Her eyes danced like the twinkling lights on the hospital’s Christmas tree. “Let’s talk about the
perfect
Christmas.”
“Hmmm … The perfect Christmas.” Brian leaned into the sofa and gazed out the glass-panel window at the brilliant blue sky beyond. The answer was an easy one. They would find enough money to get Gideon a bone-marrow transplant. She would recover quickly and find her place once more among her little friends at school. And they’d never, ever again have to talk about Christmas from the corner of a cancer doctor’s office.
He shifted his eyes to Gideon. “You go first.”
“Okay.” The twinkle in her eyes dimmed somewhat. She suddenly looked a million miles away, lost in a world of imagination. “We would have a real tree, a tall one that almost touches the ceiling. With lights and decorations and a star on top for you and Mom.” She released his hand and stretched her arms over her head. “A big turkey. And a fire truck for Dustin.”
Brian could feel his heart breaking. Gideon’s perfect Christmas was the kind most kids expected. But money had never come easily for him and Tish. This Christmas—like so many others—they would assemble a four-foot green-plastic tree and cover it with a seventy-cent box of tinsel. Toys would be secondhand and maybe missing parts. Dinner would be chicken and mashed potatoes.
But it was more than many people had, and he and Tish were grateful. Christmas was always wonderful, despite the lack of material trappings. And the children never complained, never made mention of the fact that their Christmases were any different from that of other children.
Until now.
Of course, Gideon was hardly complaining. She was just playing along, talking about the topic he’d suggested. Brian clenched his jaw. If there’d been a way to find the money, he would have done just that—found the biggest, best, most fragrant, Christmas tree and all the trinkets and toys to go with it. But the mill had cut his hours down to twelve a week. It was barely a job. And Gideon’s medical bills—
Brian pushed the thought from his mind. He met his daughter’s eyes. “Didn’t you forget someone?”
Her expression was open, unpretentious. Then it hit her and she giggled. “You mean me?”
“Yes, you.” Brian twirled a lock of her hair around his finger. “What would you get on this perfect Christmas?”
She lowered her chin. “Really?”
“Really.”
“Well … ” She let her gaze fall to her hands for a beat. When she looked up, the twinkle was back. Brighter than ever. “In my
perfect
Christmas my gift would be a brand-new dolly. The kind with pretty hair and eyes that blink and a soft lacey dress.”
“A new doll, huh?” Brian tried to sound surprised, but he wasn’t. “How come?”
“A doll never gets sad when you’re sick.” She looked up and smiled. Her knowing expression spoke volumes. “Sometimes a friend like that would be nice.”
From the time she was old enough to talk Gideon had wanted a new doll. A few years ago she’d even cut a doll photo from a catalog and taped it to the wall beside her bed. The clipping still hung there today. From time to time Brian had come across a used doll and brought it home for Gideon. It always smelled funny or was missing its dress or shoes. But Gideon didn’t mind that. No, the problem was that in very little time she always loved the doll into nonexistence. A leg would fall off, or an arm, or the doll’s head.
And Gideon would talk about her new doll again.
Each year Brian and Tish considered the possibility, and each year it was out of the question. New dolls like the one Gideon wanted were expensive. As much as a week’s worth of groceries.
Gideon seemed to sense his thoughts. “It’s just pretend, Daddy. No big deal.” She leaned closer and let her head rest on his shoulder. “What’s your perfect Christmas?”
The answers that had come to mind earlier returned. “That’s easy.” He kissed her forehead. “In the perfect Christmas we never have to come back here again.”
Brian felt Gideon nod against his arm. “Know what my teacher said last week?”
“What, baby?” He stayed close, his face nuzzled against the top of her beret.
“She said Christmas miracles happen to those who believe.”
The words played over again in Brian’s mind. “I like it.”
“Me, too.” Gideon sat a bit straighter and stared at the doctor’s office door. “I believe, Daddy.”
“We all do.”
“Then maybe that’s what we’ll get this Christmas. A miracle.” She turned to him. “That would be better than anything, wouldn’t it?”
“You mean like finding out that you’re better today?”
“Well, that.” She giggled. “But I mean something really big. Something so big it could only be a Christmas miracle.”
A lump formed in Brian’s throat as he studied his daughter.
She has no idea how sick she is, God. No idea.
He struggled to find his voice. “Then that’s what we’ll pray for.”
“Let’s pray now, Daddy. Right here.”
He gave her a slow smile. “Thata’ girl, Gideon. That’s the way to believe.”
Then, with cancer patients coming and going around them, Brian took hold of Gideon’s hands, bowed his head, and prayed for something so big, it could only be a Christmas miracle.
A
n hour later Brian had the answer that mattered most to him.
Gideon was in remission!
Her blood results were better than they’d been since she was diagnosed with leukemia. The doctor was cautious. Remission was a tricky thing. It could last weeks or years, depending on the patient. There was no way to know. And a person with her type of leukemia was never really cured until they’d had a successful bone-marrow transplant.
Still, it was the answer Brian and Tish had been praying for since Gideon got sick. Brian blinked back tears as they walked back to the car.
“I can’t wait to tell Mom.” Gideon skipped a few steps and then stopped and faced him. “If I’m not sick, it’s going to be a great Christmas!”
“Yes, it is.” Brian stopped and held out his hands. Gideon knew the sign well. She took a running jump and he caught her, sweeping her into his arms and holding her close. “We even got our miracle.”
Gideon giggled. “Daddy, that’s not the miracle.” She rubbed her nose against his. “Remember? We asked God for something
really
big.”
“Oh, that’s right.” Brian chuckled as he set her back down. They had reached the parking lot, and he took hold of her hand. “Something tells me Mom will think it’s pretty big.”
O
n the way home, Gideon fell asleep and Brian turned off the radio. Traffic moved along slowly.
God, you’re so good. Gideon asked for a miracle and we got one. Just like that.
Memories of Gideon filled his mind. The time when she was two and shared her pacifier with the neighbor’s cat. Her kindergarten year when a little boy didn’t bring a snack for two months straight and Gideon gave him hers. The way her perfect Christmas involved a fire truck for Dustin before anything for herself.
The loss of any child would be devastating. But Gideon—
Tears clouded his eyes once more.
Thank you, God. Thank you a million times over.
He was consumed with gratefulness the whole way home. But as he neared their apartment building, a passing thought hit him.
If this wasn’t the miracle Gideon had prayed for, what was? What could possibly be bigger than the news that she was in remission?
Without warning, a chill passed over Brian.
If Christmas miracles truly happened to those who believed, then maybe God wasn’t finished handing out miracles to the Mercer family. Somehow, someway, Brian had the uncanny certainty that some other amazing thing was about to happen. Some sort of direct response to Gideon’s prayer.
Something so big it could only be a Christmas miracle.
T
he hardest part about being sick was this: Her parents thought she was helpless.
As Gideon played cards with Dustin and waited for her mother to come home that afternoon, she hoped the doctor’s news would help change their feelings. After six months of hardly ever going to school, and of sleeping all the time, she was ready for a change. Ready to join her parents in the thing their family loved most.
Their helping work.
As far back as Gideon could remember, she and Dustin had been part of their parents’ helping work. Sometimes they met with other people from church and visited hospitals or homes where old people with gray hair lived. Lots of times they painted a church or picked up dirty pop cans and hamburger wrappers along busy roads. Other days they knocked on doors and collected canned food for hungry people.
She couldn’t explain it to her friends at school. But working with her parents and helping people was the happiest thing Gideon ever did.
Right before she got sick her parents had talked about serving dinner at someplace called “the mission.” Then she’d started getting bruises and colds, and every time she brushed her teeth there was blood in her spit.
After that she had to see the doctor a bunch of times and finally they told her she had leukemia. Gideon still wasn’t exactly sure what that was, but it was very bad. Worse than a cold or a flu or even chicken pox. Leukemia didn’t always hurt like those things, but it lasted longer. Sometimes it lasted forever. Gideon knew that because she’d heard her mom and dad talking about it.
But now she was better. That’s what the doctor said. Maybe not better all the way, but better than she had been. And that had to be a good thing.
The card game ended, and an hour later she was sitting by the window waiting when her mother came home. Gideon raced to the door and flung it open.
“I’m better, Mommy. The doctor said so.” She wrapped her arms around her mother’s waist and held on tight.
“Gideon.” Her mother dropped to her knees. Gideon felt her hair move with her mom’s warm breath. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. Daddy can tell you about it.”
Usually her mom’s hugs lasted just a little while. But this one went on for a long time. When her mother let go and stood up, she was wiping her cheeks.
“You’re sad.”
A big smile filled her mother’s face. “No, honey. I’m happy.”
Gideon nodded just as her father and Dustin came around the corner.
“Gideon’s better, Mommy! Gideon’s better!” Dustin jumped three times and raised a fist in the air.
“You heard the news?” Her dad came up and hugged her mom. They looked so happy it made glad tears in Gideon’s eyes.
“Is she … is it really in remission?”
“Yes.” Her father tousled Gideon’s hair and patted Dustin’s head. “It’s going to be the best Christmas ever.”
Gideon waited until they were finished talking. Then she stood before them and caught their attention. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.” Her mother leaned against her father’s shoulder. They were still in a half hug with their arms around each other’s waists.
Gideon hesitated while Dustin ran off to play. “There’s something I want to do. I’ve wanted to do it ever since I got sick. And now that I’m better … ”
Her parents gave each other a funny look. Like even though the doctor said so, they weren’t sure she was really that much better. “Okay, Gideon.” Her father’s eyes looked softer than before. “What do you want to do?”
She took hold of her mom’s hand and looked at them both. “I want to serve dinner at the mission.” She started to smile. “Remember? We were going to do that before I got sick and you said we had to wait?”
Once more her parents looked at each other, but this time her father lifted one shoulder. “D.J. called yesterday and asked about it. The holiday season gets pretty busy, I guess.”
Her mom’s forehead wrinkled up a little and her mouth stayed in a straight line. But after a moment she nodded. “I guess we could give it a try. As long as Gideon doesn’t get too tired.”
“Yes!” Gideon threw her arms around her parents. “When can we go?”
“They need someone tomorrow night.” Her father bent down and kissed the top of her head. Her parents always did that. It was one of the reasons Gideon knew they loved her so much. “I’ll call D.J. and make the plans.”
B
efore she went to bed that night, her dad warned her about the mission.
“Some of the people might seem scary, Gideon. But most of them just look that way from living on the streets.”
“On the streets?” Gideon pulled the covers up to her chin and studied her father. She couldn’t tell if he was teasing her. “No one lives on the streets, Daddy. There’re too many cars.”
“Not right on the street, honey. But on the sidewalk. In doorways and under stairs. Sometimes in alleys or under bridges.”
Gideon could feel her eyes get big. Her father wasn’t teasing at all. He was serious. “Under bridges?”
“Yes.”
“That’s sad, Daddy.” A scared feeling came up in Gideon’s heart. “How come?”
“Well… ” He reached for her hand and immediately she felt safe again. “Some people don’t have a place to live. Those are the people who go to the mission for dinner.”
“So the mission is sort of like their home?”
“It’s where they eat. But most of the people who take meals at the mission don’t have a home.”
Gideon thought about that. About being outside without her blankets and warm pillow, without her mom and dad. If the people at the mission didn’t have a home, then maybe— “Don’t they have a family, either?”
“No.” Her dad took a long breath. “Most of them don’t, baby.”
Tears filled Gideon’s eyes and she had to blink to see her father clearly. “That’s the saddest thing. Isn’t there someone they could live with?”
Her father looked like he was thinking very hard. “It’s not that easy, Gideon. You’ll see.” He squeezed her hand. “The best thing we can do is serve them dinner and pray for them.”
Gideon’s heart felt like a wet towel: heavy and full of tears.
Then she got an idea. “They probably aren’t very happy people.”
“No. Probably not.”
Gideon wiped her fingers across her eyes and sniffed. “Then maybe … maybe we can make them smile.”
For a moment her father said nothing, and Gideon thought his eyes looked wet. Then the corners of his mouth lifted just a little. “That’s my girl.” His voice was quieter than before. “Let’s get the whole place smiling.”