A NEW day dawned, a special day 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, and best wishes, and thanks to the Lord and his family.
From a baby, they had given him everything a child could ever want, but as he grew, deep inside, there was a little emptiness — a feeling knotted in his heart that he couldn’t understand — and 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, her successes and failures. It was a revelation for him as he read, and he understood then that the empty feeling inside of him was for his birth mother, who had never been a part of his life, not from babyhood 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 her to stay, but two months before the baby was born, he had walked away. The heartache and stress almost drove her over the edge, saved only by the pills she had become addicted to, and her world had spun out of control. She couldn’t care for him — her baby boy — so she had wrapped him in a blanket, a precious little bundle, and left him at a church’s door. His cries she couldn’t hear as he lay in the cold, for her mind was numb — a young, broken woman, lost and confused.

He had put down the book at the end of her story, wiping the 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 had begun 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 searched the alleys and shelters, the abandoned buildings and old churches, but he could not find her. Christmas was in the air, but not for the destitute and homeless who lived on the crumbs of the street. Darkness and cardboard boxes — their city, their world — no neon lights and velvet carpets.

At dusk one day, 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 he grew up with playing in his mind.

He followed the sound and saw a small church, partially hidden by overgrown bougainvillaea. He walked quietly to the stairs where she lay, her head resting on a little blanket. He looked at her in that pitiful state, bedraggled and lost, and his heart grieved for the woman who had brought him into this world, close to Christmas. She raised her head and looked at him for a long time, knowing in her heart it was her son. She spoke in a weak, trembling voice:

“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 and, for a long moment, she did not speak. Then she looked at him, trying to mask the pain in her eyes, and asked in a hoarse voice, “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 of 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 with her.

She turned to walk away when 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 and said, “Go back home, I’m no one and I can’t give you anything.”

She walked out of the churchyard, leaving him on the steps once again.

He sat on the steps for a long while, not wanting to lose her and not knowing what to do, when the church’s door opened and the old Pastor beckoned him in.

“We need to pray,” he told the boy. “Pray for an angel to touch her life, to bring her back from that dark road into the light.”

One year had passed since that day, and Jarred had returned home to his family, the life he knew. His mother seemed to have vanished; he never saw her again, but he prayed each 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; that’s why the day felt so special.

That evening, he got there, elated and excited — but she wasn’t there. No one was 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. He turned around and she was standing at the church’s doors, the baby’s blanket in her hands — a new woman, radiant and beautiful, light dancing in her eyes.

It was truly a miracle — his prayers answered — for her life had been touched by an angel.

Jarred laughed, the joy he felt in his heart bringing tears to his eyes.
“Thank you, dear Lord,” he whispered.

She hugged him on the steps where she had left him sixteen years ago as a baby, and, 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.

A blessed reunion it was.

At dusk one day, 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 he grew up with playing in his mind.
He followed the sound and saw a small church, partially hidden by overgrown bougainvillaea. He walked quietly to the stairs where she lay, her head resting on a little blanket. He looked at her in that pitiful state, bedraggled and lost, and his heart grieved for the woman who had brought him into this world, close to Christmas. She had raised her head and looked at him for a long time, knowing in her heart that it was her son. She spoke in a weak, trembling voice,
“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, and for a long moment she did not speak then she looked at him, trying to mask the pain in her eyes and asked in a hoarse voice, “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 of me; only you can. Let me help you.”
She shook her head, and a pained cry escaped her parched lips.
“It’s too late, too late.”
“No, it’s not,” he had pleaded with her.
She turned to walk away when he said, “Don’t you want to see your own son? You still remember the baby you left here, don’t you?”
She had stopped but didn’t turn back and said, “Go back home, I’m no one and I can’t you give you anything.”
She had walked out of the churchyard, leaving him on the steps, once again.
He had sat on the steps for a long while, not wanting to lose her and not knowing what to do, when the church’s door opened and the old Pastor beckoned him in.
“We need to pray,” he told the boy, “Pray for an angel to touch her life, to bring her back from that dark road into the light.”

One year had passed since that day, and Jarred had returned home —to his family, to the life he knew. His mother seemed to have vanished; he never saw her again, but he prayed each day, morning and night, heeding the Pastor’s words.
On the eve of his sixteenth birthday, he had received a note from his mother that she wanted to see him on his birthday at the church. That’s why he was so happy; that’s why the day felt so special.
That evening, he got there elated and excited but she wasn’t there. No one was there, and 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 told them they were helpless and scared when he heard the humming of that sweet, divine tune. He turned around, and she was standing at the church’s doors, the baby’s blanket in her hands, a new woman, radiant and beautiful, light dancing in her eyes.
It was truly a miracle: his prayers had been answered, for her life had been touched by an angel.
Jarred laughed, the joy in his heart bringing tears to his eyes.
“Thank you, dear Lord,” he whispered.
She hugged him on the steps where she had left him, as a baby, sixteen years ago and 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.
A blessed reunion it was.