Whether it’s a message from above, an unexpected delivery or a heavenly light, the holiday season is the perfect time for some divine intervention.
Posted in , Oct 26, 2020
Mrs. Claus’s Message, Joan McGeorge from Pittsburg, Kansas
I closed my eyes, as I always did, so I could concentrate on my morning devotions before I got ready for work. Concentrating on anything could be extra hard during the busy holiday season, but it always calmed me to start my day by praying for others or simply giving thanks for my blessings. Today was unusual in that I had a specific request: God, is Mom looking down on me from heaven this Christmas?
It had been more than 20 years since my mother had passed, but the question suddenly seemed important to me. The day before, a coworker had come by my office to tell me about a close call she’d just had. She’d stopped to fill her tank on the way in to work, and just as she was about to pull out of the station, she heard a woman scream. She slammed on her brakes. It was a good thing she did; barely a second later an 18-wheeler going way too fast flew right in front of her. The woman who had screamed must have seen it coming somehow and had probably saved my coworker’s life. But there was no one, not man or woman, anywhere in sight. “That’s when I realized it had to be my mom, looking down from heaven, still keeping me safe,” she said. I felt a little jealous.
Of course God knew all that, and I asked, Please give me a sign that my mom still looks out for me too. That would be the best Christmas gift of all.
I got ready for work and gathered my things to leave, passing through the kitchen on my way out. I stopped when I noticed something out of the corner of my eye. There was a smudge on my Mrs. Claus cookie jar. The lid needed a quick wipe down, so I picked it up—only to nearly drop it when music began to play. I’d had this cookie jar for years and brought it out every Christmas, but it had never played music before. After some investigating I saw that, in fact, it was a musical cookie jar. So why did it choose to play for me this morning, after all this time? Surely it was an answer to my Christmas prayer, and I couldn’t wait to tell my coworker that I had proof that our moms watched over us from heaven. Mrs. Claus had told me so.
This Little Light of Mine, Ashli Cartwright-Peak from Indianapolis, Indiana
I stood on my back porch, staring up at the stars and hoping to feel something other than loneliness. It was the day after Thanksgiving, and the two-year anniversary of my husband’s death. I thought maybe looking up at the heavens would help me feel closer to him, but all I felt was cold. Sighing, I turned to go back inside.
Walking into the house, I was surprised to see a light on in the dining room. Weird, I don’t remember doing that. Stranger still, it wasn’t even the overhead light. Instead, it was the light in the hutch, and it was shining down on my angel statue. Shaking my head, I turned the light off and left the room.
The same thing happened on the first day of December. I woke up excited because I love the whole month of Christmas. As I came downstairs for breakfast, I could see that the light in the hutch was on again. This time I knew I hadn’t left it on. What was going on? Feeling slightly uneasy, I turned the light off once more. I’d almost forgotten about it a few days later when it happened. Again!
I looked at the angel standing in the halo of light, and finally I understood. When my husband had become too weak to go upstairs, we turned the dining room into a bedroom for him. He’d left the earth from this very room. But in the light shining over the angel, he kept me company from heaven. Whenever I felt lonely, all I had to do was turn it on. If my husband didn’t beat me to it.
Christmas in New York, Mary Ann Leone from Allentown, Pennsylvania
My excitement mounted as we hopped off the train at beautiful Grand Central Station. After a tour at the Museum of Modern Art, we visited Radio City Music Hall and the Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center. In one of the shops in the area, I found a tiny boxed set of Peter Rabbit books, perfect for my daughters. Was there anything like Christmas in New York? We hailed a cab back to Grand Central.
On the way home I realized that my pocketbook was gone—lost or stolen, I had no idea. All the magic of this special day vanished. I glumly pictured a jam-packed Department of Motor Vehicles and all the phone calls I’d have to make to get my old cards replaced with new ones. And I’d never replace all those precious photos of my children.
The days slipped by while I got rides to college and put off going to the DMV at such a hectic time of year. Then I got an unexpected delivery, a box with the return address of Radio City Music Hall. Mystified, I opened it and shouted with joy. There was my old handbag, with everything inside—license, cards and photos—and one thing that hadn’t been there before. A handwritten note that said, “I found this bag stuffed under the seat of my cab. Merry Christmas!”
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