Where History Meets Fiction

The Christmas Miracle

Dedicating this little story to children around the world, who wish for kind and gentle things at Christmas.

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The Christmas Miracle

The weather outside is cold and frosty. Today is Christmas Eve. On this night, the Christ child will be born. That is to say, he won't be born tonight; he was born a long time ago, grew up, died, rose again and ascended into heaven. Since the moment he ascended, a good many years have passed. 

Tonight is the night we celebrate his birth. On this night, in the homes of so many people, there will be Christmas trees, and the children will be treated to candy and presents. There will be a party with lots of food and plenty of joy and cheer, but not at my home. At my home, nothing is waiting for me; no decorations, no presents, not even a decent dinner. This is the second Christmas it's going to be like this, and not just for Christmas—for every day of the year.

One year ago, the week before Christmas, Mother passed away after a long fever. Father became sad and despondant soon after her death and began drinking. I don't ever remember seeing him completely sober for the past year, but then I only see him in the evenings when he comes back from work. Early in the morning, he's gone. I don't see him for the whole day, and then at night he comes home drunk. Where and when he gets drunk, I don't know and honestly I haven't a great desire to find out. 

I'm already eight years old, but I haven't gone to school. I simply don't have the time. My brother Fedya just turned two and Nadinka is only five. Other than myself, there just isn't anyone to take care of them. Mother always wanted me to learn to read, but fate had other plans. 

I haven't been gone from home very long, but I'm already cold. I haven't any warm clothes, only this old dress, tattered coat and scarf over my head. My boots are worn and are just a wee bit small for me, but that's alright, I managed last year with them and I'll manage this year. It's already dark outside, even though it's not very late, and people all around me are on their way home to celebrate. Me? I'm also on my way home, although the only thing waiting for me at there is a hungry brother and sister, a loaf of bread and pitcher of milk. We'll eat that and then go to bed. Before, we used to go with Mother to church on Christmas Eve. She would tell me and Nadya the story of the baby in the manger, and we would light candles together. 

This our second Christmas without Mother and I haven't been in the church very much; somehow my feet just haven't made it there. But today as I'm passing the church, I decide to go inside. At least I'll warm myself a little from the freezing weather. 

Upon entering the church, the aromas of burning incense bring back a flood of memories. I have an old coin in my pocket. Bread it wasn't able t­­o buy, but in the church they do give me a candle for it. The candle only brings back more memories of my mother. I walk up to the icon of the Mother of God holding in her arms the Christ child.  As I look at them, I am reminded of how my mother told me of poor Mary and Joseph. They had traveled so far and Mary was about to give birth, but there was no room for them anywhere. God did not forget His Son and Mary and Joseph found a stable where the Christ was born. Christ was poor when he was born; there was no cradle for him, and his mother wrapped him in an old blanket and laid him in the manger. But that night the angels sang in the sky and a new bright star appeared, and that star led wise men from far to the Christ child and they brought him gifts. 

So many miracles happened the night Christ was born, and Mother used to tell me that since then, on Christmas Eve, miracles always happen. So I look at the Christ child and his mother and a thought comes to mind. Maybe He would be so kind as to grant us a miracle. He knows what it is like to be poor and hungry; surely he would take pity on us.