Santas Elves?
A load of sheetrock had just been delivered. I had been very busy, and I didn't see that it had been propped up against one of the walls. It was December 19, 1992, and my family was engrossed in working on our home which was under construction. Later that day something was needed behind the stack of sheetrock, and it was moved slightly away from the wall. No one noticed the lurking danger this would later cause.
A loud thud, and then a piercing scream, echoed through the empty house. My blood ran cold. Instantly I knew what had happened and ran upstairs to see my precious four-year- old, Audrey, lying underneath a thousand pounds of sheetrock.
After summoning help to free my daughter from her prison, we rushed her to the hospital. My poor little one's pain was so intense that she whimpered continually. After x-rays, the doctor explained that her femur had been broken near the hip. She was taken into surgery and a large, awkward body cast placed on her and was anything but comfortable. It covered both of her legs with a bar joining the two, which prevented any walking. It also went across her hips and up underneath her arms.
Audrey was in the hospital for several weeks, and I stayed with her day and night to help comfort her. As Christmas approached, many wonderful people helped shoulder the responsibility of caring for my other seven children. My husband was a bishop at the time and helped as much as he could. We had already been through so much trauma, and the thought of not being together on Christmas was more than we could bear.
Early Christmas morning about 4:00 a.m. while Audrey was still asleep, I left the hospital to go home to be with the rest of the family while they opened their gifts. Later that morning the rest of the family came to the hospital, and we all were there while Audrey opened her presents. The children had really missed each other and I was feeling the weight of being gone. Even though everyone took turns staying a day or two at the hospital, the burden was great. Tales from the siblings made it obvious that the absence of their mother was indeed being felt, and I hated to send my precious family home to be alone on that special day. They didn't even have a turkey to eat or any of the other special things I usually made for them at this holiday time. Our hearts were full, yet heavy as we bade each other goodbye.
When the family returned home late that morning and walked into the house, they witnessed a small Christmas miracle. On our large dining room table lay an elaborate spread of holiday cheer--Christmas dinner at its finest. "Who has been here?" the children asked. "Was it Santa's elves?" one child asked. "No," their father replied, "but it was some of God's children commemorating the true meaning of this day." As we all bowed our heads in prayer that night, Audrey and I in the hospital room and the rest of the family at home, we thanked the Lord for sending some of his angels that day to our home. Other Christmas days have come and gone since then, and I have realized what a busy, hectic time it can be. As I think back on that gift of timely, Christ like service rendered to us, I am reminded of the real meaning of that special day.
--Name Withheld (Story from By Small and Simple Things)
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