For the Deseret News, 1998
Our family received the priceless gift of a Christmas never to be forgotten last year. It all began on Thursday, Dec. 11. I sat alone in the office of a kind doctor who had informed me, as gently as he could, that I had breast cancer and it looked as if it had spread to an inoperable place in my head. His parting words brought home the gravity of the situation. He said, "You're young, we'll go after it with everything we can."
He then left me in the privacy of his office with a telephone and a box of Kleenex. I reflected for a moment on the cold, hard facts. I was 38 years old. I had five wonderful children between the ages of 3 and 13. My 3-year-old son had suddenly begun having seizures only weeks before. In fact, the day that we brought him home from the hospital was the same day that I found the small lump under my arm. Since then, it had been all my husband and I could do to protect him from the sudden falls. Now, it looked like I might not be there to protect him at all. I picked up the phone and called my husband, and we cried together. He came to the hospital as soon as he could with our little son in tow.
My husband, Brad, is a Murray firefighter. It has been his first love for as long as he can remember. As we sat in the lobby of the hospital, fighting back the tears, waiting to see one of the doctors who would assist in the surgery, a fellow Murray firefighter and close friend, Gil, walked into the lobby to pick up medicine for his daughter.
When we told him why we were there, his big heart just melted. He hugged us both and told us that the firefighters would be there for us with anything we needed. As he walked out the hospital doors, into the dark December night, a Christmas of miracles and love was about to begin.
There were two more tests to complete before surgery the following Monday. They would tell us whether the cancer had spread to other areas as well. The next day was Friday, Dec. 12.
I completed one of the two tests at the hospital, without learning the results. Then, I decided that I would begin my own personal stand against cancer by keeping one of my most cherished Christmas traditions, an evening with "The Forgotten Carols," by Michael McLean.
That night, Brad and I held hands tightly during the performance, trying to keep the tears at bay. We were both struggling with the feeling that this might be our last Christmas together, and silently, I began to wonder if Heavenly Father was aware of our sorrow. The answer wasn't long in coming. Toward the end of the performance, to my complete surprise, Michael dedicated the song, "Together Forever," to me, and told me that Heavenly Father was watching over my family and everything would be all right. My sweet husband had sneaked backstage. It was so un-Brad-like, the first of many miracles to come.
Saturday morning I awoke to find Brad full of new hope. He said that we would begin the day with a new blessing, before we went for my final test. After the test, we were gathered at my mother-in-law's home, everyone in a somber mood, when the phone rang. It was my doctor. Both tests had come back clear. At last, we had something to cheer about.
From then on, it only got better. As we drove home to Alpine, Brad's Murray city pager went off. He picked it up and held it up for me to see. It read, "All for one and one for all . . . we're praying for you." The firefighters had jumped into action. First, they got together and volunteered for Brad's shifts at the station for the next month. Next, several of them took the $100 Christmas bonuses they had just received and deposited them in our account, anonymously. One of them brought Brad's bonus to our home, along with his own.
Then, later that night, I received perhaps the most touching phone call I've ever had. It was one of the firemen, a good friend. He had called to thank me for helping to bring the meaning of Christmas back to him. Then he said, "I want you to know, I have never prayed before. But, tonight I prayed for you."
Sweeter words were never spoken. When I hung up the phone, I walked to the window to bask in the glow of the Christmas lights. Tears came softly, as I realized that I was also basking in the glow of more love than I had ever known. It was then I knew that each of us, those who gave and those who received, had been given the priceless gift of the true meaning of Christmas.
In the weeks that passed before Christmas, we were the recipients of gifts of prayer, service, music, books, flowers and love from our family, our friends, all of our ward members and, of course, those incredible firefighters. They sustained us through surgery, and I even received a personal escort home from the hospital, big yellow fire engine and all.
By Dec. 23, I was home with my children for Christmas. Four days later, we would learn that the cancer in the brain had completely disappeared. Two months later, as a result of a family fast and subsequent help from some inspired friends, 3-year-old Joshua was completely healed.
As this wonderful season is upon us, I am filled with absolute joy and gratitude. We are together for one more wonderful Christmas. As long as I live, I shall never forget my Season of Miracles, each precious act of kindness and the way the Murray firemen stood so very tall, because they stooped to help a friend. Because of them, and so many others, I have come to know that the spirit of Christmas can be found somewhere in those words, "All for one and one for all."
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