Todays Helping of Chicken Soup for the Soul

[Guest guest]

Let A Miracle Happen

By Aletha Jane Lindstrom

" There's a new student waiting in your room, " my principal announced,

hurrying past me on the stairs. " Name's . I need to talk to you about

her.

Stop in the office later. "

I nodded and glanced down at the packs of pink, red and white paper,

and

the jars of paste and boxes of scissors I held in my arms. " Fine, " I said.

" I've just come from the supply room. We're making valentine envelopes this

morning. It'll be a good way for her to get acquainted. "

This was my third year of teaching fourth-graders, but I was already

aware

how much they loved Valentine's Day (now just a week away), and making these

bright containers to tape to the fronts of their desks was a favorite

activity.

would surely be caught up in the excitement and be chatting cheerfully

with

new friends before the project was finished. Humming to myself, I continued

up

the stairs.

I didn't see her at first. She was sitting in the back of the room

with

her hands folded in her lap. Her head was down and long, light-brown hair

fell

forward, caressing the softly shadowed cheeks.

" Welcome, , " I said. " I'm so glad you'll be in our room. And this

morning you can make an envelope to hold your valentines for our party on

Valentine's Day. "

No response. Had she heard me?

" , " I said again, slowly and distinctly.

She raised her head and looked into my eyes. The smile on my face

froze.

A chill went through me and I stood motionless. The eyes in that sweet,

little-

girl face were strangely empty - as if the owner of a house had drawn the

blinds

and gone away. Once before I had seen such eyes: They had belonged to an

inmate

of a mental institution, one I'd visited as a college student. " She's found

life unendurable, " the resident psychiatrist had explained, " so she's

retreated

from the world. " She had, he went on, killed her husband in a fit of insane

jealousy.

But this child - she could have been my own small, lovable niece except

for

those blank, desolate eyes. 'Dear God,' I thought, 'what horror has entered

the life of this innocent little girl?'

I longed to take her in my arms and hug the hurt away. Instead, I

pulled

books from the shelf behind her and placed them in her lap. " Here are texts

you'll be using, . Would you like to look at them? " Mechanically, she

opened each book, closed it and resumed her former position.

The bell rang then, and the children burst in on a wave of cold, snowy

air.

When they saw the valentine materials on my desk, they bubbled with

excitement.

There was little time to worry about that first hour. I took

attendance, settled into her new desk and introduced her. The children

seemed subdued and confused when she failed to acknowledge the introduction

or

even raise her head.

Quickly, in order to divert them, I distributed materials for the

envelopes

and suggested ways to construct and decorate them. I placed materials on

's

desk, too, and asked Kristie, her nearest neighbor, to offer help.

With the children happily engrossed, I escaped to the office. " Sit

down, "

my principal said, " and I'll fill you in. " The child, she said, had been

very

close to her mother, living alone with her in a Detroit suburb. One night,

several weeks ago, someone had broken into their home and shot and killed

the

mother in 's presence. escaped, screaming, to a neighbor's. Then

the

child went into shock. She hadn't cried or mentioned her mother since.

The principal sighed and then went on. " Authorities sent her here to

live

with her only relative - a married sister. The sister enrolled this

morning. I'm afraid we'll get little help from her. She's divorced, with

three

small children to support. is just one more responsibility. "

" But what can I do? " I stammered. " I've never known a child like this

before. " I felt so inadequate.

" Give her love, " she suggested, " lots and lots of love. She's lost so

much. There's prayer, too - and faith, faith that will make her a normal

little

girl again if you just don't lose hope. "

I returned to my room to discover that the children were already

shunning

this " different " child. Not that noticed. Even kindly little Kristie

looked affronted. " She won't even try, " she told me.

I sent a note to the principal to remove from the room for a short

time. I needed to enlist the children's help before recess, before they

could

taunt her about being " different. "

" 's been hurt badly, " I explained gently, " and she's so quiet

because

she's afraid she'll be hurt again. You see, her mother just died, and

there's

no one else who loves her. You must be very patient and understanding. It

may

be a long time before she's ready to laugh and join in your games, but you

can

do a lot to help her. "

Bless all children. How loving they can be once they understand. On

Valentine's Day, 's envelope overflowed. She looked at each card

without

comment and replaced it in her container. She didn't take them home, but at

least she looked at them.

She arrived at school insufficiently dressed for the bitterly cold

weather.

Her raw, chapped hands - without mittens - cracked and bled. Although she

seemed oblivious to sore hands and the cold, I sewed buttons on her thin

coat,

and the children brought caps, scarves, sweaters and mittens. Kristie, like

a

little mother, helped bundle up before she went outdoors, and she

insisted

on walking to and from school with her.

In spite of our efforts, we seemed to be getting no closer to as

the

cold, dreary March days dragged by. Even my faith was wearing thin. My

heart

ached so desperately, wanting this child to come alive, to be aware of the

beauty the wonder, the fun - and, yes - even the pain of living.

'Dear God,' I prayed, 'please let one small miracle happen. She needs

it

so desperately.'

Then on a late March day, one of the boys excitedly reported a robin in

the

schoolyard. We flocked to the window to see it. " Spring's here! " the

children

cried. " Let's make a flower border for the room! "

'Why not?' I thought. 'Anything to lift our spirits.' This time the

papers we selected were beautiful pastel colors - with brown strips to weave

into baskets. I showed the children how to weave the baskets and how to

fashion

all the flowers we welcome in early spring. Remembering the valentine

incident,

I expected nothing from ; nevertheless, I placed the beautifully colored

papers on her desk and encouraged her to try. Then I left the children to

do

their own creating, and I spent the next half-hour sorting scraps of paper

at

the back of the room.

Suddenly, Kristie came hurrying to me, her face aglow. " Come see

's

basket, " she exclaimed. " It's so pretty! You'll never believe it! "

I caught my breath at its beauty. The gently curled petals of

hyacinths,

the daffodils' fluted cups, skillfully fashioned crocuses and violets - work

one

would expect from a child much older.

" , " I said. " This is beautiful. How did you ever manage? "

She looked at me with the shining eyes of any normal little girl. " My

mother loved flowers, " she said simply. " She had all of these growing in

our

garden. "

'Thank you, God,' I said silently. 'You've given us the miracle.' I

knelt and put my arms around the child. Then the tears came, slowly at

first,

but soon she was sobbing her heart out against my shoulder. The other

children

had tears in their eyes, too, but theirs - like mine - were tears of joy.

We fastened her basket in the very center of the border at the front of

the

room. It remained there until school ended in June. On the last day,

held

it carefully as she carried it out the door. Then she came running back,

pulled

a crocus from her basket and handed it to me. " This is for you, " she said,

and

she gave me a hug and a kiss.

moved away that summer. I lost track of her, but I'll never

forget

her. And I know God is caring for her.

I've kept the crocus in my desk ever since - just to remind me of

and

of the enduring power of love and faith.