Our Christmas Miracle |
Ross Greenwood
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It was a perfect, peaceful Christmas Eve. A light snow was falling all around our century home in Orillia. Friends and family gathered for the traditional Christmas Eve dinner before heading to church. Our Christmas tree was sparkling with tiny lights, a warm fire had been laid in the living room hearth and candles danced their special magic in candelabra and stands throughout. We got to talking about the best Christmas present we had ever received. My GPS changed the way I drove, removing the frustration of wrong turns and misdirection. One of the grandchildren cooed endlessly about a particular teddy bear, the one with the squeaky nose. Another described a big dump truck in detail, complete with sound effects. Daughter Sarah put the finishing touches on her Christmas tradition - ham and chicken dishes along with scalloped potatoes, beans with almonds and her special turnip and carrot medley. Ashley brought her famous berry salad, Maggie supplied the well-aged wine and Aaron brought one of his extraordinary chocolate pecan pies We gathered around the table, all held hands while I thanked God for our family and friends, for living in a peaceful country, for God's loving, protecting hand upon us and for Jesus, the gift of the first Christmas We demolished an English trifle for dessert. Then, off to church . Grandchildren blew out the candles on the table while the adults snuffed other candles and made sure the fire in the fireplace was in a state to be left to itself. Our gang gathered in their vehicles and drove off to St. Marks church for the Christmas Eve service. Peace and love surrounded me In the church surrounded by family and friends, well fed, the choir singing Silent Night in the light of the battery operated candles we use these days. "Why can't we have the magic of real candles," I thought. "Everyone was so careful - I never even once saw a problem with true candlelight." As we left the church, I looked forward to a relaxing night. Taking off my shoes and loosening my belt would be the first acts upon my return home. I was wrong. We opened the door to the house and my smile faded. I felt a surge of fear and anxiety. Smoke floated aimlessly through the house and clouded the rooms. Smoke! Panic! Everyone started talking at once - babble worse than the proverbial tower emerged from our group. I had to think twice. Our house really was full of smoke! I ran to check the fireplace, but it was quiet. My wife, Jennifer, checked the kitchen. The stove was off and nothing was in the oven. I opened a couple of windows, despite the cold wind. We walked around the house but could not find a source, but the smoke was very strong. Then our daughter Maggie called out from the dining room. There was no fire, but about three square feet of wallpaper had burned black and crisp. Underneath, a small table top was badly scorched, the brass dish on it partially melted. The floor around the table was black, not with soot, but with scorching Real fire! Reconstructing the scene afterwards, we realized we had missed a candle in a five foot candelabra. The candle must have fallen on to the dried hydrangea arrangement sitting on the table. The fire was so hot that it melted that brass dish. Our old house was full of drafts providing lots of air to fuel the fire. Why was there only a small section of destruction? What stopped it? We each had a theory, expressed in excruciating detail. In the end, we each came to the same, wonderful conclusion. The only reason we didn't turn the corner of our street to see the fire department fighting to save our house from destruction was because God reached out and, in that brief moment, overrode the rules of physics. We let out a collective sigh of relief - and thanks. Later, after the company had left, Jennifer and I sat down and held hands. The Christmas tree and all the presents under it stood to our left. On the right sat the burnt reminder of our Christmas Eve miracle. We knew that the best Christmas present we ever had was given to us by the One who gave the very first Christmas present. Note: this story was published recently in Chicken Soup for the Soul: Christmas in Canada
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