Little Miracle in the Mall

After starting life as a single parent, and being incredibly broke, I wasn't sure how I was going to afford a Christmas tree. My son was only two at the time and caught up in all the excitement. The trip to see Santa, the lights, and songs, and all the ads on television--they were heady for a joyful two-year old. I hoped I'd be able to give him the Christmas he hoped for, and the one I wanted for him.

To say my budget was tight would be an understatement. I didn't have a computer, never mind the internet - we didn't even have cable television. I had a wonky sewing machine with which to make my son some clothes and I knew the routes to every second hand shop in my end of the city. TIGHT budget. I had a car, but the driver's side door was held with a 'good enough' bolt, not a real one, just so it wouldn't keep falling off.

The two bedroom four-plex we called home didn't allow live trees, so I needed to find an artificial one. I searched everywhere for something I could manage on my budget, but they were all so expensive. One morning, close to Christmas, I found an ad in the paper about a tree sale. It was being sponsored by a local furniture company. Only twenty-five dollars for the first two hundred customers. I was so excited, I could hardly contain myself. Twenty-five dollars for a fake tree? Why that was practically a give-away. The sale was that Saturday; a day my son would be spending with his dad. I dropped my son off early that Saturday morning, and headed over to the sale. I had to stand in line, and as I gazed up and down the long row, I discovered that I had to be in the 150th position at the very least, despite having arrived early. There was still nearly an hour to wait before the doors even opened.

Once we were ushered inside, the line slowly wound through the entire store. Clearly, the tree sale was a big advertising gimmick for the store. The line wound through every department; bedrooms, kitchens, living rooms, dining rooms--and out a back door into a specially fenced off area. I, like all the others, waited in line for another hour while they got the trees set up in the back. With nothing else to occupy my time, and no one to talk to since I went alone, I enjoyed the view offered. I longed for the day when I could afford to buy some of the beautiful pieces myself. Being there, and getting a tree that fit my budget had me feeling euphoric, as though anything was possible. Who knows, I thought, I might be shopping for new furniture sooner than I think. I had nothing to base my thoughts on beyond my usual optimistic view of life.

At last, the line began to move quickly, and I walked out into the 'tree lot.' The grin on my face was immediately replaced by a frown long enough to rival even the sorriest looking clown to grace a Big Top. The trees weren't artificial. They were real. I was heartbroken.

Despite my disappointment, and the desire to break down and cry, I still needed a tree. I drove my ailing car to a few different stores that sold artificial trees, ever hopeful, ever optimistic. As the day wore on though, intense worry had crept into my heart. With every walk through an 'out' door, and back to my car, my hope faded more and more. It was so late in the season, the lowest priced ones I could find were $100, and I couldn't work my budget around that. It was four times what I could afford.

After checking the last store I knew of, I sat down on a bench in the middle of a busy mall and felt like crying. I had spent the entire day uselessly, and soon I'd have to go home empty-handed. We wouldn't have the tree I'd promised.

I watched shoppers rushing past me, most of them loaded down with parcels and bags, and I wanted to be like them. I wished I had never told my son what I was doing that day. I dreaded the sadness I'd see in his eyes. I didn't want him to sense it in me, and as sweet as it was, I didn't want feel his little hands on my cheeks, as he said "Mommy, no sad, 'kay?"

Near tears, I whispered under my breath "Please, God? Can't I have a Christmas tree for my little boy?" As if in answer to my prayer, the crowd parted and there was a little tiny store I had never seen before. I'd been to that mall more times than I could count, and never saw that store. While the other shops all had crowds and long lines, this bright little place only had two people in it: a worker and one customer. There in the window was the real answer to my prayer. A sign there read, "6' Tree - 25$." I was floored. Immediately, I went in and asked where the trees were. The man behind the counter said "We only have one left." He pointed it out to me, and I was in for an even happier surprise. The tree wasn't one of those ugly, toilet-brush looking things as I had expected, but would have gratefully accepted. It looked real. I quickly snatched it up, he helped me box it up, and I didn't think twice about it.

I excitedly told my family about the miraculous event, and all about the great little store. They had all kinds of great deals on all sorts of things, and if I'd had extra money, I would have done some Christmas shopping there. It was like a dollar-store PLUS.

The odd thing was though, neither I nor any of my friends and family I'd told about it, ever found the store again. Maybe it was just a holiday liquidation store for all I know, open for a few weeks specifically to unload all the things that weren't moving elsewhere. I didn't get that impression at the time I was there though. Even if it was just a temporary thing, I prefer my assessment of it: a mini-miracle.

Miracles don't have to be big, or world-changing. Miracles happen every day in small ways. We just need to be open to them, and willing to acknowledge them when they occur.