Christmas Miracles (4 page)

And so it went during those days before Christmas 2000. “I passed many hours with this amazing moose,” Janice said. “Sometimes I stood; sometimes I sat on the ground or on big fallen branches. But all the while I kept company with Matilda. When I talked to her, she would now turn her great head to look at me and make me feel acknowledged. Never once did she ever show aggression toward me. She could have walked or charged past me if she had so chosen, for I was no obstacle. Even when I occasionally took her picture, she seemed to ignore the flash. That she elected to stay made me feel honored, for I was in the company of a great, mysterious creature.”

Though they had spent hours in one another's company, Janice will never forget that one particular moment when they seemed to blend awarenesses:

“Slowly she turned her massive head, and her big brown eyes stared deeply into mine from only ten feet away. I stood motionless, held by her gaze. Momentarily, I was in another realm. In my spirit I heard her say, ‘
I come peacefully so you may know me.
'

“My imagination? I really do not think so,” Janice said. “As her eyes met mine, I was not thinking or creating, only allowing the contact. There was no fear, only peace. I could not move again until she shifted her head.”

After the enchantment had been lifted, Janice took out her pen and paper to record the words left in her mind—while Matilda chewed on a green branch. Janice had always felt that the deer was her totem animal, and she had numerous pictures of deer in her writing room. Now a “family member,” so to speak, had come, bringing with her a special spiritual vision.

Bob joined Janice near the lake, and they both took photographs of their mysterious visitor. Bob left as it was growing dark, encouraging Janice to accompany him back to the cottage.

“I stayed until dark,” Janice remembered. “It was difficult to leave her, and I wanted to stay as long as I could in case this would be the last time that I would ever see her. I spoke loving messages to her and asked that she never leave our land or these woods near the lake.”

On Sunday, Bob and Janice passed Matilda on the road as they drove up the hill to go to church. They stopped and backed up, and Janice rolled down her window and asked her to please wait until their return.

“On our arrival back at our cottage,” Janice said, “we found her lying on our hill eating leaves and branches. We stood in silence as she rose to her enormous height, and we spent the rest of Sunday afternoon until sundown, observing all that we could about her.”

Days passed and Bob and Janice continued to see Matilda, walking and talking with her in the woods or down by the beach as she stood next to their canoe. It was hunting season during these encounters, but Matilda was safe in their woods because they have declared them a sanctuary for animals with no hunting allowed.

“As Matilda continued to live in and roam our woods, we had a new spirit about us,” Janice declared. “It was thrilling to share our lives with such a creature, and each day one or the other of us would stop for a moment and consider our blessing. Even unseen, her presence was with us, as we spoke of her and anticipated our next encounter.”

Some years ago, Janice Gray Kolb discovered that in ancient Christian symbology, the deer is a symbol of Christ. “I have written about the deer being sacred to so many cultures in one of my recent books,” she said. “Seeing those warning signs along New Hampshire's and Maine's highways about ‘Moose Crossings' offers a signal both to pray and to think upon the marvelous creatures that roam these woods. Their very presence is transforming to us. Animals are messengers and they bring wisdom to us if we are open. I believe animals can become spiritual messengers of mystery and transformation, and when we do not seek to learn from them, we deprive ourselves of their indispensable roles in our lives.”

Continuing with this line of thought, Janice said: “As I live in the woods and learn more about wildlife, I am grateful for the privilege of witnessing each day filled with miracles. I believe that an enormous and precious messenger came to us in the form of Matilda—and that she is a spiritual presence that reminds us of our Creator. We had only to look into her eyes to realize the holiness within. I will never forget those moments when her eyes looked deeply into mine and touched my soul. She has forever left her mark—and should we never meet again, I am most thankful that she is out there somewhere, roaming our woods. And may she remain so forevermore.”

Shortly after the series of encounters that Bob and Janice had experienced with Matilda, they read an article in a local newspaper about a moose sighting in another small town in New Hampshire. According to the reporter, people left their homes and businesses to view the moose. Motorists parked their cars and joined the crowd to watch the wondrous creature grazing atop a grassy hill.

“The article spoke of the mystical quality of the moose and how there was a quiet and awe that had come over the spectators,” Janice said. “Even the reporter said that she had felt ‘other-worldly' inside. She went on to compare the experience to the appearance of religious apparitions, such as when people report sightings of Mother Mary or Moses. For those men and women who believe, the reporter affirmed, Mary can be seen and Moses was an actual flesh-and-blood prophet who carried God's laws in his hands. And a moose standing in a foggy field for an entire day can be seen as a visit once again from God.”

When Janice read those words in the local newspaper, all her feelings regarding Matilda were confirmed.

“When I was with her,” she recalled, “it was as if there was a suspension of time. There was nothing else that I should be doing. God wanted me there with her. He had sent her as a gift to me—a part of himself.”

As Christmas drew nearer, Bob and Janice used one of the many pictures that she had taken of Matilda on their Christmas cards, accompanied by the first of the three poems that she had written in her honor.

“To know that Matilda was right outside our cottage on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, roaming our property and woods, brought a peace beyond all understanding,” Janice said. “She truly was of God—a holy visitation to Bob and me.”

B
rad Steiger remembers a Christmas story from his childhood that his parents told him about a man's rebirth of spirit during the holidays.

As his parents recalled the story, it took place in the early 1940s during a lovely, but very cold, white Christmas in Iowa. A thirteen-year-old farmboy we'll call Marlin Sheldahl was very excited to be playing one of the three wise men who would bring gifts to the Baby Jesus during the Sunday school Christmas pageant. Every Sunday afternoon since the week before Thanksgiving, Marlin and two of his classmates, Gary and Roger, had been practicing singing “We Three Kings of Orient Are” and walking solemnly before the crèche that sheltered Elaine, who was portraying Mary, and Lowell, enacting the role of Joseph. A rubber doll wrapped in “swaddling clothes” had the important, but mute, role of the Baby Jesus.

For several nights before the pageant, Marlin was barely able to sleep. He went over and over his solo part in his mind, visualizing just the way he would approach the manger and kneel with his gift before the Christ Child.

But on the evening of the big performance, disaster struck the Sheldahl home. Marlin's four-year-old brother, Jake, started running a high fever, so his mother said that she was terribly sorry, but she would not be able to attend the Christmas pageant. She would have to stay home and look after little Jake.

Although Marlin was disappointed that she would not be seated in one of the front pews appreciating every note of his solo—and telling him afterward how good he sounded—Dad would be there.

As Dad went out to warm up the car, Mom put the finishing touches on his costume. Days before she had dyed an old towel purple, and now she wrapped it skillfully around his head and pinned one of her rhinestone brooches in the middle of his turban. She festooned his robe with braided curtain strings and bright ribbons. Marlin was certain he looked like a genuine ancient Asian potentate. The other kings of the Orient would probably be jealous of the authenticity of his costume.

Then Dad came in, rubbing his hands to warm them, and Marlin could tell by the expression on his face that something was wrong. “Car won't start,” he said, shrugging his shoulders and emitting a deep, defeated sigh. “Battery's dead. It's this darn cold. Must be ten degrees below zero out there. Car won't even turn over. Sorry, Marlin. We won't be able to go to the pageant.”

“Sorry” was simply not acceptable. He was one of the three wise men for Pete's sake! He had been practicing the song with Gary and Roger and his solo part for weeks. This wasn't Broadway. There were no understudies waiting to go on if for any reason he didn't show up. He
had
to be there at the Sunday school Christmas pageant!

His dad tried to reason with Marlin. There was nothing to be done about it. They lived two miles out in the country. It was bitter and freezing outside. What was Marlin going to do? Walk?

“I've got no choice,” Marlin said, fighting back the tears. “I can't let the Sunday school teachers down. I can't let the other kids down. I can't disappoint the audience. What would they think if there were only two wise men up there? I'll walk to church.”

“Come on, Marlin,” his father protested, “you'll freeze! Probably get pneumonia.”

“I'll have two kids with high fevers to sit up all night with,” his mother added.

Marlin started to reach for his heavy woolen coat, then hesitated. If he struggled into his winter coat, he would mash his marvelous costume. He would just walk as fast as he could the two miles to town and the church.

“Wait,” Dad sighed. “You're as stubborn as your Uncle Charlie. I'll put the charger on the battery and we'll have the car started in maybe forty-five minutes or so.”

Marlin shook his head. He was supposed to be at the church in thirty minutes. The pageant would begin in fifty minutes.

“So?” Dad asked. “We'll get there just in time.”

Marlin argued that that would be cutting it too close. He had walked to town lots of times. He knew he could be there in thirty minutes.

“You've walked to town in the summer, spring, and fall,” Mom said. “Not when it is below freezing.”

Marlin could not be dissuaded. He would start out walking. If Dad got the car started in a few minutes, he could pick him up. If the car didn't start for an hour, he would see him at the church and ride home with him.

And with that, the king from the Orient went out into the night, following the Christmas star that would lead him to the Sunday school pageant.

Marlin had barely walked down their lane when he realized how foolish it had been to leave behind his heavy woolen coat.

The air was so cold that it burned his lungs and stung his nostrils. Although his royal robes had seemed warm enough in the kitchen of their farmhouse, it seemed now as though he was practically naked. And the pointed-toe slippers his mother had made him really looked like something out the
Arabian
Nights,
but on the snow-covered gravel road they provided little protection and warmth.

And now the viewpoint of our story shifts to the perspective of Emil Gunderson, the older gentleman who had the farm next to the Sheldahls'. Gunderson, in his late sixties, had a reputation among the children of the rural community for being a grouch who seemed perpetually angry at life in general and kids in particular. He was known to have a vocabulary of cuss and curse words that topped anyone's in the entire county, and the only time that anyone could remember seeing him smile was when he threatened to take a switch to some boys who tried to steal some apples from his orchard.

Emil Gunderson was listening to news on the radio when he happened to glance out of his living room's south window and saw something on the road that caused him to set down his beer bottle and focus his complete attention on whatever was slowly moving into the circle of illumination cast by his yard light. It appeared to be someone dressed in clothing of biblical times, complete with flowing robes, turban, and those strange pointy-toed slippers.

Emil hadn't been to church in fifteen years. He hadn't set one foot inside its doors since the double funeral of his wife and daughter. He had once been considered a very religious man, but God had betrayed his years of faithful attendance in church and nightly prayers by snuffing out his loved ones in an automobile accident. And his attitude toward Christmas was far beyond a simple “bah, humbug!” On his desk were three Christmas cards from his two sisters and one brother in Washington State. Those were the only cards that he had received, except for the obligatory ones mailed out by the bank, Bill's service station, and the Farmer's Co-op Elevator. He hadn't sent any cards in fifteen years.

He couldn't take his eyes off the strange figure walking on the road past his farmhouse. And as much as he tried to fight off the peculiar sensations that were provoking long-dormant memories, the robed entity seemed to be triggering emotions that he had long considered decayed and forgotten.