Gideon's Gift (3 page)

Brian pushed the thought from his mind. He met his daughter’s eyes. “Didn’t you forget someone?”

Her expression was open, unpretentious. Then it hit her and she giggled. “You mean me?”

“Yes, you.” Brian twirled a lock of her hair around his finger. “What would you get on this perfect Christmas?”

She lowered her chin. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Well…” She let her gaze fall to her hands for a beat. When she looked up, the twinkle was back. Brighter than ever. “In my
perfect
Christmas my gift would be a brand-new dolly. The kind with pretty hair and eyes that blink and a soft lacey dress.”

“A new doll, huh?” Brian tried to sound surprised, but he wasn’t. “How come?”

“A doll never gets sad when you’re sick.” She looked up and smiled. Her knowing expression spoke volumes. “Sometimes a friend
like that would be nice.”

From the time she was old enough to talk Gideon had wanted a new doll. A few years ago she’d even cut a doll photo from a
catalog and taped it to the wall beside her bed. The clipping still hung there today. From time to time Brian had come across
a used doll and brought it home for Gideon. It always smelled funny or was missing its dress or shoes. But Gideon didn’t mind
that. No, the problem was that in very little time she always loved the doll into nonexistence. A leg would fall off, or an
arm, or the doll’s head.

And Gideon would talk about her new doll again.

Each year Brian and Tish considered the possibility, and each year it was out of the question. New dolls like the one Gideon
wanted were expensive. As much as a week’s worth of groceries.

Gideon seemed to sense his thoughts. “It’s just pretend, Daddy. No big deal.” She leaned closer and let her head rest on his
shoulder. “What’s your perfect Christmas?”

The answers that had come to mind earlier returned. “That’s easy.” He kissed her forehead. “In the perfect Christmas we never
have to come back here again.”

Brian felt Gideon nod against his arm. “Know what my teacher said last week?”

“What, baby?” He stayed close, his face nuzzled against the top of her beret.

“She said Christmas miracles happen to those who believe.”

The words played over again in Brian’s mind. “I like it.”

“Me, too.” Gideon sat a bit straighter and stared at the doctor’s office door. “I believe, Daddy.”

“We all do.”

“Then maybe that’s what we’ll get this Christmas. A miracle.” She turned to him. “That would be better than anything, wouldn’t
it?”

“You mean like finding out that you’re better today?”

“Well, that.” She giggled. “But I mean something really big. Something so big it could only be a Christmas miracle.”

A lump formed in Brian’s throat as he studied his daughter.
She has no idea how sick she is, God. No idea.
He struggled to find his voice. “Then that’s what we’ll pray for.”

“Let’s pray now, Daddy. Right here.”

He gave her a slow smile. “Thata’ girl, Gideon. That’s the way to believe.”

Then, with cancer patients coming and going around them, Brian took hold of Gideon’s hands, bowed his head, and prayed for
something so big, it could only be a Christmas miracle.

A
n hour later Brian had the answer that mattered most to him.

Gideon was in remission!

Her blood results were better than they’d been since she was diagnosed with leukemia. The doctor was cautious. Remission was
a tricky thing. It could last weeks or years, depending on the patient. There was no way to know. And a person with her type
of leukemia was never really cured until they’d had a successful bone-marrow transplant.

Still, it was the answer Brian and Tish had been praying for since Gideon got sick. Brian blinked back tears as they walked
back to the car.

“I can’t wait to tell Mom.” Gideon skipped a few steps and then stopped and faced him. “If I’m not sick, it’s going to be
a great Christmas!”

“Yes, it is.” Brian stopped and held out his hands. Gideon knew the sign well. She took a running jump and he caught her,
sweeping her into his arms and holding her close. “We even got our miracle.”

Gideon giggled. “Daddy, that’s not the miracle.” She rubbed her nose against his. “Remember? We asked God for something
really
big.”

“Oh, that’s right.” Brian chuckled as he set her back down. They had reached the parking lot, and he took hold of her hand.
“Something tells me Mom will think it’s pretty big.”

O
n the way home, Gideon fell asleep and Brian turned off the radio. Traffic moved along slowly.
God, you’re so good. Gideon asked for a miracle and we got one. Just like that.

Memories of Gideon filled his mind. The time when she was two and shared her pacifier with the neighbor’s cat. Her kindergarten
year when a little boy didn’t bring a snack for two months straight and Gideon gave him hers. The way her perfect Christmas
involved a fire truck for Dustin before anything for herself.

The loss of any child would be devastating. But Gideon—

Tears clouded his eyes once more.
Thank you, God. Thank you a million times over.
He was consumed with gratefulness the whole way home. But as he neared their apartment building, a passing thought hit him.

If this wasn’t the miracle Gideon had prayed for, what was? What could possibly be bigger than the news that she was in remission?

Without warning, a chill passed over Brian.

If Christmas miracles truly happened to those who believed, then maybe God wasn’t finished handing out miracles to the Mercer
family. Somehow, someway, Brian had the uncanny certainty that some other amazing thing was about to happen. Some sort of
direct response to Gideon’s prayer.

Something so big it could only be a Christmas miracle.

T
he hardest part about being sick was this: Her parents thought she was helpless.

As Gideon played cards with Dustin and waited for her mother to come home that afternoon, she hoped the doctor’s news would
help change their feelings. After six months of hardly ever going to school, and of sleeping all the time, she was ready for
a change. Ready to join her parents in the thing their family loved most.

Their helping work.

As far back as Gideon could remember, she and Dustin had been part of their parents’ helping work. Sometimes they met with
other people from church and visited hospitals or homes where old people with gray hair lived. Lots of times they painted
a church or picked up dirty pop cans and hamburger wrappers along busy roads. Other days they knocked on doors and collected
canned food for hungry people.

She couldn’t explain it to her friends at school. But working with her parents and helping people was the happiest thing Gideon
ever did.

Right before she got sick her parents had talked about serving dinner at someplace called “the mission.” Then she’d started
getting bruises and colds, and every time she brushed her teeth there was blood in her spit.

After that she had to see the doctor a bunch of times and finally they told her she had leukemia. Gideon still wasn’t exactly
sure what that was, but it was very bad. Worse than a cold or a flu or even chicken pox. Leukemia didn’t always hurt like
those things, but it lasted longer. Sometimes it lasted forever. Gideon knew that because she’d heard her mom and dad talking
about it.

But now she was better. That’s what the doctor said. Maybe not better all the way, but better than she had been. And that
had to be a good thing.

The card game ended, and an hour later she was sitting by the window waiting when her mother came home. Gideon raced to the
door and flung it open. “I’m better, Mommy. The doctor said so.” She wrapped her arms around her mother’s waist and held on
tight.

“Gideon.” Her mother dropped to her knees. Gideon felt her hair move with her mom’s warm breath. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. Daddy can tell you about it.”

Usually her mom’s hugs lasted just a little while. But this one went on for a long time. When her mother let go and stood
up, she was wiping her cheeks.

“You’re sad.”

A big smile filled her mother’s face. “No, honey. I’m happy.”

Gideon nodded just as her father and Dustin came around the corner.

“Gideon’s better, Mommy! Gideon’s better!” Dustin jumped three times and raised a fist in the air.

“You heard the news?” Her dad came up and hugged her mom. They looked so happy it made glad tears in Gideon’s eyes.

“Is she… is it really in remission?”

“Yes.” Her father tousled Gideon’s hair and patted Dustin’s head. “It’s going to be the best Christmas ever.”

Gideon waited until they were finished talking. Then she stood before them and caught their attention. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.” Her mother leaned against her father’s shoulder. They were still in a half hug with their arms around each other’s
waists.

Gideon hesitated while Dustin ran off to play. “There’s something I want to do. I’ve wanted to do it ever since I got sick.
And now that I’m better…”

Her parents gave each other a funny look. Like even though the doctor said so, they weren’t sure she was really that much
better. “Okay, Gideon.” Her father’s eyes looked softer than before. “What do you want to do?”

She took hold of her mom’s hand and looked at them both. “I want to serve dinner at the mission.” She started to smile. “Remember?
We were going to do that before I got sick and you said we had to wait?”

Once more her parents looked at each other, but this time her father lifted one shoulder. “D. J. called yesterday and asked
about it. The holiday season gets pretty busy, I guess.”

Her mom’s forehead wrinkled up a little and her mouth stayed in a straight line. But after a moment she nodded. “I guess we
could give it a try. As long as Gideon doesn’t get too tired.”

“Yes!” Gideon threw her arms around her parents. “When can we go?”

“They need someone tomorrow night.” Her father bent down and kissed the top of her head. Her parents always did that. It was
one of the reasons Gideon knew they loved her so much. “I’ll call D. J. and make the plans.”