Matt Sanders

Aubree gave him her snippiest look. And when he scraped back his chair she placed a finger to her pursed lips.

"Shh," she said sternly.

He wondered if she could hear the beating of his heart. To be so near her, the one he had told himself he could never have, was a form of the purest torture he had ever experienced.

Then the lights went down, and the children's choir filed onto the stage. He noticed immediately Ace was not among them.

Aubree turned to him. "Where is she?" she whispered, real concern replacing her snippiness.

Matt's heart began to race in fear. He thought of the cold war at home. And her disappointments.

Where was his daughter?

And then, just when he thought he would get up and tear the building apart to look for Ace, he saw the curtain open a tiny crack, and Ace peered out at the crowed, then at the choir.

"There she is," he whispered to Aubree.

"But what is she doing?"

Ace was looking woefully at the children's choir. She dropped the curtain.

But not before he had seen the look on her face when she had seen Brenda, who now stood in the choir angel costume with the rest of the choir. He looked at Brenda, too. Her normally lovely face was blotchy from crying.

Oh, God. What had Wesley Wellhaven done? As well-meaning as it was, Matt could sense disaster coming.

His sense of it was so strong he could barely enjoy the production despite how good the children's choir had become, despite ow amazingly Wesley blended his voice with those of the children. Despite the fact the evening was an inspiration and a gift to the world, just as Matt had hoped, he could not relax. And he could not enjoy it.

Aubree seemed equally tense beside him.

Finally, they reached the last number. The lights in the whole building went out, and only one came back on.

It was true.

His daughter was the Christmas Angel. There she was on her perch above the Christmas tree, all the lights now turned off except the one brightly white spotlight that was on her.

That familiar music started, and he felt himself cringing waiting for her to begin singing.

But Ace didn't start to sing.

On cue, she began to speak the role that had been a singing one. Her voice, despite the creakiness of it, was loud and strong.

Then it wobbled.

She picked up, but then it wobbled again.

And then Matt's little Christmas Angel, on live television, in front of the whole world, started crying.

And then she stopped, and in a voice that had absolutely no croak to it, that was strong and sure and beautiful, Ace Sanders said, "If for one person to be happy, another has to be sad, that's wrong. And it's not Christmas. Brenda, you come be the Christmas Angel."

And with grave dignity, she turned around and went down the stairs at the back of the tree, pulled back the heavy velvet curtain and slipped through it.

Matt got up out of his seat. And somehow his hand was in Aubree's and he was taking her with him.

As Brenda quickly made her way up the steps to the top of the tree, Matt and Aubree slipped backstage.

"How could you, you little wretch?" Mrs. Wellhaven had Ace's holders in her bony fingers and was snarling at her.

"Take your hands off my daughter before I bean you," Matt said.

Mrs. Wellhaven turned and gave him a look that could have slayed dragons. But he went right by her and scooped up his daughter i his arms.

Ace's tears flowed down his neck.

"I ruined it, didn't I, Daddy? I ruined The Christmas Angel?"

He could hear Brenda's sweet voice filing the auditorium.

"No, sweetheart, you didn't. You made me really proud. That was a good, good thing to do. The kind of thing only someone with a good heart would think of."

"I didn't wreck it?"

"No. I think you made it the best Christmas show, ever."

He and Aubree and Ace stood there, in the back of the stage, Ace's tears sliding down his neck as Brenda sang the song, and then Wesley's powerful voice joined hers as they sang the final number together.

In a moment, as if the voices faded, thunderous applause filled the auditorium.

And when it died completely, someone out there yelled, "We want the redheaded angel,"

It was a small town, and someone else provided her name.

"We want Ace. We want Ace Sanders," a man called out.

Now it was like thunder, a chant that was picked up and called out. "We want Ace. We want Ace. We want Ace."

When it could not be ignored a moment longer, when it felt as if they very roof would fall in under the tremendous volume of that demand, Aubree tugged at his sleeve and ducked under the curtain, bringing him with her.

He looked out at the sea of faces. He saw his friends and his neighbors. And he saw they were on their feet, whistling and stamping.

And he got it.

These people saw Ace's spirit, her willingness to give even though it hurt her, her willingness to put another's well-being ahead of her own.

He remembered her words the night after she had had the dream.

Ace had told him her mommy was going to save Christmas. That he mommy was going to show people what it was really all about.

And he could see that's exactly what happened. He saw the true spirit of Christmas in his daughter's generous spirit. In the people cheering for her. In Wesley Wellhaven's brave, brave choice to choose a less than perfect Christmas Angel.

And he saw it in Aubree, in the way she was looking at them both, with such love, smiling through her tears.

And the Light broke apart the darkness and chased it from him, like the sun chasing away the last of the storm.

His daughter had just taught him something that was not just a lesson for Christmas, but a lesson for life.

Love gave. Love didn't ask what it was getting back. Love didn't say, you might hurt me, so I'm not going to try at all.[/i

Love said, give everything you've got, every single minute that you've got it. Love said, tine is short. Don't waste on precious moment of it being afraid, or protecting yourself.

Love said, risk all. It's worth it to know Me.

And in that moment of illumination, Matt knew Wesley was right. And so was Aubree.

Miracles did happen. They came in the form of people, and insights and moments of inspiration. They came on the magnificent voice of a humble man, and the humble voice of a magnificent girl.

Wasn't that what Christmas did? Reminded people, all over again, especially the weary, especially those who had forgotten, especially those who felt downtrodden, especially those who felt beaten, to hope for a miracle. And to believe it would come.

But a person had to be open to that miracle coming. He had to be willing to see.

Or they would slip away if they were not acknowledged. And maybe after a while, if a man turned his back on enough miracles, maybe they wouldn't come back anymore at all.

As if to show how easily things could slip away, Aubree moved away from him and Ace, and over to her first graders. She was instantly surrounded in their clamor. Even from here he could hear them calling for her attention.

"Mrs. Dawson. Mrs. Dawson."

She went down on her knees and opened her arms. In a moment he could not see her for all the wriggling bodies trying to get close to her, to hug her, to cuddle with her.

A man could make his own darkness. And he could live in that forever.

But Matt Sanders wasn't going to. Not anymore.

What seemed to be a long time ago, Aubree had told him she was going toss pend Christmas alone.

And he had known she wasn't.

Now he knew she wasn't ever going to again. Not as long as she lived and breathed. Not as long as he lived and breathed.

If she said yes.

Standing there on that stage, with his daughter in his arms and the woman he loved with that head-over-heels kind of love that made it impossible for a man to breathe or think or function, with the whole town on their feet whistling and clapping, he felt a breath on his neck.

And heard her whisper, once, yes.

He glanced at Aubree and realized she had not said a word.

And he realized, it was his heart swelling, that he and his daughter and the woman he loved stood among angels.