One

Another Christmas where everything had gone wrong.

It shouldn’t have. Everything was set for a wonderful Christmas. Bing was singing White Christmas right after the Chipmunks had chirped through their holiday offering. Lights decorating the porch tossed colors through the picture window, scattering red and blue and green and gold across the hardwood floors. Christmas cards hung on a string in front of the window. Over the fireplace, a crèche was arranged with the Wise Men still journeying across the thick oak mantel to reach the baby lying in a porcelain manger set beneath a glowing star. A small Christmas tree, perched on a short table, glistened with tinsel and ornaments and lights. Everything was ready for a perfect Christmas, but it wouldn’t be.

Again.

Mr. Shepard looked at the table which he had set with the dishes his late wife had brought out only once a year. Arranged on the tablecloth that was as white as his hair, the red and green dishes looked festive. A poinsettia was flanked by candles decorated with wax ivy and berries. From the kitchen of the first floor apartment came the scent of roasted turkey and all the fixings. He’d ordered it from the caterer right after Thanksgiving, hoping that this would be the year that Christmas would go right. It had started out okay. His daughters came to visit, bringing his grandchildren and great grandchildren. And despite the fact that even the youngest was questioning if Santa was real, they’d had fun exchanging gifts and looking at photos of previous Christmas celebrations.

But now...

Sitting in his favorite chair by the window that overlooked the porch of the large Victorian house and the street beyond in the quiet southeastern Massachusetts town of Lansboro, he watched as snowflakes were tossed back and forth by the wind. He’d planned with such care this year, not inviting either Gabrielle or Mike, who lived in the two apartments upstairs, until the very last minute. That way, he’d been sure that neither one would discover the other was coming for dinner at his apartment...until it was too late. Even that plan had failed.

First, Gabrielle had sent her regrets, saying that one of her older sisters was calling during what would have been the middle of dinner. Her sister lived on the West Coast, so they didn’t talk as often as they’d like, and her sister would be hurt if Gabrielle wasn’t there to take the call. Mr. Shepard’s offer to push dinner back was one she’d reluctantly accepted. He glanced at the clock over the mantel. She should be arriving in a few minutes.

But the other upstairs tenant—Mike—had bowed out with the excuse of needing to work late at his lab across town, that his work was reaching such a critical point that even the holidays had to take a backseat. How could Mr. Shepard argue with that? He wasn’t even sure what Mike did out there. It was some kind of medical research, but beyond that anything Mike explained was too esoteric for an old man to understand.

A knock came on the door.

He stood slowly. If he fell and broke a bone, he could end up in a place like the one where Gabrielle worked, a place for old people. He’d lived in this house from the time he was married, over sixty years ago, and he’d changed it from a single-family to a multi- because he missed the sound of young people. When Gabrielle had moved in a few years ago, he’d been delighted. Then young Mike had taken the second apartment almost two years ago, and he’d hoped that romantic sparks would soon fly. The two of them were made for each other. They just didn’t seem to know that.

"Come in!" he called.

"Merry Christmas," Gabrielle said when she opened the door. Her dark hair was pulled back with a festive ribbon, and she held out a container of brightly decorated cookies with one hand while the other remained behind her back. "I’m so sorry about being late."

He noticed how she took the time, while she was greeting him, to scan the main room of the apartment. Was she still worried that Mike might be hiding behind the small Christmas tree, its lights blinking on and off merrily? Why was she so skittish around that good-looking doctor?

"Better late than never." It was a silly response, but he didn’t know what else to say. "C’mon in."

Gabrielle walked in and held out a bag she had been holding behind her back. "Merry Christmas, Mr. Shepard."

"You shouldn’t have brought me a gift."

"If you can make dinner, I think I can make you something." She set the cookies on the table and watched expectantly as he opened the bag.

He lifted out a delicate paper snowflake. It was as intricately designed as an arabesque. Three-dimensional, it hung from plastic thread that vanished when held up to the light. It looked different from every angle as it twirled in his fingers. He knew it must have taken her—even with her artistic talent—hours to cut out the snowflake.

"It’s beautiful," he said with a broad smile. "Thank you."

"It’s one of a kind." She laughed. "You know how they say that no two snowflakes are alike."

"This one looks like a star."

Her smile broadened. "I’d thought it resembled a star, too, but I set out to make a snowflake, so you could enjoy it all winter, not just for today."

"I’ll enjoy admiring it every day, summer as well as winter."

"As I said, it’s one of a kind. It’ll be a long time before I attempt something that elaborate again."

"It’s good to see you spending some time on your art." He looped the plastic thread over the knob on the built-in hutch so it hung down and continued to move in every breath of air seeping through the old windows.

"It felt good to spend some time on it."

Motioning for her to sit at the table, Mr. Shepard brought the sliced turkey from the kitchen and set it on the table next to the bowls covered with aluminum foil. "Anything worthwhile needs some time spent on it, or else it just withers and dies."

"True." She began to peel the foil off bowls of potatoes and gravy and vegetables.

"Anything worthwhile," he repeated, glancing at the empty place setting across the table from her.

Gabrielle stiffened. "It’s Christmas, Mr. Shepard. Can’t we talk about peace on earth?"

"And good will toward men?"

She wagged a finger at him, but her smile looked strained. "Save the matchmaking for Sadie Hawkins’s Day."

"That comes only on February 29th."

"Exactly."

"But women’s lib did away with a girl having to wait for a boy to ask her out. Why don’t you and Mike go out for dinner some night? Just get away from everything and get to know each other better." He offered her a smile. "He is a really nice guy, Gabrielle."

"I’m sure he is. Do you want some potatoes?" She held out the bowl.

Mr. Shepard sighed, beginning to think there was no hope that either Gabrielle or Mike would open their eyes and see—really see—each other. As he and Gabrielle ate and chatted easily about every subject but the man who hadn’t joined them, he wondered if romance was dead for young people. He’d done everything on earth he could think of to persuade them to see each other as something more than neighbors, as something more than just a someone who passed through a busy life barely noticed.

Everything on earth.

Through the meal and while he was bidding Gabrielle a good evening after telling her that he didn’t want any help with the dishes, he glanced again and again at the snowflake...the star snowflake. It was dancing in the heat coming from the grumpy furnace. Light reflected on the white paper, making it shine as stars always did more brightly on this special night. A night that for more than two millennia had been proof that miracles were possible.

He sat in his favorite chair and stared out the window as headlights turned into the driveway next to the house. A car pulled up beside Gabrielle’s. He didn’t need to be able to see through the darkness beyond the porch light to know it was Mike’s car. It’d developed a hole in its muffler yesterday and now sounded like a tractor-trailer with heartburn. When he waved to the young man rushing up the steps, Mike waved back before coming into the house. The porch lights shut off moments before there was a knock on his door.

"Come in!" Mr. Shepard called as he had to Gabrielle.

The door opened just enough for Mike to peek in. His light brown hair looked as if it could use a cut, and he wore a coat too thin for the cold night. Intelligence and fatigue filled his eyes. "I wanted to stop in and wish you a Merry Christmas! I’m sorry I missed your Christmas supper, Mr. Shepard. Maybe next year I won’t be tied down with work at the lab."

"You said that last year."

He laughed. "So I did. How about I bring down some beer for us to have a celebration on New Year’s Eve?"

"You don’t have other plans?"

"No."

"Neither does anyone else in the house."

It was odd, Mr. Shepard mused, how Mike’s expression was identical to Gabrielle’s whenever he suggested the two of them might seek each other out. They were so much alike. Kindhearted, overworked, and scared of...He wasn’t sure what they were scared of, but it’d made them worse than gun-shy. It’d made them love-shy. He couldn’t imagine a sorrier state for a young man and a young woman.

When Mike hurried to make his escape, Mr. Shepard took pity on him and let him go with a "Merry Christmas" and "See you soon."

He looked back out the window. With the porch light off, he could see the snowflake star reflected there, a companion to the other stars glittering in the crisp winter night. He had tried everything on earth to bring Gabrielle and Mike together. Now he needed to try something else. He’d never asked for a miracle, but he was 85 years old. If he didn’t ask tonight when the need was so desperate, when would he?

Folding his hands together, he bowed his head and began, "Dear Lord, I’m asking you to intercede in the lives of Gabrielle D’Angelo and Michael Archer." He hesitated. What exactly did he want for them? With a smile, he continued, "All I’m asking for them is to open their hearts so they might discover love and realize they want to spend their lives together raising a family. Isn’t it obvious to You that they belong together? This is the only thing I’m asking. A Christmas to make what’s wrong right."

Two

When had Heaven gotten boring? Not boring exactly. Just the same, century after century.

Jack leaned his chin on his elbow and looked around him. No one else seemed bored. The pax collectors were busy. There was always someone praying for peace. Beyond them, the dogma catchers were arguing a point of law. They never stopped debating and never changed their minds on anything.

He turned his chair in the other direction. The hosanna-tation workers were busy preparing hallelujahs, and the sic transit gloria mundi drivers were scheduling those who were about to take their final journeys.

Everyone was busy. Everything was running smoothly. Just as it always did.

He watched as a trainee, Ernie, placed a stack of papers on Jack’s otherwise clean desk. He seldom got ahead here at the Pray Care Center and never at this time of year. When December rolled around on Earth, folks who had not had time for prayers during their busy lives the rest of the year suddenly sent up requests for blessings on the whole world. Goodwill to men was easy. Peace on Earth he passed on to the pax collectors in hopes that this year would be the one to answer that prayer of peace.

"What is this?" asked Ernie, picking a slip up from the floor. Glancing at it, the trainee gulped loudly as he handed it to Jack.

Jack sat straighter. What was this? A prayer request on the floor? How had it gotten on the floor? He looked at the date on it. The prayer had been sent up in October, almost two months ago. He groaned as he read the prayer asking that a child’s pet not die.

Gathering his robes around him, Jack fairly flew to his supervisor. He held out the slip, bowed his head, and gulped like Ernie had.

His supervisor took one look at it and sighed. "Oh, good heavens, this is not good."

"The pet—?"

"Spot is no longer on Earth." The supervisor opened a large book and pointed to a page. "Yes, Spot left the Earth two days after this prayer was sent up." She sighed again. "It was a blessing, for Spot was suffering greatly."

Jack smiled with relief. "So there is nothing that would have changed."

His supervisor closed the book. "Jack, you know our policy. We will have no unanswered prayers."

"But if Spot was scheduled to leave—"

His supervisor tapped a scroll hanging nearby. "How could you have forgotten our prayer policies after your many years at the Pray Care Center?"

Jack stared at the scroll and read silently:

The supervisor shook her head again and said, "I will have to take this to my supervisor. This is a sad oversight, Jack. A child could lose faith over this. It will have to be attended to at once, before we lose that young heart." She gave him a kind smile as she put her hand on his shoulder. "You have always paid such attention to your work. I am sure that will count in your favor."

Jack dragged himself back to his desk. Ernie was waiting there, his eyes wide.

"What happened?" Ernie asked.

Jack sat at his desk. "I let a prayer slip past me. I’ve never done that before."

"Everyone makes mistakes."

"This is Heaven, Ernie. You’re not on Earth any longer. Heaven shouldn’t make mistakes."

"So what will you do?"

"I need to make sure I don’t make any more mistakes. I need to get these prayer requests handled on time." He brightened. "Better yet, I’ll make sure I get answers for every prayer coming here for the next few days. I’ll make sure everyone gets just what they pray for."

Ernie looked uncertain. "You know that all prayers can’t be answered like that. Sometimes people pray for things that aren’t what they should have, things that could ruin their lives on Earth."

Waving him aside, Jack reached for the topmost sheet on the pile. He choked back a gasp so loudly that the others in the Pray Care Center looked down to see if thunder was nearing the gates of Heaven. When he saw the names scrawled across the slip, he glanced in the other direction. Not every prayer came from below. Some came from above. Prayers from them had the highest priority.

He scanned the request. A lonely-hearts request—to help a man and a woman know that they were meant to spend their lives together and build a family that would bring them joy.

He checked in his files. Yes, this was all right. Answering this prayer should be simple; he’d forward the request to family services with an "expedite immediately" on it. They would handle the details, find the soul waiting to make this pair a family and get that soul to Earth on the double. This was real basic stuff. Even Ernie could handle this one. Love was one of the things Heaven did best. Jack had answered these kinds of heartfelt prayers since he’d started working here.

The only question was why they had sent it. They did not usually get involved in this type of prayer request. They were more apt to deal with the big global issues. Peace on Earth definitely would come from them.

It was Christmastime, though. No one in Heaven ever forgot that this was a very special time of year when exceptional things happened and miracles seemed almost commonplace. Maybe that was what they wanted. A miracle.

Jack grinned. Miracles were fun. They must be used sparingly, because folks on Earth found it difficult to accept that a miracle had happened. They wanted explanations why. Few people were able to accept the truth on faith.

Ernie asked, "Can I help?"

"You can watch. As a trainee, you still have a lot to learn." He quickly told Ernie what he needed and sent him to retrieve it. "Just keep an eye on the time, okay?"

"Time?"

"Miracles have to unfold at the proper time."

Ernie grinned and rubbed his hands together. "A miracle? Cool."

Jack smiled, too, as the trainee rushed off to get what they needed. His smile disappeared as he glanced down at the slip again. It did seem odd that this request for a miracle had come in as a simple prayer request, but, if this was what they wanted, then he should not delay fulfilling it by asking his supervisor silly questions. He could not let this one slip past him. He would make sure it was answered.

Immediately.