Tina’s Blessing
Carol*
By
Sandra Fischer
Momma dropped my hand long enough to scavenge some coins from her purse and drop them in the kettle. “Bless you, ma’am,” Santa said.
Momma stooped down to match my ten-year-old stature, her blue eyes capturing
mine with that “teachable moment” stare I knew all too well. “Christmas is
about blessing, child. God blessed us with the gift of His son, and we’re to
bless others by sharing what we have that they don’t. Everyone has a blessing
to share.”
I tucked the message in the back of my mind, thinking I would understand it
when I grew up, but Tina Carver was to prove me wrong. Tina was in my class at
school, and her family was on the charity list. Her father had hopped a freight
to parts unknown when he lost his job, leaving her, her mother, and her two
brothers to scrape by any way they could. They lived in an abandoned storefront
near the tracks, its shattered windows covered by cardboard.
Some of the kids made fun of Tina. She wore her brother’s hand-me-down coats
and trousers to school, making her stand out starkly from the rest of us girls,
who wore dresses and leggings. Most times her clothes and hands were smudged
with coal dust from picking up pieces along the tracks to feed their potbelly
stove.
Momma’s “compassion” lesson began to take root when I donned a pair of my
brother’s old pants and wore them to school to support Tina. The kids didn’t
laugh, but Tina did. I knew then I’d found a new friend, so I offered to share
lunch with her.
“I don’t have anything to give you.”
“Don’t have to. It’s a blessing. God blessed me with extra cornmeal mush so I could share.” But even as I shared my blessing, I began to wonder, What blessing did Tina have to share?
We walked home together. As I helped Tina pick up coal and tuck the pieces into an old knapsack, I began humming a Christmas carol. Suddenly, the voice of an angel burst forth, singing the words in perfect soprano.
I was dumbstruck. “Tina! Where did
you learn to sing like that?”
Tina stopped. “Sorry. Never sung around nobody but my mom. Didn’t mean to hurt
your ears.”
“My ears are fine and so is your
voice—it’s beautiful! Tina, you have to sing in the school Christmas program.”
“Can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Uh… I don’t have a dress to wear.”
“No problem. I have one I outgrew. It’s just your size.”
The Christmas program was the same every year—classes crowded onto the gym
stage and sang carols chosen by the music teacher, Miss Morgan. Parents
applauded politely to the cacophony of voices until the final carol, “Silent
Night,” brought relief.
However, when we all filed into the auditorium to perform,
we instantly discovered that this year was going to be different, very
different.
Miss Morgan showed up with laryngitis, so Principal Hanley had to introduce the
songs. Then we discovered Mr. Shricker, the janitor, had left a window open to
air out the gym and cold moisture had thrown the piano out of tune.
“We’ll just have to sing acapella,” Miss Morgan whispered as she ushered the
first graders onto the stage.
“I thought we were thinging ‘Away in the Manger,’” Willie Morgan lisped.
“We are, Willie, but we need someone to start us.”
Tina stood beside me behind the curtain as we waited for our turn. I pushed her
onto the stage. “Go! You can start us!”
A hush fell over the room as everyone stared.
“Tina?” Miss Morgan rasped in surprise.
Tina fumbled with the lace trim on my hand-me-down dress and looked out over
the audience. Her eyes met those of her mother, who smiled and nodded. Tina
took a deep breath.
The next sound out of her mouth came
straight from heaven. Tina’s melodic voice swept through the gym, singing the
carol as we had never heard it sung. “Away in a Manger,” a humble message from
a humble messenger in perfect pitch, resonated sweet tones of hope to hungry
souls. The children joined in, and the audience applauded.
Tina’s gift proved Momma
right—everyone does have a blessing to share.
*Story excerpt from the book,
“Every Day is Christmas” by Sandra Fischer, illustrated by Becky Guinn.