Mini Miracles

by Melissa Storm

  “You know what?” Abigail told her canine friend. “I think I’ll draw you. Stay there,” she said, petting the little dog who was still trying to get comfortable on the bed. “I’ll be right back.”

  The very moment Abigail got up, however, Mama Mary thumped down onto the floor after her and waddled down the hall right at her heels.

  Most of Abigail’s work had been digital over the past decade, but right now, returning to the basics appealed to her more than she could say. Her drawing charcoals had been tucked away in her old bedroom years ago, which meant she’d need to visit the abandoned shrine to her youth in order to claim them.

  Everything sat just as she remembered it—white wood furniture, pink walls, and princess murals. Her mother had designed this room for her, which is why she’d never wanted to change it even as she grew up and her tastes changed. It was the beginning of the sentimentality that Gavin so admired in her. But really, she was afraid to let go of anything, not knowing if there would be a way to ever get it back.

  This room would need to be converted into little Owen’s nursery, she realized. It was the only spare room they had in the whole house. And it had sat unoccupied long enough.

  Maybe her old bedroom set could make some other little girl happy, could turn her bedroom into a fairy wonderland as it had done for Abigail. It wasn’t right to keep things to herself if they could help others. She’d always known that. Her father had instilled a sharp sense of morality in her, even if he was partially to blame for her inability to move on past the… well, past.

  After all, he’d never dated, never remarried, and to her knowledge had never tried to find her mother after she’d left them both behind. Did she know she was about to become a grandmother? Was she even still alive?

  Abigail hadn’t the slightest clue, but she needed to stop focusing on the things she couldn’t change, the things she couldn’t have. Right now, she would grab tight to that tiny flicker of creativity Mama Mary had inspired and see if she could coax it into something bigger.

  First she’d draw the best picture of her dog she could manage, and then she’d see about conquering other mountains.

  Chapter 23

  Abigail

  Sunday morning arrived even faster than Abigail had dared to hope. True to his word, Gavin stood waiting outside the front doors wearing a light gray suit and an expectant smile. It reminded her of that ninth grade dance all over again. Only this time she was wearing a pair of stretchy pants and a stretchy tunic style shirt. Her thick hair was pulled into a messy bun and hiding a huge tangle she’d been unable to comb out that morning.

  Yes, unfortunately, pregnancy had made her always thick hair nightmarish and almost impossible to care for these days. At least her skin had remained smooth and blemish free, with only a few extra hairs poking through on her chin as a result of all those blasted hormones.

  “You look beautiful,” Gavin said, holding the door open for her and Mama Mary who walked at her side on a leash.

  Abigail couldn’t help but laugh at that one. “Thanks,” she said with a goofy grin that mirrored the one Gavin so often bestowed upon her.

  “What?” he asked, following in after her. “What did I do wrong?”

  “Nothing,” she assured him. “It’s good to see you. I just feel a mite underdressed.”

  Gavin waved her off. “Nah, you’re the pastor’s daughter. You set the standard for fashion around here, if I remember correctly.”

  She laughed again, already thankful that he’d insisted on accompanying them to service today. “I’m not sure you do, but I’ll take it.”

  “Hey, where are the puppies?” Gavin asked, searching around as if their carrier would materialize out of thin air.

  “Back in my father’s office. That way they can be with their mom between services, and nobody gets too hungry.”

  They stepped through the double doors into the sanctuary, and it felt as if all eyes had turned on them. Everyone was probably looking at Mama Mary, but Abigail couldn’t help but feel scrutinized—judged—by the eager glances so many sent straight in their direction.

  “Honey, up here!” her father called, jumping and waving his arms from near the pulpit.

  Oh brother, she thought while hurrying over to her father as fast as her swollen feet would carry her.

  “Morning, Gavin,” her father said with a curt nod before wrapping Abigail in his arms and squeezing her tight.

  “What are you doing?” Abigail hissed in her father’s ear. “You literally just saw me five minutes ago in the car.”

  His smile didn’t dampen one bit. He even winked at her to further punctuate his point. “I’m just happy to have you here. Back in church where you belong.”

  “Don’t get used to it,” she warned.

  “What, me?” he asked, pretending to be taken aback. “Never.”

  The band chose that moment to start the music up, and her father motioned for them to sit right in the front row. If Mama Mary was startled by the loud instruments, she sure didn’t show it. She sat proudly by Abigail’s feet, thumping her little tail to the beat.

  Abigail sang the words she knew so well as she glanced around the sanctuary she’d all but grown up inside. Last time she was here, white flowers had lined every surface and Owen’s closed casket had been draped with a neat, unblemished United States flag. She’d hardly been able to stand as the officers had folded it up into a neat triangle and offered it to her, thanking her for her husband’s service and for her own sacrifice.

  Today the only flowers were leftover poinsettias from Christmas. Everything was bright, upbeat, and happy, but that didn’t change the fact that people received their last rites here, that this church saw marriages that were doomed to fail, new lives that would end all too early… so much suffering.

  Looking around on that cool Sunday morning, you would never guess that these four walls had seen so much pain, witnessed so many tragedies. It was just like Gavin and that goofy grin of his—pretty on the outside, but broken on the inside.

  Was that all she could aspire to now? The veneer of happiness? Of fullness?

  The band switched to a new song and—just like that—Abigail felt like she was going to be sick. She ran out of the sanctuary, Mary waddling along quickly at her heels. It wasn’t morning sickness, but something else—the sudden violence of a horrible memory overtaking her system. In that moment it felt as if she were reliving the funeral all over again.

  Why had she come today? She wasn’t ready to be here yet. Maybe she never would be, and maybe that would be okay. Her father could teach little Owen about God and Jesus and just leave her out of it.

  Mary stood on her hind legs and pawed Abigail’s knees, a knowing look in her little charcoal eyes.

  “I’ll be okay,” she told the dog. “It’s just silly human stuff. You wouldn’t understand.”

  She bent down to pet the sweet Chihuahua when an odd sensation stopped her mid-motion. She remained perfectly still, waiting to see if it would happen again.

  That was when Gavin burst through the doors and rushed over to her side. “Are you okay?” he whisper-yelled. “You had me worried there.”

  She held up a hand and—

  There it was again!

  “Gavin,” she cried, forgetting the need to remain silent. “Come quick!”

  In an instant, he was at her side. Tears flowed freely as she reached for his hand and pressed it up against her abdomen.

  And then it happened again.

  And again.

  “Oh my gosh, is that?” Gavin asked, his eyes shining as he stared at her belly in wonder.

  “Little Owen says hello,” she sobbed. “That was the first time I felt him kick.”

  “He must like it here,” Gavin said with a cajoling smile. And even though he was teasing, Abigail knew he was absolutely, one-hundred percent right.

  Chapter 24

  Abigail

  When the music stopped playing, Abigail dragged both Gavin and Mama M
ary back into the sanctuary. “I’m supposed to go on at the end of the announcements, and they come right after praise and worship. Let’s go!”

  Her father caught her eye from his place behind the pulpit and motioned for her to join him upfront. “Ladies and gentleman of the Eternal Grace congregation,” he drawled. His Southern always came out in extra measure when he was before an audience. “I’d like to welcome my daughter, Abigail, to the pulpit along with a special guest she’ll introduce to y’all shortly.”

  The crowd of church goers gasped and cooed as Mama Mary proudly pranced down the center aisle at Abigail’s side. Gavin walked with them until he reached his seat in the front row and plopped right down into it.

  That meant the rest of this was up to Abigail now.

  Her father gave her a quick hug and kiss, then went to take a seat of his own to the side of the pulpit.

  “Hi, everyone,” she said into the little microphone that was hooked onto the wooden stand. The resulting feedback told her she’d leaned in too close.

  The crowd that stretched out before her continued to smile expectantly. Most still had their eyes fixed on Mama Mary.

  I can do this, Abigail told herself. It’s important.

  “Hi, everyone,” she started again. “I’m Abigail Sutton-Elliott. Pastor Adam’s my dad. Um, I know you guys haven’t seen me in a while, and for that I’m sorry. I’m back today, though, with important news. Good news. And a plea for your help.”

  Murmurs rose from the sea of congregants before her.

  She looked to her father who nodded encouragingly and motioned for her to continue. With a deep breath, she bent down to pick up her doggie companion and hold her as high above the pulpit as she could manage.

  “This is Mama Mary, and she’s my hero,” she told everyone. “If you have children in the Sunday school class—or if you’re part of the Eternal Grace phone tree—you may already know part of her story. Here’s the full thing.” Abigail paused to take a deep, measured breath.

  Gavin gave her the thumbs up, and she felt grateful again that he had come to support her today. Public speaking had never been a strength of hers—not like it was for her father. But maybe her passion for these pups would get her through it. After all, they were counting on her.

  “Mama Mary escaped from a puppy mill during that huge snow storm on Christmas Eve,” she continued, pausing to make eye contact with several members of the audience. “She was very pregnant at the time and actually came to our nativity scene to have her puppies that night.”

  She paused again while a gasp swept through the crowd.

  “She had four little pups, who are all doing fine by the way, and my dad—Pastor Adam—found them before they could suffer too badly from the cold. They’ve been with us ever since, and earlier this week, we found out about the puppy mill Mama Mary escaped from. The police did a bust up and found a total of fifty-seven dogs being kept in just horrible conditions.”

  Her voice cracked, and she grew angry just thinking about what all those poor dogs had been through. How anyone could treat animals so cruelly… well, it proved that there was evil in this world just as much as there was good. She glanced to her father again, who was also wiping away a small, glistening tear.

  “That’s why I’m here to talk with you today. These dogs need our help. Some of you have already volunteered space in your homes. Mama Mary and I are here to ask that you reach deep into your hearts and give whatever amount you can to contribute to the veterinary care and to finding forever homes for each of these fifty-seven dogs.”

  The ushers rose and distributed the collection plates to the rows in front and back, and the band began to play soft music behind her.

  Emboldened, Abigail stepped out from behind the pulpit so that everyone could see Mama Mary clearly. She raised her voice loud enough to reach the folks all the way in the back and then promised, “I also want you to know that Mama Mary and her puppies aren’t going anywhere. Ever since my father found them, he knew God had sent them for our church. At first I didn’t believe him, but then I got to know Mary and her puppies. And I remembered just what my father is capable of achieving when he puts his faith in the Almighty.”

  Laughter rose up from the congregation. They all knew her father every bit as well as she did. They loved him like she did, too.

  “So I don’t know everything yet,” she continued with a smile of gratitude, “but I do know Mary and her four pups—Cookie, Brownie, Cupcake, and Muffin—will be around for years to come, to help our church in whatever way we need. Thank you.”

  Abigail gave another quick smile before she crept back to her seat beside Gavin who put his arm around her.

  “Good job,” he whispered.

  And she believed him, too.

  Chapter 25

  Pastor Adam

  Let me tell you just how proud I was of my baby girl that Sunday. I knew she had a hard time facing the Maker, and she’d always struggled with speaking in front of crowds, too—but that didn’t stop her from coming through for those pups.

  Everyone clapped as she took her seat. Me loudest of all.

  Now it was my turn to speak out about something that was important to me. Despite all my hoping and praying, I knew I might not get another chance to deliver a sermon to my daughter, at least not anytime soon. So this one would have to count extra.

  With a quick adjustment of my tie, I rose to take my spot behind the pulpit. Most of my sermons as of late had been about the Fruits of the Spirit, and my flock was no doubt expecting more of the same, but today I decided to depart from my carefully planned lecture series and speak to a topic I knew Abigail would be able to relate to beyond any shadow of a doubt—and that was our church dogs.

  “Isn’t my daughter beautiful, folks?” I asked, assuming my position at the front of the church, and was met with a ripple of approval through the sanctuary.

  My darling daughter slid further down in her chair as if that would be enough to hide her. Well, she had to get used to people looking at her, admiring her, because much more of that would be coming soon.

  “I’m so grateful to her that she introduced y’all to Mama Mary and told you her story, because Abigail is absolutely right. These pups are going to be with our church for a long time to come. Jesus said let the little children come to me, and that’s just what this litter of pups did. They found Him in His church. They found us.” I paused here as I was apt to do whenever I needed a point to sink in deep.

  “God has always been willing to use anyone and anything He can to get our attention, and this time He chose a litter of little dogs—of mini miracles—to deliver His message.

  “Hmm, okay. So what might that message be?” I cocked my head to the side just like Mama Mary did whenever she was paying extra close attention to Abigail. “Well, let me ask you this: what message do you need to hear?”

  Most people laughed. A few looked uncomfortable. Those were the ones I decided to focus on. Sometimes I prepared my sermons word for word to make sure I got them just right. Others, I played it by ear. Today was an other kind of day.

  “We’re all searching for something in this life—all praying, wishing, desperately hoping for that one thing that can change us and our lives for the better. What’s your one thing? Take a moment to think about that, because we’ll be coming back to it later.”

  I glanced toward Abigail who was nodding along without even realizing it. I knew her one thing because it was the same as mine—to put the grief aside, to stitch up our broken hearts, and learn to survive without our other halves. I wanted that for Abigail even more than I wanted it for myself. After all, I’d been living with my mess of a heart for years, and if I could spare my daughter that same fate, I’d consider myself a blessed man.

  God could do it. He could do it for both of us.

  “Got your one thing?” I asked the congregation.

  They nodded, shouted yes, just generally expressed their readiness to hear what came next.

&n
bsp; “Good,” I said, letting that one word echo through the sanctuary a couple times before continuing on. “Now I bet it feels too big, too far, too heavy, but you know what? If you have faith as small as a mustard seed, nothing—nothing!—will be impossible for you. Wow… Do you know how small a mustard seed is?” I held my fingers in a circle so tiny hardly a speck of light filtered through. “Even smaller than that. Wow.”

  “Now look at this tiny dog,” I said, walking over to Abigail and grabbing Mama Mary’s leash so that I could trot her across the front of the sanctuary. “She’s a Chihuahua. That’s the smallest kind of dog in the whole wide world. She was pregnant—just about to give birth, as a matter of fact. She’d been kept in a cage her whole life. She’d been tormented, neglected, forgotten… but not by God.”

  I stooped down to pick that brave mama dog up and into my arms. “God gave her a strength she couldn’t have had on her own. He guided her paws out of that prison and straight to His house where she and her pups would be safe. Now if God can make that time to save a little dog, what might He be willing to do for his own children? For you, brothers and sisters?”

  A pause here gave everyone a bit more time to think before I asked with a humble smile, “How big—how impossible—does your one thing seem now?”

  Various murmurs rose up over the congregation, but I wasn’t done yet.

  “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me,” I quoted from the scripture. “Not some things. All things! Not a few things…” I paused to allow my church to supply the answer.