A Treasury of Christmas Miracles Read online

  Armstrong sought police work the very next day and never once looked back. Now, eight years later, his love for his work was as strong as it had been in the beginning. Despite the danger and frustration that came with the job, there were always nights like that one in which he could still make a difference for someone in pain.

  Not sure what he would find, Armstrong entered the truck stop café—aglow with Christmas lights—and immediately spotted the woman, still weeping, her face covered with her hands. Nearby sat two frightened little blonde girls who seemed to be around four and five years old.

  Armstrong’s face softened as he approached the children.

  “What seems to be the matter, girls?” he asked them. The older child turned to look at him, and Armstrong could see she had tears in her eyes, too.

  “Daddy couldn’t get us no Christmas presents, so he left us,” she said. “He put our stuff out of the car while we was in the bathroom.”

  Armstrong’s heart sank. He studied the woman and gently placed a hand on her shoulder. Then he looked at the girls and smiled a warm, comforting smile. “Well, now, is that so?”

  The children nodded.

  “In that case I want you two to climb on those stools over there and order something to eat.”

  Reluctantly the girls walked away from their mother and took separate stools along the counter. Armstrong signaled the waitress and asked her to get the girls whatever they wanted from the menu.

  With the children out of earshot, the officer sat down across from the woman. She looked up from her hands and stared sadly at Armstrong, her eyes filled with heartbreak.

  “What’s the problem?” Armstrong asked quietly.

  “It’s what my girl said,” the woman replied, wiping her eyes. “My husband’s not cruel. Just at the end of his rope. We’re flat broke, and he figured we’d get more help alone than if he stayed. I’ve been sitting here praying about what to do next, but I don’t even have the money for a phone call. It hasn’t been a very good Christmas, sir.” Fresh tears appeared. “But right now I just want to know God is listening, you know?”

  Armstrong nodded, his eyes gentle and empathetic. And silently he added his own prayer, asking God to show him a way to help this woman and her little children. Armstrong believed with all his heart that God had used angels to protect him in the line of duty on more than one occasion, and he had faith he could do the same for this family.

  She needs an angel about now, Lord, he prayed silently. Please help her out.

  Armstrong broke the silence between them. “Do you have family?”

  “The nearest is in Tulsa.”

  Armstrong thought a moment, then suggested several agencies that could help her. As they spoke, the waitress brought hot dogs and French fries to the children, so the officer stood up and moved toward the counter. He took out his wallet to pay the bill. It’ll be my Christmas present to her, he thought.

  “The boss says no charge,” the waitress said. “We know what’s going on here.”

  Armstrong smiled at the woman and nodded his thanks. Then he stooped to ask the girls how they liked their food. As he did, a trucker stood up from his table and approached the waitress. He mumbled something to her, and then she took him by the arm and led him to Armstrong.

  It was unusual for a truck driver to approach Armstrong on his own. Typically truck drivers and police officers had something of a natural animosity for each other. Most truck drivers tended to see the police as cutting into their earnings by writing them tickets, while the police saw truckers as reckless people who placed their potential earnings before safety. The truth, of course, was somewhere in the middle. But still, Armstrong couldn’t remember a time when he’d been approached by a truck driver outside of the line of duty.

  The trucker wore jeans, a T-shirt, and a baseball cap. He walked up to the counter and stood alongside Armstrong. The officer noticed that the normal buzz of conversation and activity had stilled and the café was silent. Most of the patrons—nearly all of them long-distance truckers—were watching the conversation between the trucker and the officer.

  “Excuse me, Officer,” the man said. “Here.”

  The trucker reached out his hand and gave the officer a fistful of bills. He cleared his throat.

  “We passed the hat. There ought to be enough to get the woman and her girls started on their way.”

  Back when he was a boy Armstrong had learned that cops don’t cry, at least not in public. So he stood there, speechless until the lump in his throat disappeared and he was able to speak.

  Then Armstrong shook the man’s hand firmly. “I’m sure she’ll appreciate it,” he said, his voice gruff from covering up his emotion. “Can I tell her your name?”

  The trucker raised his hands and backed away from the officer. “Nope. Just tell her it was from folks with families of their own. Folks who wish they were home for Christmas, too.”

  Armstrong nodded and thought of the fiercely loyal way in which people who made their living on the road looked out for each other. As the trucker walked away, Armstrong counted the money and was again amazed. A small room of truck drivers had in a matter of minutes raised two hundred dollars, enough money for three bus tickets to Tulsa and food along the way.

  The officer walked back to the booth and handed the money to the woman, at which point she began to sob again.

  “He heard,” she whispered through her tears.

  “Ma’am?” Armstrong was confused, wondering who the woman was talking about.

  “Don’t you see?” she said. “I came here completely desperate, hopeless. And I sat in this booth and asked God to help us, to give us a sign that he still loved us and cared for us.”

  Armstrong felt chills along his arms and remembered his own prayer—how he had asked God to send help and provide this woman with angelic assistance. The truck drivers certainly didn’t look like a textbook group of angels, but God had used them all the same. “You know, ma’am, I think you’re right. I think he really did hear.”

  At that instant, a young couple entered the truck stop, saw the sobbing woman, and approached her without hesitating. They introduced themselves and asked if they could help in any way.

  “Well,” the woman said, “I could use a ride to the bus stop. See, I’ve got the money now, and I need to get to ...”

  Armstrong stood up and walked discreetly away from the scene to a quiet corner of the truck stop, where he radioed dispatch.

  “The situation’s resolved,” he said.

  Then he walked toward his patrol car and climbed inside. Not until he was safely out of sight did he let the tears come—tears that assured him he would never forget what had happened that night in the truck stop. As a patrol officer he had almost always seen the worst in people around him. But that night, he’d been reminded that kindness and love do exist among men. And Armstrong had learned something else. Sometimes God answered prayer using nothing more than a dozen bighearted truckers sharing coffee at a truck stop outside of Akron, Ohio—and playing the part of Christmas angels.

  The Most

  Wonderful Time

  of the Year

  Paul Jacobs was working in the yard of his home in Austin, Texas, thinking about his brother Vince. It was Christmastime, the most wonderful time of the year, yet Vince lay in the hospital struggling with a serious bout of appendicitis. Help him, God...it’s Christmas... let him come home, Lord. Please ... He’d barely finished uttering the silent prayer when his wife, Laura, yelled to say he’d received a call from his brother’s wife. He walked into the house, wiped the sweat from his brow, and picked the receiver up off the countertop.

  “Paul, you better get down here quickly,” Vince’s wife blurted out. Paul could tell she was distraught.

  “Vince?”

  “Yes.” She began to cry, and Paul’s heart went out to her. “The infection’s all through his body. Doctors say it doesn’t look good. Please, Paul, hurry.”

  Paul hung up the ph
one and moved toward his wife, who had joined him from the next room when she realized the call was about Vince.

  “I can’t believe it,” Paul said. “That was Ruth. She said Vince is worse. The doctors think we should all be there.”

  “You mean he might not make it?” Laura was astonished.

  “I guess not. We better get down there and see what’s happening.”

  Paul grabbed his car keys, stunned at the turn of events. His brother, Vince, was only thirty-seven and had been healthy and strong until the previous week, when he’d been hospitalized with appendicitis. Doctors had removed the appendix, but during the procedure the organ had burst, spewing poisonous infection throughout his body.

  At first antibiotics seemed to handle the invasion of infection throughout his system. But the day before, Vince’s fever had begun to rise and the family had again grown concerned. Still, even the doctors hadn’t thought Vince’s illness could be life threatening until now.

  Paul thought about what would happen if his older brother died and shuddered. Vince was in the prime of his life, and he and Ruth had two young children. Silently he prayed that God would spare him and give his body strength to fight the infection.

  Paul and Laura drove the five miles to the hospital, where they met up with Paul’s parents.

  “Is it really as bad as Ruth said?” Paul searched his father’s eyes for an answer.

  “It’s serious, son. Very serious. We need to pray.”

  The sudden change in Vince’s condition had caught his father by surprise also. Sam Jacobs and his oldest son worked together in a family-run farm-equipment business. He saw Vince nearly every day and knew him to be strong and in good health.

  “If anyone can pull through this thing, Vince will,” the older man continued. “But let’s pray all the same.”

  Paul nodded and turned to hug his mother, Ronni. He saw that she had tears in her eyes, and he squeezed her hands in his.

  “He’s going to be all right, Mom,” Paul assured her. “God won’t let anything happen to him. Not with those little kids waiting for him back at home.”

  Ronni nodded, but she knew that might not be true. Sometimes people died and there wasn’t any earthly explanation for their death. Bad things happened in life. Even to praying people. Ronni believed there was a reason behind such occurrences, but usually that reason remained a mystery. And the knowledge of that never made the tragedy easier to accept.

  “Let’s ask God to be merciful,” she suggested softly.

  The foursome moved quietly down the sterile corridors of the hospital to the intensive-care waiting room. For the next few hours there was little conversation as they passed the time praying and waiting for word from the doctors.

  At about five o’clock that evening the primary doctor responsible for treating Vince entered the room. By then Vince’s sister and her family had joined the others, and the waiting room was full of people worried about Vince.

  “I’m afraid I don’t have very good news,” the doctor said softly, tucking his hands into his white medical jacket. “Vince’s fever is very, very high and the blood tests show he’s no longer responding to the antibiotics.”

  In many ways the doctor’s words came as no surprise, but still, Vince’s family puzzled over what was happening.

  “Doctor, these complications are all a result of my son’s appendicitis?” Sam asked.

  The doctor shook his head pensively and pursed his lips. “No, not exactly. The appendix became inflamed and caused the initial problem. Then, when it burst during surgery, the infection inside spread through Vince’s bloodstream, sending his entire system into immediate trauma.”

  He paused a moment, searching for the easiest terms with which to explain the situation. “Because of that, he’s now fighting against peritonitis and infection throughout his body. When that happens, the situation is very serious, and the outcome depends on how easily the person’s immune system can handle the invading infection.

  “In Vince’s case, his body attempted to fight the problem, and then for some reason it shut down. At this point the infection is out of control, and there’s nothing else we can do for him except continue to administer massive antibiotics.”

  “Doctor, when you say ‘nothing else we can do for him,’ does that mean he might die?” Ronni sounded brave as she asked the question, but the others knew she was on the verge of breaking down.

  “Yes, I’m afraid so. If something doesn’t change, I don’t think he’ll make it through the night.”

  Laura muffled a gasp, while Ruth hung her head and sighed. Sam cleared his throat, his chin quivering with emotion. “When can we see him, sir?”

  “Immediate family may take turns now. Just one at a time, though,” the doctor said. Then he paused uncomfortably. This part of his job never got easier. “I’m sorry about all of this. Let’s hope for a miracle.”

  Then he turned and left the Jacobs family alone to deal with the blow. Ruth stood up, tears flooding her eyes, and headed toward the door.

  “I’ll go see him first,” she said. “I’ll tell him you’re all here. Maybe it’ll help.”

  Ruth was prepared for what she saw when she entered her husband’s room, but it was still painfully difficult. Vince was hooked up to IV tubing and his body was red with the heat of his fever. His eyes were closed and he appeared to be caught up in a fitful sleep. Could this be the same man who had been the picture of health only a week ago?

  “Honey, it’s me,” she whispered, leaning over his bed.

  Vince moaned, and Ruth was fairly sure he couldn’t understand her. His fever was so high he had become delirious. Ruth took his hand, cringing at how hot it felt in her own.

  “Listen, now, Vince,” she said, her voice cracking with emotion. “Everyone’s here; they’re out in the lobby. And they’re praying for you, Vince. We all want you to hurry up and fight this thing so you can come home for Christmas. You hear me, honey?”

  There was no response, and a single sob escaped from Ruth’s throat.

  “Vince, please don’t die. We need you. Hang in there, sweetheart.” She ran her fingers tenderly over his blazing hot forehead as her tears fell on his hospital bed. “I love you, Vince.”

  When Ruth returned, Sam took a turn, and then Ronni, and when they had both come back to the waiting room, Laura and Paul exchanged a glance.

  “You go,” Paul said. “I’ll go next.”

  It was after eight in the evening by then and the hospital had grown quiet. Laura left the room and disappeared down the hallway. The others were quiet, lost in their own thoughts and sadness.

  A few minutes passed, and then the silence in the room was interrupted as a heavyset, elderly woman leaned into the room. Immediately Sam and Ronni recognized her as one of their longtime neighbors, Sadie Johnson. She was in her late seventies, a devoutly faithful woman who spent most of her days volunteering at church. Despite the walker she needed to get around, she was healthy and still spent an hour each day working in her flower garden.

  “Well, I’ll be,” she said cheerfully. “What are you good folks doing hanging around a hospital on a cold night like this?”

  Sam nodded toward Sadie politely. “Evening, Sadie. I didn’t know you were ill. You been in the hospital long?”

  “Naaa,” Sadie said. “Just here for a few routine tests. You know those doctors, poking and prodding and taking pictures just to tell you everything’s fine.” She glanced at the clock on the wall. “Well, it’s about bedtime so I better get going. Just thought I’d take a stroll through the place and see if anything exciting was going on.”

  She looked at the many faces of the Jacobs family as they sat solemnly in the waiting room, and suddenly her face fell with concern.

  “Sam, is everything okay? You people look mighty upset.” Sam hung his head, afraid he might cry, and Ronni answered for him.

  “It’s our son, Vince, the oldest. He has infection all through his body.” She reached for her husband
’s hand. “The doctors told us he probably won’t live through the night.”

  Sadie looked appalled. “Well, now that’s just not right. Vince’s a young thing, isn’t he? Thirty-something? And at Christmastime? That’s terrible.”

  “Thirty-seven,” Ronni said softly. “His children are very young.”

  “Thirty-seven!” Sadie repeated, shaking her head.

  “And little kids, too.” The older woman shifted positions, pulling her robe more closely around her body. “Well, I believe I’m going to have a talk tonight with the Man upstairs and ask him to let me go in Vince’s place. I wanted to be home for Christmas, anyway.” She grinned and her eyes sparkled. “You know.” She pointed upward. “My real home. Up there with the Lord and my dear sweet honey-pie, Kenny.” She nodded confidently. “That’s just what I’ll do—ask the Lord if I can leave here in place of Vince.”

  The Jacobs family looked at her in unison, startled by her statement. “Now, Sadie, that’s not necessary,” Sam said quickly. “We’re praying for Vince and we’ll pray for you, too, so that—”

  Sadie waved a hand, interrupting Sam. “No, no. Don’t go doing that. I don’t need no one praying for me no more.” She smiled peacefully. “Sam, I’m more than ready to go home. I’ve loved our dear Lord all my life, and I’m getting too tired to stay around here anymore. I want to go home soon and it might as well be tonight.”

  She thought a moment before continuing.

  “Here’s what I’m hoping to do. Tonight I’m going to ask God to be kind and generous with me. I’ll ask him to take me in Vince’s place so that come tomorrow morning Vince’ll be on the road to recovery and I’ll be on the road to the Pearly Gates. I’ll spend Christmas in heaven and Vince can spend it with his family. Wouldn’t that just be the best thing yet?”