A new day dawned, a special day filled with love and a little song in his mind.
Jarred looked at himself in the mirror and smiled at his reflection.
Today he was sixteen!

A day worthy of love, gifts, best wishes, and thanks to the Lord and his family.
From infancy, they had given him everything a child could ever want. But deep inside, as he grew, there was a little emptiness—a feeling knotted in his heart that he couldn’t understand. Broken verses of a song played continuously in his head.

On his fifteenth birthday, his mother had presented him with a book chronicling the life of a young woman, detailing her successes and failures. As he read it, he realised that the empty feeling inside him was for his real mother, who had never been part of his life—not from infancy to now.
The young woman in the story had been a college student, studying hard as she pursued her dream of becoming a lawyer. But a mishap occurred when she became pregnant by her boyfriend. He had promised to stay, but two months before the baby was born, he walked away. The heartbreak and stress almost drove her over the edge, saved only by the pills she became addicted to, and her world spiralled out of control. Unable to care for her baby boy, she wrapped him in a blanket—a precious little bundle—and left him at a church door. She couldn’t hear his cries as he lay in the cold; her mind was numb, a young broken woman, lost and confused.
Jarred had put down the book at the end of her story, wiping tears from his eyes. The book was unfinished because the story had a continuation: the story of the baby, now grown into a handsome and smart young man, who that day began a search for his missing mother.

For months, he searched, a prayer in his mind: “Please God, give her some help to find her way.”
He looked through alleys and shelters, abandoned buildings, and old churches, but he couldn’t find her. Christmas was in the air—but not for the destitute and homeless, who lived off the crumbs of the streets. Darkness and cardboard boxes were their city, their world; no neon lights or velvet carpets.

One dusk, twelve days before Christmas, when his feet were tired and his body worn, he heard a soft humming. It was divine music to his ears, the same tune that had played in his mind since childhood.
He followed the sound to a small church, partially hidden by overgrown bougainvillea. Quietly, he approached the stairs, where she was lying, her head resting on a little blanket. He looked at her in her pitiful state, bedraggled and lost, and his heart grieved for the woman who had brought him into the world close to Christmas. She raised her head and looked at him for a long time, knowing in her heart that it was her son. In a weak, trembling voice, she spoke:

“Wh-wh-what are you doing here?”
“I’m looking for a beautiful woman who has been missing from my life.”
She looked around and shook her head.

“No one’s here. Move on.”
“I know what happened to you, and I want to help you.”
She lowered her head, silent for a long moment, before looking at him. Trying to mask the pain in her eyes, she asked hoarsely, “Are you having a good life?”
“Yes,” he answered.

“Is there love and comfort?”
“Yes.”
“Then you should not be looking for me.”
“No love and comfort can fill the emptiness inside me—only you can. Let me help you.”
She shook her head, a pained cry escaping her parched lips.

“It’s too late, too late.”
“No, it’s not,” he pleaded.
As she turned to walk away, he said, “Don’t you want to see your own son? You still remember the baby you left here, don’t you?”

She stopped but didn’t turn back.
“Go back home. I’m no one, and I can’t give you anything,” she said, before walking out of the churchyard, leaving him on the steps once again.
He sat there for a long while, unwilling to lose her and unsure what to do, when the church door opened and the old pastor beckoned him inside.
“We need to pray,” the pastor told him. “Pray for an angel to touch her life, to bring her back from that dark road into the light.”

A year passed, and Jarred returned home to his family and the life he knew. His mother seemed to have vanished; he never saw her again. But he prayed every day, morning and night, heeding the pastor’s words.
On the eve of his sixteenth birthday, he received a note from his mother saying she wanted to see him on his birthday at the church. That’s why he was so happy, why the day felt so special.
That evening, he arrived elated and excited, but she wasn’t there. The church was closed. Jarred’s heart sank, and fear clouded his mind.

Why wasn’t she there? Did something bad happen to her?
He stood there, helpless and scared, when he heard the humming of that sweet, divine tune. Turning around, he saw her standing at the church doors, the baby’s blanket in her hands. She was a new woman, radiant and beautiful, with light dancing in her eyes.

It was truly a miracle—his prayers had been answered. Her life had been touched by an angel.
Jarred laughed, tears of joy streaming down his face.
“Thank you, dear Lord,” he whispered.

She hugged him on the steps where she had left him as a baby sixteen years ago. Hand in hand, mother and son walked into the brightly lit church to celebrate a special birthday. The choir sang, and from above, the angels smiled.

It was a blessed reunion.