I climbed down and went inside.

Inside, there were some of Mom’s friends. Mom was crying, so I went to the kitchen. I couldn’t stand more than one person hurting.

Friday was a blur of visitors, food and tears. I kept to myself in my room or my tree fort, hardly appearing to eat. I was very sad, convinced that God had ceased to love me and was punishing me in his anger. On Saturday, a miracle happened . . . and it changed my view of everything.

I woke up with a feeling of dread. Tonight was the visitation. Tonight the heartache really began to set in. Tomorrow was the funeral and the inexpressible pain. I walked through the house in a daze. Then Mom asked me to take a bucket of rotten potato peels to the compost pile. I took them out and dumped them. When I turned, my eye caught something colorful. It was over by the pile of pots whose plants had died, and Mom had stuck them over there to use later. It was a perfect red rose! “Wait!” I thought, “Mom had never had a rose. She said they were too much trouble.” Right away came the thought, this is a message from God. As I knelt down and touched the crimson colored flower, I heard a small voice within me. A loving voice that said, “I do love you, and this is My promise that I will never leave you or forsake you, that no matter what happens to you I will always love you and be with you.” I began to cry. How could I have doubted that?

Then the voice came again, “I love you; I will always love you,” It said. With tears running down my cheeks, I picked up the rose and took it inside. “Look,” I choked out. “Look at this beautiful rose.” Gently Mom took it in her hands and started to cry. “It’s just what I needed,” she said.

The next day when I woke up, my heart wasn’t quite so sad and I was able to smile some through my tears. In church, Dad went up with my rose and explained how it was a miracle of God’s love to us. I heard a lot of sniffling.

At the funeral, things weren’t quite so bad as I expected, though I shed more than a few tears. Matt, Carrie and I sang Grandmother’s favorite song, “How Great Thou Art.” We tried not to look at people’s faces, because we knew everyone was crying.

The gravesite was the worst. It was hard knowing that Grandmother’s body was going into the ground, even though I knew the part of her that I had loved wasn’t in there.

On Christmas Eve, we all bundled up and went to the candlelight service. I liked holding the candles in the dark. I thought about how much Jesus must love me to consent to being born into such a rotten world and to suffer so willingly because he loved me.

The next morning, Matt and I woke up at 6:00 AM. We rushed in Carrie’s room and bounced on her. She was only a little grumpy. Then we ran in Mom and Dad’s room and jumped on them, shouting, “Merry Christmas!”

Finally, we got them up. Carrie and I helped Mom with breakfast, while Matt and Dad finished last-minute wrapping.

At last, we all finished our breakfast, cleared the table and washed the dishes. Then, we all snuggled together in the living room and listened while Dad read The Christmas Story aloud.

When he was done, Dad put his Bible on the lamp table beside him. He cleared his throat and said, “This year we haven’t been able to buy big presents for you because Grandmother’s funeral took a lot of our money.” Everyone was silent for a minute, not knowing what to say. Then I piped up, “You know Dad,” I said. “Christmas isn’t about us. It’s Jesus’ birthday not ours, and anyway we have the two best Christmas presents ever.”

“Jesus is the best present,” Dad agreed. “But what’s the second best?” He asked.

“We have each other’s love, and God’s love most of all,” I glowed. Everyone smiled and Mom sniffed happy tears back.

“Let’s pray and thank God for our presents from Him,” suggested Dad in a rather hoarse voice. We all bowed our heads and closed our eyes, but as Dad prayed, I couldn’t resist glancing up and looking at our happy family.

That rose had changed our lives. It was a miracle, I was sure.

The End

© Copyright 2005, Jenna Burdett