Dana's Valley (34 page)

Authors: Janette Oke

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BOOK: Dana's Valley

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I was doing homework at the kitchen table one afternoon, and Dad came in with the mail and dropped a number of envelopes at the other end. He pulled out a chair and sat down to go through them. “That's interesting,” he murmured.

Mom hung her dish towel and moved to take a look. “What is, dear?”

“There are several Christmas cards here from people I don't know. Four addressed to
The Family of Dana Walsh.
”

Mom thumbed through and opened one. She read it aloud. “âDear Dana's famly, My name is Matt. I am Dana's frend and I have cancer too. I am 8 years old. My mom said I could have a Christmas card to send you. I want to say I am sorry that Dana died. I miss her. She use to write me alot. Espeshly on the computer. She told me Bible stories. I asked for a Bible for Christmas. Dana said she liked to reed hers, it made her feel better. I hope it helps me too because I will probly die soon too. I hope you have a grate Christmas. Love, Matt Sanders.'” There was a drawing, too, that Matt had made of the children's ward with Dana in the center.

Dad looked a little shaken. Mom laid the letter slowly on the table and dropped into a chair beside him.

“I met him,” she said almost tenderly. “It would make Dana so happy to know Matt wants a Bible. I think he was extra special to her.”

Dad squeezed Mom's hand and reached for another envelope. “âDear Walsh Family, Merry Christmas from Dana's nurses. Angela, we were very surprised by the Christmas gifts. It was so thoughtful of you to send them. It means a great deal that Dana had wanted us to have them. We miss her deeply. She touched so many here. Best Wishes, Joyce, Karen, Gail, Beth and Rita.'”

Dad placed the card back on the table, and Mom began to explain. “We did a little shopping in our last days together. Dana was certain she wouldn't be with us this Christmas, but she wanted to give presents anyway. So she did her shopping early with the help of the Internet.” Mom smiled at Dad. “It made her happy knowing she wouldn't really miss out on gift giving.”

Dad's eyes dropped. He fingered the card as Mom read another.

“âDear Dave, Angela and family, We're the parents of Sondra Fleetwood. We wanted to express to you our thanks for sharing Dana with us. Sondra thought the world of Dana, and we've been so thankful that she could have a friend at the clinic who was so outgoing and caringâand such an example of grace under fire. Few of us can accept suffering the way that Dana did and still be so focused on others. The thought of seeing Dana always gave Sondra something to look forward to on our visits to the cancer treatment center. And I looked forward to the times when we prayed together, Angela. I find it's so much harder to pray when I'm alone. We'll all miss Dana deeply. May God bless your Christmas, Ed and Lisa Fleetwood.'”

By then, we all had tears in our eyes. It was painful to read the cardsâand wonderful too. Each one represented another person or family that Dana had impacted. I had not thought much about her world at the center or the friends she'd made. We read another card, and then another. Then we pinned them carefully in a row along one wall in the kitchen. It would be a little easier to celebrate Christmas with the cards as a reminder of Dana.

The next day, four more cards arrived. And on the next, we received a flower arrangement from our church and six more Christmas cards. The kitchen wall was beginning to fill, and with it a warm feeling of Christmas, in its truest sense, grew in our little house. We were enveloped in the wonder of love and hope. The lingering oppressiveness of death was being swept away in the victory of life.

Corey woke early on Christmas morning and came directly to my room. “Erin. Psst, Erin. It's morning. Are you awake?”

I moaned. “I'm awake now. Is anybody else up?”

“Nope, but I think if we make a little noise, they'll come.” His eyes twinkled.

“Okay. I'll get up.”

I struggled into my robe and walked with Corey to the living room and our Christmas tree. We turned on the Christmas lights, then headed out to the kitchen. I talked him into letting me fix the coffee and a little breakfast for the family before I set him loose to start making his “noise.” He worked beside me in the kitchen and then scurried out to bang around near Dad's office door, where Brett was sleeping, stretched out on a cot.

“What'd you let him do
that
for?” Brett's hair was disheveled and his eyes were still nearly shut when he shuffled into the kitchen. I laughed. He still seemed to have trouble getting his motor running in the mornings.

“Merry Christmas, big brother.”

“Yah, whatever.” But he didn't look as Scrooge-like as his words sounded.

Mom and Dad arrived shortly after Brett. They were pleased to see breakfast already prepared and were glad I'd been able to stall Corey off a little while. It was still very early.

We took our seats and paused to pray. “Heavenly Father,” Dad began, “we have so much to thank you for. For each person around this table, and for Dana who is already in your hands. Thank you that because you allowed your own Son to leave your side and come to us so long ago, Dana can be with you now when her life with us is over. Thank you that you are sovereign over life and death.”

I sneaked a peek at my family. At Corey, who was nine and still, somehow, our baby. At Brett, who was now a man, and whose heart had returned at last to our family. At Mom, whose eyes looked almost completely rested again from the long struggle that Dana's illness had brought. And at Dad, who had never wavered from his role as leader of our home. I loved them all so deeply. It was so wonderful to feel, though we were not
all
present, that we were whole as a family again.

Dana had selected gifts for each of us. I didn't know what she'd tucked into the other Christmas presents before she had wrapped them, but I was overwhelmed with what she'd placed in mine. Laid on top, in a new frame, was her picture of the costume partyâthe one she'd placed so conspicuously near her in the hospital room. I studied her joyful, carefree face and the beautiful butterfly wings she'd labored so long to create. I wondered, as I had once read in a children's story, did one really receive wings as a reward upon arrival in heaven? If it were true, then Dana had spent her short lifetime crafting themâjust right.

And underneath the picture, wrapped in tissue, were her journals, with a note thanking me for allowing her to share the joys and adventures of my teen years. The years she'd missed.

In my heart I knew that someday I would read through the journals and know from Dana's own heart exactly what her valley of shadow had been like. For now, it was enough just to hold the notebooks against me and smile through my tears.

JANETTE OKE was born in Champion, Alberta, to a Canadian prairie farmer and his wife, and she grew up in a large family full of laughter and love. She is a graduate of Mountain View Bible College in Alberta, where she met her husband, Edward, and they were married in May of 1957. After pastoring churches in Indiana and Canada, the Okes spent some years in Calgary, where Edward served in several positions on college faculties while Janette continued her writing. She has written over four dozen novels for adults and children, and her book sales total nearly thirty million copies.

The Okes have three sons and one daughter, all married, and are enjoying their dozen grandchildren. Edward and Janette are active in their local church and make their home near Didsbury, Alberta.

LAUREL OKE LOGAN, daughter of Janette and Edward Oke, is the author of the bestselling
Janette Oke: A Heart for the Prairie
and
In the Quiet of This Moment.
Laurel, her husband, Marvin, and their four children live in Carmel, Indiana.

Books by Janette Oke

Return to Harmony Ë Another Homecoming

Tomorrow's Dream

Acts of Faith*

The Centurion's Wife Ë The Hidden Flame Ë The Damascus Way

Canadian West

When Calls the Heart Ë When Comes the Spring

When Breaks the Dawn Ë When Hope Springs New

Beyond the Gathering Storm

When Tomorrow Comes

Love Comes Softly

Love Comes Softly Ë Love's Enduring Promise