Romil's Online Box...

Three years ago, a little boy and his grandmother came to see Santa at the Mayfair Mall in Wisconsin. The child climbed up on his lap, holding a picture of a little girl.
 
"Who is this?" asked Santa, smiling. "Your friend? Your sister?"
 
"Yes, Santa," he replied. "My sister, Sarah, who is very sick," he said sadly.
 
Santa glanced over at the grandmother who was waiting nearby, and saw her dabbing her eyes with a tissue. "She wanted to come with me to see you, oh, so very much, Santa!" the child exclaimed. "She misses you," he added softly.
 
Santa tried to be cheerful and encouraged a smile to the boy's face, asking him what he wanted Santa to bring him for Christmas.
 
When they finished their visit, the Grandmother came over to help the child off his lap, and started to say something to Santa, but halted.
 
"What is it?" Santa asked warmly.
 
"Well, I know it's really too much to ask you, Santa, but." the old woman began, shooing her grandson over to one of Santa's elves to collect the little gift which Santa gave all his young visitors.
 
"The girl in the photograph. . my granddaughter well, you see .. she has leukemia and isn't expected to make it even through the holidays," she said through tear-filled eyes. "Is there any way, Santa, any possible way that you could come see Sarah? That's all she's asked for, for Christmas, is to see Santa."
 
Santa blinked and swallowed hard and told the woman to leave information with his elves as to where Sarah was, and he would see what he could do.
 
Santa thought of little else the rest of that afternoon. He knew what he had to do. "What if it were MY child lying in that hospital bed, dying," he thought with a sinking heart, "This is the least I can do."
 
When Santa finished visiting with all the boys and girls that evening, he retrieved from his helper the name of the hospital where Sarah was staying. He asked the assistant location manager how to get to Children's Hospital.
 
"Why?" Rick asked, with a puzzled look on his face.
 
Santa relayed to him the conversation with Sarah's grandmother earlier that day.
 
"C'mon, I'll take you there," Rick said softly. Rick drove them to the hospital and came inside with Santa. They found out which room Sarah was in. A pale Rick said he would wait out in the hall.
 
Santa quietly peeked into the room through the half-closed door and saw little Sarah on the bed. The room was full of what appeared to be her family; there was the grandmother and the girl's brother he had met earlier that day. A woman whom he guessed was Sarah's mother stood by the bed, gently pushing Sarah's thin hair off her forehead. And another woman who he discovered later was Sarah's aunt, sat in a chair near the bed with a weary, sad look on her face. They were talking quietly, and Santa could sense the warmth and closeness of the family, and their love and concern for Sarah.
 
Taking a deep breath, and forcing a smile on his face, Santa entered the room, bellowing a hearty, "Ho, ho, ho!"
 
"Santa!" shrieked little Sarah weakly, as she tried to escape her bed to run to him, IV tubes intact.
 
Santa rushed to her side and gave her a warm hug. A child the tender age of his own son -- 9 years old -- gazed up at him with wonder and excitement.
 
Her skin was pale and her short tresses bore telltale bald patches from the effects of chemotherapy. But all he saw when he looked at her was a pair of huge, blue eyes. His heart melted, and he had to force himself to choke back tears. Though his eyes were riveted upon Sarah's face, he could hear the gasps and quiet sobbing of the women in the room.
 
As he and Sarah began talking, the family crept quietly to the bedside, one by one, squeezing Santa's shoulder or his hand gratefully, whispering, "Thank you" as they gazed sincerely at him with shining eyes.
 
Santa and Sarah talked and talked, and she told him excitedly all the toys she wanted for Christmas, assuring him she'd been a very good girl that year.
 
As their time together dwindled, Santa felt led in his spirit to pray for Sarah, and asked for permission from the girl's mother. She nodded in agreement and the entire family circled around Sarah's bed, holding hands. Santa looked intensely at Sarah and asked her if she believed in angels.
 
"Oh, yes, Santa.. I do!" she exclaimed.
 
"Well, I'm going to ask that angels watch over you." he said. Laying one hand on the child's head, Santa closed his eyes and prayed. He asked that God touch little Sarah, and heal her body from this disease. He asked that angels minister to her, watch and keep her. And when he finished praying, still with eyes closed, he started singing, softly, "Silent Night, Holy Night.. All is calm, all is bright.."
 
The family joined in, still holding hands, smiling at Sarah, and crying tears of hope, tears of joy for this moment, as Sarah beamed at them all.
 
When the song ended, Santa sat on the side of the bed again and held Sarah's frail, small hands in his own. "Now, Sarah," he said authoritatively, "you have a job to do, and that is to concentrate on getting well. I want you to have fun playing with your friends this summer, and I expect to see you at my house at Mayfair Mall this time next year!"
 
He knew it was risky proclaiming that to this little girl who had terminal cancer, but he "had" to. He had to give her the greatest gift he could -- not dolls or games or toys -- but the gift of HOPE.
 
"Yes, Santa!" Sarah exclaimed, her eyes bright. He leaned down and kissed her on the forehead and left the room.
 
Out in the hall, the minute Santa's eyes met Rick's, a look passed between them and they wept unashamed. Sarah's mother and grandmother slipped out of the room quickly and rushed to Santa's side to thank him.
 
"My only child is the same age as Sarah," he explained quietly. "This is the least I could do." They nodded with understanding and hugged him.
 
One year later, Santa Mark was again back on the set in Milwaukee for his six-week, seasonal job which he so loves to do. Several weeks went by and then one day a child came up to sit on his lap.
 
"Hi, Santa! Remember me?!"
 
"Of course, I do," Santa proclaimed (as he always does), smiling down at her. After all, the secret to being a "good" Santa is to always make each child feel as if they are the "only" child in the world at that moment.
 
"You came to see me in the hospital last year!"
 
Santa's jaw dropped. Tears immediately sprang in his eyes, and he grabbed this little miracle and held her to his chest. "Sarah!" he exclaimed.
 
He scarcely recognized her, for her hair was long and silky and her cheeks were rosy -- much different from the little girl he had visited just a year before. He looked over and saw Sarah's mother and grandmother in the sidelines smiling and waving and wiping their eyes.
 
That was the best Christmas ever for Santa Claus.
 
He had witnessed -- and been blessed to be instrumental in bringing about this miracle of hope. This precious little child was healed. Cancer-free. Alive and well. He silently looked up to Heaven and humbly whispered, "Thank you, Father. 'This is a Very, Merry Christmas!"

John Blanchard stood up from the bench, straightened his Army uniform, and studied the crowd of people making their way through Grand Central Station. He looked for the girl whose heart he knew, but whose face he didn't, the girl with the rose. His interest in her had begun thirteen months before in a Florida library. Taking a book off the shelf he found himself intrigued, not with the words of the book, but with the notes penciled in the margin. The soft handwriting reflected a thoughtful soul and insightful mind. 

In front of the book, he discovered the previous owner's name, Miss Hollis Maynell. With time and effort he located her address. She lived in New York City. He wrote her a letter introducing himself and inviting her to correspond. The next day he was shipped overseas for service in World War II

During the next year and one-month the two grew to know each other through the mail. Each letter was a seed falling on a fertile heart. A Romance was budding. Blanchard requested a photograph, but she refused. She felt that if he really cared, it wouldn't matter what she looked like.

When the day finally came for him to return from Europe, they scheduled their first meeting - 7:00 pm at Grand Central Station in New York.

"You'll recognize me, " she wrote, "by the red rose I'll be wearing on my lapel." So at 7:00 he was in the station looking for a girl whose heart he loved, but whose face he'd never seen.

I'll let Mr. Blanchard tell you what happened: A young women was coming toward me, her figure long and slim. Her blonde hair lay back in curls from her delicate ears; her eyes were blue as flowers. Her lips and chin had a gentle firmness, and in her pale green suit she was like springtime come alive. I started toward her, entirely forgetting to notice that she was not wearing a rose. As I moved, a small, provocative smile curved her lips. "Going my way, sailor?" she murmured. Almost uncontrollably I made one step closer to her, and then I saw Hollis Maynell. She was standing almost directly behind the girl. A women well past 40, she had graying hair tucked under a worn hat. She was more than plump, her thick-ankled feet thrust into low-heeled shoes. The girl in the green suit was walking quickly away. I felt as though I split in two, so keen was my desire to follow her, and yet so deep was my longing for the women whose spirit had truly companioned me and upheld my own

And there she stood. Her pale, plump face was gentle and sensible, her gray eyes had a warm and kindly twinkle. I did not hesitate. My fingers gripped the small worn blue leather copy of the book that was something precious, something perhaps even better than love, a friendship for which I had been and must ever be grateful.

I squared my shoulders and saluted and held out the book to the women, even though while I spoke I felt choked by the bitterness of my disappointment. "I'm Lieutenant John Blanchard, and you must be Miss Maynell. I am so glad you could meet me; may I take you to dinner?"


The women's face broadened into a tolerant smile. "I don't know what this is about, son," she answered, "but the young lady in the green suit who just went by, she begged me to wear this rose on my coat. And she said if you were to ask me out to dinner, I should go and tell you that she is waiting for you in the big restaurant across the street. She said it was some kind of test!"

It's not difficult to understand and admire Miss Maynell's wisdom. The true nature of a heart is seen in it's response to the unattractive. "Tell me whom you love," Houssaye wrote, "And I will tell you who you are."

I was walking around in a store, when I saw a Cashier hand this

little boy some money back.

The boy couldn't have been more than 5 or 6 years old.





The Cashier said, 'I'm sorry, but you don't have enough money to buy

this doll.





Then the little boy turned to the old woman next to him: ''Granny, are

you sure I don't have enough money?''





The old lady replied: ''You know that you don't have enough money to buy

this doll, my dear.''





Then she asked him to stay there for just 5 minutes while she went to

look around.. She left quickly. The little boy was still holding the

doll in his hand.





Finally, I walked toward him and I asked him who he wished to give this

doll to.





'It's the doll that my sister loved most and wanted so much for

Christmas.

She was sure that Santa Claus would bring it to her.'





I replied to him that maybe Santa Claus would bring it to her after all,

and not to worry.





But he replied to me sadly. 'No, Santa Claus can't bring it to her where

she is now. I have to give the doll to my mommy so that she can give it

to my sister when she goes there.'





His eyes were so sad while saying this. 'My Sister has gone to be with

God.

Daddy says that Mommy is going to see God very soon too, so I thought

that she could take the doll with her to give it to my sister.''





My heart nearly stopped.





The little boy looked up at me and said: 'I told daddy to tell mommy not

to go yet. I need her to wait until I come back from the mall.'





Then he showed me a very nice photo of him where he was laughing. He

then told me 'I want mommy to take my picture with her so she won't

forget me.'





'I love my mommy and I wish she doesn't have to leave me, but daddy says

that she has to go to be with my little sister.' Then he looked again at

the doll with sad eyes, very quietly.





I quickly reached for my wallet and said to the boy. 'Suppose we check

again, just in case you do have enough money for the doll?''





'OK' he said, 'I hope I do have enough.' I added some of my money to his

with out him seeing and we started to count it. There was enough for the

doll and even some spare money.





The little boy said: 'Thank you God for giving me enough money!'





Then he looked at me and added, 'I asked last night before I went to

sleep for God to make sure I had enough money to buy this doll, so that

mommy could give It to my sister. He heard me!''





'I also wanted to have enough money to buy a white rose for my mommy,

but I didn't dare to ask God for too much. But He gave me enough to buy

the doll and a white rose. My mommy loves white roses.'





A few minutes later, the old lady returned and I left with my basket. I

finished my shopping in a totally different state from when I started. I

couldn't get the little boy out of my mind. Then I remembered a local

news paper article two days ago, which mentioned a drunk man in a truck,

who hit a car occupied by a young woman and a little girl. The little

girl died right away, and the mother was left in a critical state. The

family had to decide whether to pull the plug on the life-sustaining

machine, because the young woman would not be able to recover from the

coma. Was this the family of the little boy?





Two days after this encounter with the little boy, I read in the news

paper that the young woman had passed away.. I couldn't stop myself as I

bought a bunch of white roses and I went to the funeral home where the

body of the young woman was exposed for people to see and make last

wishes before her burial. She was there, in her coffin, holding a

beautiful white rose in her hand with the photo of the little boy and

the doll placed over her chest. I left the place, teary-eyed, feeling

that my life had been changed for ever.

The love that the little boy had for his mother and his sister is still,

to this day, hard to imagine. And in a fraction of a second, a drunk

driver had taken all this away from him.



Please DO NOT DRINK & DRIVE.

"Can I see my baby?" the happy new mother asked. When the bundle was nestled in her arms and she moved the fold of cloth to look upon his tiny face, she gasped. The doctor turned quickly and looked out the tall hospital window. 
 
The baby had been born without ears. Time proved that the baby's hearing was perfect. It was only his appearance that was marred. When he rushed home from school one day and flung himself into his mother's arms, she sighed, knowing that his life was to be a succession of heartbreaks. He blurted out the tragedy. "A boy, a big boy...called me a freak." 
 
He grew up, handsome for his misfortune. A favorite with his fellow students, he might have been class president, but for that. He developed a gift, a talent for literature and music. "But you might mingle with other young people," his mother reproved him, but felt a kindness in her heart. 
 
The boy's father had a session with the family physician... "Could nothing be done?" "I believe I could graft on a pair of outer ears, if they could be procured" the doctor decided. Whereupon the search began for a person who would make such a sacrifice for a young man. 
 
Two years went by. One day, his father said to the son, "You're going to the hospital, son. Mother and I have someone who will donate the ears you need. But it's a secret," said the father. The operation was a brilliant success, and a new person emerged. His talents blossomed into genius, and school and college became a series of triumphs. 
 
Later he married and led the diplomatic service. One day, he asked his father, "Who gave me the ears? Who gave me so much? I could never do enough for him or her." "I do not believe you could, "said the father, "but the agreement was that you are not to know...not yet." 
 
The years kept their profound secret, but the day did come. One of the darkest days that ever pass through a son. He stood with his father over his mother's casket. Slowly, tenderly, the father stretched forth a hand and raised the thick, reddish-brown hair to reveal the mother had no outer ears. "Mother said she was glad she never let her hair be cut," his father whispered gently, "and nobody ever thought mother less beautiful, did they"?