While Burt wove their car up and down the side streets leading toward the busy thoroughfare, Stella used their cell phone to call the police. “Our little boy wandered off and we can’t find him anywhere. We think he might be trying to get to MLK Boulevard.”
“What’s your child look like?” the officer asked.
“He’s four years old, about three and a half feet tall, white-blond hair, dimples, and blue eyes. He’s wearing a black and red sweat suit with white tennis shoes and a Chicago Bulls baseball cap. He was dribbling a basketball when he left.”
Burt continued to drive the streets near their house and Stella searched up and down each sidewalk as she waited for the police officer to take a full report. Every moment that passed meant that Austin could be getting picked up by a stranger or run over. She struggled to breathe, suffocated by the feeling of helplessness. Would they be forced to celebrate Christmas without finding Austin? Would they be making funeral plans?
On the verge of hysteria, she covered her face with her hands and began to pray. Suddenly the story of baby Jesus came to mind—the ways in which King Herod tried to have the Christ child killed. On every turn angels were there to protect Jesus. “Please, God . . .” she prayed out loud. “Please watch over Austin and lead me to him. Put your Christmas angels around him, wherever he is.”
Burt and Stella were deeply faithful Christians and had been all their lives. Together they had taught their boys to pray and trust God in any situation where they felt they needed help. But a few months before, Stella’s mother had died of a brain tumor, and since then she had felt none of the joy that usually accompanied her faith. She had even tried letting go of her sorrow by counting her blessings, but she was still left feeling sad and empty.
Now, as she sat helplessly in the passenger seat, praying they would find Austin, she was keenly aware of how precious life was and how desperately she wanted to find her son and hold him close again. They circled the block surrounding her house and branched out onto Martin Luther King Boulevard, but there was no sign of Austin.
“Put your angels around him, God ...,” she whispered again. “Please take care of him and lead us to him.”
Suddenly the cloud of sorrow lifted and she knew how very blessed she was, the mother of two beautiful children, married to a loving, faithful man who cherished her and the children. If only she could find Austin, Stella knew she would never take these—God’s greatest blessings—for granted again.
They continued to search intently along dozens of streets, but when fifteen minutes passed they returned home for an update. The police were there, talking with the neighbor, when they pulled in.
“Any sign of him?” The officer looked troubled, as though he knew something terrible had happened.
“Nothing.” Burt was already headed back for the car. “We’ll trace the route again. He’s gotta be somewhere.”
The officer agreed to look in the opposite direction and the two men made plans to meet back at the house in twenty minutes for an update.
Burt hung his head and began crying as he started the car engine. “Not Austin,” he shouted through his tears. “Not my Austin!”
“Pray, Burt,” Stella implored as she craned her neck, trying to see up and down sidewalks they’d already checked twice. “Please pray.”
The couple set out again, working their way out from the Rozelle house in every possible direction. As they drove they prayed aloud.
“Please lead us to him, and please, God, please protect him. Send your Christmas angels like you did two thousand years ago for baby Jesus . . .” Stella’s tears streamed down her face. “Please, God,” she added, her voice barely a whisper. “He’s only four years old.”
Terrible thoughts filled their heads as they continued to search: Austin lying in a gutter covered with blood, or miles away in the car of some evil stranger. Stella knew that wherever he was, the child was scared and probably crying for her and Burt. The thought made the search unbearable, yet the pair had no choice but to continue.
Nearly an hour after the boy had disappeared and more than a mile from their house, they turned onto a busy street one block from Martin Luther King Boulevard and saw a foursome on the sidewalk half a block ahead. Two tall, slim, dark-haired women and a younger, blonde woman were walking together a few feet behind a boy with blond hair wearing a red and black sweatshirt and black sweatpants. The child was carrying a basketball.
“Austin!” Burt shouted. He sped up, pulling alongside the three women and little Austin and quickly parking the car. “Austin! Thank you, God. Thank you.”
“Austin!” Stella shouted as she jumped out of the car and joined them. The women stood back and watched as Stella and Burt swept the little boy into their arms. Relieved and sobbing, Stella fell to her knees next to Austin and pulled him tightly to her, stroking his hair and closing her eyes.
“We thought we’d lost you, baby,” she cried into his downy soft hair. “Thank you, God.”
“I wasn’t lost, Mommy. I was going to Michael Jordan’s house!” Austin smiled easily, calm and unaffected by his adventure away from home.
Standing back, careful not to interrupt the reunion, the women who had been trailing behind the boy smiled.
“He’s a character, that one,” the older woman said softly. “He was chasing his ball and he fell into a ditch back there a ways. There was a bit of water in it and we helped him out. We’ve been following him ever since so he wouldn’t get hurt.”
Stella nodded, still clinging tightly to the child. “Thank you so much,” she said, wiping at her tears and looking Austin over to be sure he was all right.
The woman continued. “He said he was going to Michael Jordan’s house.”
The other tall woman smiled. “Isn’t he that professional basketball player?”
“Yes.” Stella couldn’t take her eyes from Austin, relieved and grateful beyond words that her son was unharmed.
“Does he live around here?” The older woman wrinkled her nose, clearly confused.
Burt shook his head and uttered a short laugh as he tousled Austin’s hair. “Austin has quite an imagination lately.” He looked at Stella. “I guess we didn’t know exactly how much.”
“Anyway,” the woman said, “he seemed to know where he was going.”
Stella nodded, paying little attention to the women. She swept the boy into her arms and thanked the women once more for their help. Then, fresh tears of relief streaming down her cheeks, she and Burt drove off to share the good news with the police and the others.
They were at the end of the street when Burt hit the brakes. “How thoughtless of me—I should have offered those women a ride home. It’s freezing outside.”
He did a U-turn and headed back down the block, but the women were gone. Stella checked her watch. Not even two minutes had passed since they had left the women, but now as she and Burt looked up the street, there was no one in sight.
“That’s strange,” she muttered aloud. “No one could walk that fast. I wonder where they went.”
“Let’s keep looking,” Burt said. “Maybe if we drive the length of the street we’ll find them resting somewhere.”
For ten minutes Burt and Stella drove back and forth on the street looking carefully for the women who had so kindly watched over Austin.
“You’re right,” Stella said. “I feel awful. They were so nice to look after Austin and then we didn’t even offer them a ride home.”
“Oh, well,” Burt finally said. “I guess they got home some other way.”
There was silence for a moment as Stella thought about her prayer. Protect him with your Christmas angels . . .
“Burt,” Stella said, her voice quieter than before. “You don’t think they might have been angels, do you?”
“Oh, Stella, come on. They were just friendly women taking a walk and doing a kind deed.”
“You’re right,” Stella said. She thought about Austin falling into the ditch and remembered how a ma
n in nearby Vancouver had fallen into a similar bog once and been trapped by the mud. He’d nearly died of hypothermia before rescuers found him. She shuddered. A child would never have fared so well. “Well, whoever they were, they were an answer to our prayers, that’s for sure.”
Back at the house Stella and Burt ran inside with Austin in their arms. “We found him walking a mile from here. Three neighborhood women were walking behind him, watching out for him.”
“Oh, thank you, dear Lord.” The neighbor kissed Austin on the cheek and then left the Rozelles to themselves. By then Daniel had come into the room, awed by the fact that Austin had actually left and grateful that he was home safe. Burt and Stella put their arms around Austin, pulling him close once more as the family formed a circle.
“We were worried about you, Austin,” Stella said softly.
“I know, Mommy. I won’t go to Michael Jordan’s house anymore. Next time he’ll come here.”
“That’s good,” Burt said.
Stella smiled and took the boy’s cold damp hands in hers. “Listen, Austin, remember those ladies who helped you and stayed with you?”
The child nodded. “Yes, Mommy. They were strangers.”
“But you weren’t afraid of them, were you?”
“No, they were nice.”
Burt nodded. “Yes, they looked after you. Did they tell you their names?”
“They told me they were from God,” Austin said simply.
There was a pause as Stella, Burt, and Daniel leaned closer, curious expressions on their faces.
“Oh, yeah.” Austin looked up at his mother. “What’s an angel, Mommy?”
The adults stared at the child for a moment, and then exchanged a knowing look as goose bumps rose up on each of their arms. Quietly, and with a greater understanding than at any time in his life, Burt directed his family to hold hands; then he closed his eyes and bowed his head. When he spoke his voice was filled with awe.
“Dear God, we do not know your ways and we do not pretend to have answers. But somehow today we know that you brought about divine intervention in the life of our little Austin. Thank you for hearing our prayers and bringing him home safely. And, God—” Burt paused, his voice choked with emotion. “Thank you for the simple faith of our children. And thank you for your Christmas angels.”
The Holy
Hand of God
It was Christmas, and the Kramer family had shared a wonderful holiday together at their home in central New Mexico. In addition to their presents, the family felt thankful for things that could not be wrapped and placed under a tree. Brian was very happy in his job as a local resort manager, and Ann was four months pregnant with their third child. Their first two, Kari, five, and Kiley, four, were healthy and happy and the source of much joy. In fact, the Kramer family couldn’t have been happier.
After celebrating Christmas at home that year, the family climbed into their Chevy Suburban and headed for a small town about twenty minutes north of Santa Fe. Since Brian’s parents lived in Santa Fe, he knew the roads well and enjoyed the scenic drive.
“It never gets old, does it?” Brian asked his wife, reaching over to hold her hand as they climbed the mountains outside of Santa Fe. “God sure knows how to make things beautiful.”
Ann smiled and placed his hand on her pregnant abdomen. “He sure does.”
The visit with Brian’s parents was fun filled and full of the laughter of Kari and Kiley, but after two days it was time to return home. A light snow was falling as they packed up the Suburban and said their good-byes.
“I hate to drive in snow,” Ann said as they climbed in and buckled their seat belts.
“I know,” Brian said calmly. “But you’re not driving. I am. And I’m perfectly fine with it. Just say a prayer that we get home safely.”
Ann nodded and silently asked God to guard their car as they drove home. That done, she did her best not to worry. She stared out her window and admitted that the snow was certainly beautiful. It fell gently and looked like freshly sifted powdered sugar on the ground.
The highway that led from Santa Fe toward the Kramers’ home was a two-lane road with an occasional passing lane. From Brian’s parents’ house the highway climbed slightly until it reached two small towns and then it continued downhill for nearly forty minutes until leveling out in the valley.
Although traffic was light that morning, Brian drove slowly and carefully, aware that there were patches of ice under the snow-covered road. Most of the cars on the road had snow chains on their tires and though the Kramers did not, they felt secure in their Surburban with four-wheel drive and heavy-duty snow tires.
Still, Brian sensed his wife’s fears as they began the section of highway that was nearly straight downhill. He glanced at his wife and smiled warmly. “Honey, it’ll be okay. Don’t worry.”
“I know, I know,” Ann said. “I just wish we were home, that’s all.”
“We’ll be home soon. Try to relax.”
Ann nodded, but she could feel a tension throughout her body. The road seemed especially slippery, despite the fact that Brian was driving in a low gear.
Just as the highway became steep, Brian shifted into yet a lower gear just to be sure they wouldn’t lose traction. Suddenly the back of the Suburban began fishtailing across the road, swinging from one side of the highway to the other. Brian struggled to correct the truck’s steering, but as he turned the wheel, he could feel that it was having no effect on the tires. Suddenly he knew what had happened. The vehicle was in a slide with the tires completely detached from the road.
At that instant the Suburban swung sharply toward oncoming traffic, sending the vehicle spinning in a complete circle.
“Oh, God!” Ann screamed, grabbing on to the dashboard. “In the name of God, please stop!”
The Suburban stopped spinning and began a fast sideways slide toward the cliff that buttressed the edge of the highway. If the vehicle slid off the road, Brian and Ann knew they would probably be killed since the fall would send them several hundred feet down the hill along rough terrain.
“God, please help us!” Ann screamed again. But deep in her heart she knew they were traveling far too fast and she felt certain that they were going over the edge.
Then, just before the drop-off, the Suburban slammed to a sudden stop. Kiley had taken off her seat belt and the harsh jolt sent the child flying across the car into the window.
For a moment there was silence.
Brian looked at his wife in shock, not believing that they had avoided going over the edge of the highway. He was amazed that they were alive.
“Girls, are you okay?” he asked, turning around.
“Yes, Daddy,” came a small voice. “I hit my head, but I’m okay.”
Relieved, Brian stared at his wife once more. “We must have hit a tree stump or a boulder or something,” he said.
“Maybe a guardrail,” Ann added.
Still shaky from the closeness of what could have been a deadly car accident, Brian climbed out of the vehicle. He walked around it to the front. There was nothing in between the Suburban and the sheer drop.
“Ann, come here!” Brian said loudly. “Come see this!” Ann opened her door and slid carefully onto the small space between the vehicle and the side of the cliff. “What did we hit?” she asked.
“That’s just it. We didn’t hit anything. There’s not a rock or a piece of wood, no guardrail. Nothing. The truck just stopped for no reason at all.”
Ann examined the edge of the road and saw that Brian was right. The vehicle had been sliding at more than ten miles per hour and had suddenly stopped for no explainable reason. Together they looked down the jagged, rocky mountainside and shuddered at the thought of what might have happened.
“Ann, it’s like the hand of God just reached out and stopped us from going over the mountainside.”
Quietly Ann remembered her desperate plea for God to help them. She reached over and circled her arms around her husband
’s waist, resting her head on his chest. “With all my heart I believe you’re right. We were stopped by the hand of God. It must have been a miracle. A Christmas miracle.”
His Mysterious
Ways
Back then there was no way for anyone in the Cannucci family to know how special that summer of 1939 would become. It started out like any other and would have been uneventful for the Cannucci children if it weren’t for Maria Fiona. While their mother tended to household duties, eleven-year-old Sara Cannucci was put in charge of keeping her little brother, Tony, occupied.
One morning soon after summer started Sara was playing with Tony outside the house in New Jersey, where their family rented the upstairs, when Maria walked past with a bag of groceries. Maria and her husband had no children yet, but that morning Sara noticed that Maria was pregnant.
“Hey,” she called out. “Want some help?”
Maria stopped and smiled at the young girl. She had married into the Fiona family, and not long after they had decided to turn the upstairs floor of their trilevel house into an apartment the Cannucci family had become their tenants. Not until after the families had shared the house for several months did they realize that their ancestors had lived in the same Sicilian village in Italy many years earlier.
“I don’t believe in coincidence,” the senior Cannucci would tell his children. “Our families were together back then and we’re together now. There must be a reason for that.”
Now, as Maria looked at the young Cannucci children, she welcomed their help. After all, they were practically family.
“Sure, Sara, I’d love the help.” Maria set down her bag and watched Sara take her brother’s hand and scramble to pick up the bag. The children trailed behind as Maria entered her apartment.