#19 The Joy of Christmas: a true story of an unexpected Christmas miracle

One of my favorite things to do in December is ready short, heart warming Christmas stories. 20 years ago God gave me a true Christmas story of my own and for this Christmas I decided it was time to tell it.  We often think of the miracle of a child coming into the world but I learned that a child of God leaving this world can be just as miraculous. My brother passed unexpectedly on Christmas day 20 years ago and the mercies that accompanied that day are undeniable. Bring tissues and enjoy this story that will remind you of the greatest gift we enjoy because of Christmas.Follow me on all social media platforms 

@amberdawnpearce

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Transcript

President Jeffrey R Holland said.

I submit that unless we see all the meaning and joy of Christmas, the whole of Christ's life, the profound mission, the end as well as the beginning, then Christmas will just be another day off work with food and football and fun and a measure of personal loneliness and family sorrow.

For some, the true meaning, the unique, joyous meaning of the birth of this baby was not confined to those first hours in Bethlehem, but would be realized in the life he would lead.

And in his death, in his triumphant atoning sacrifice and in his prison bursting resurrection.

These are the realities that make Christmas joyful.

Welcome to the Hope's Smiling Brightly podcast, sharing stories and ideas that will empower you to overcome doubt.

Cultivate the kind of faith miracles are made of and experience the transformative grace of Christ.

Whatever it is, Christ is the answer.

I am your host, Amber, also known as Amber Dawn Pierce on social media, hopefully most especially known as someone who loves to share the light of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ.

You are listening to episode 19, the Joy of Christmas, a true story of an unexpected Christmas miracle.

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We have a family tradition of gathering together during the Christmas season, turning off all the lights except for the glow of the Christmas tree, and reading from a binder filled with true stories of Christmas miracles.

There is something about those stories that bring the Christmas spirit.

For December's podcast episode, I thought it would be nice to take a break from what I typically share and tell you a true Christmas story that is precious to my family.

Every family has their stories, you know, the ones that get brought up and repeated at almost every big family gathering.

Even though the story has been told a million times, everyone listens, chimes in, and reacts as if it's being told for the first time.

Many are the stories of that one thing that we will never live down.

Like the time we were home and my big brother got stuck inside a folding couch and we had to call 911 to help get them out.

Though I love to laugh and that one makes me laugh every time.

I especially love the inspiring stories.

You know, the stories that define the fabric of our family spun from trial, determination, faith and miracles.

When family gatherings at my house move into storytelling mode, there is one member of our family that everyone has a story for.

Everyone has a story to tell about daily.

Most of them are funny because he had the quickest wit of anyone I've met.

All of them are precious because he was so precious to us.

And to think we almost didn't have those stories to tell.

The fact that Billy lived and joined our family was a miracle in and of itself.

Knowing that my mother could no longer bear children, she and my dad began to fill out adoption papers, believing that they would be adopting older children.

They were given a list of problems that children might have, and asked what they would be willing and able to accept in their home at the time.

They did not believe that they would be able to adopt a child with special needs.

My mom had a brother with mental disabilities and she didn't believe that she could tread those waters again.

In mid-September of 1980, they received a call from LDS Social Services about a five month old boy still in the hospital unit, with a litany of problems.

He hadn't been put up for adoption yet because no one was sure that he would even listen.

The only thing my mom heard was baby boy, and all she could do was ask if she could see him.

She always recounts that Billy had the most beautiful blue eyes.

He was only 7 pounds, 11oz.

At five months old, he had his first meal without his feeding tube.

Only three weeks earlier.

Billy's birth was described as a spontaneous breech birth with an immediate stroke.

He was 26 weeks along and weighed 3.4 pounds.

He would need skull surgery because his skull sutures were permanently sealed and had to be reopened.

Doctors felt that he would never function, let alone live to maturity.

But my mom knew differently.

She only had to look into his eyes and she could see a glorious future.

Despite his abilities, she was in love.

She went home, knelt before the Lord with my father, and asked what they were to do.

My mom felt as though she was told over and over again that Billy came to earth, perfect in his imperfect body, that he might be in our home, a part of our family.

My parents were blessed to bring Billy home on October 10th, 1980, their 10th wedding anniversary.

What a gift!

The first year was spent keeping my brother alive.

The surgery on his skull didn't go well.

His body rejected the plates placed in his skull.

They performed a second surgery to remove more bone and infection, but thankfully, that surgery proved successful.

Billy had apnea and slept on an apnea blanket, which would set off an alarm when he would stop breathing.

We all would respond from all corners of our home to make sure that he would take that next breath.

Billy quickly became an integral part of the family.

My siblings and I made him a part of all of our games.

He was the bomber jet as we ran him throughout the house, and he was often my baby doll.

He was three by the time he walked, though it was against all odds.

He continued to beat the odds by talking, learning to write his name, and memorizing and repeating the lines to any movie that he watched.

We would often be woken in the middle of the night as Billy belted out the tunes of his favorite Disney songs, when he couldn't sleep.

If anyone at home was fighting, he would somehow defuze the situation by suggesting we all just needed to take a Prozac.

You couldn't take him to the local grocery store without people walking up to him like he was a celebrity.

He would act so excited to see anyone who came up to him.

But most often, if you asked him, I mean, who was that?

He just shrugged his shoulders.

Even though he had just hugged and chatted with them as if they were his best friend, the first family member my husband then boyfriend met was Billy.

We were driving down the road to my home, and my husband pointed out that there was a young man riding a bike with a bathrobe on over his clothes and a cowboy hat on his head.

Oh, that's my brother.

I nonchalantly replied, roll down the window.

Hey, Billy, I yelled.

To which he replied, I'm not Billy.

I'm Darkwing Duck.

Oh, I have so many stories.

But today there's a more somber one I want to share.

Though the story of Billy joining and thriving in our family was miraculous, beautiful, and sacred.

We had no idea that the story of when he would leave this life would be just as miraculous, beautiful and sacred.

Every holiday with my brother was Billy's favorite.

The day after one holiday was over, he would start talking about the next.

Who was coming. What would we do?

He would ask these questions that he already knew the answers to several times a day, out of sheer excitement.

We may have lost patience with any other 25 year old, but obviously Billy wasn't any other 25 year old.

Billy's physical and mental disabilities blessed him with the innocence of a four year old, and he radiated joy and love wherever he was.

Christmas 2005 was an especially popular topic with Billy because more family than usual would be gathering together to celebrate.

He loved his brothers and sisters.

He would tell one sibling that they were his favorite, and in the next moment tell a different sibling that they were his favorite.

He had so much love in that body of his he couldn't decide on just one.

His love extended to everyone around him, wherever he was.

There wasn't a single greeting that didn't include an enthusiastic hi, followed by him rushing over to give a hug.

There would be plenty of hugs this Christmas, and he showed his excitement by constantly listing off everyone that would be coming.

Of course, he didn't forget also to list what he wanted Santa to bring him.

This year it was a captain's hat.

He loved to dress up and a captain's hat would top half his ensemble of jeans, button up shirt, suit coat, cowboy boots that he absolutely refused to wear on the right feet, and a walking cane that he did not need, but thought he looked pretty cool using.

Yep, he would show up this Christmas in style.

A week before Christmas, I brought him with me to participate in the Nativity for my son's preschool.

I suggested that he could be a shepherd since he already had a cane, but he wouldn't have it.

He was adamant that he would be a wise man.

He played his part well, bowing down and giving Jesus his gift.

The next day, my brother woke up feeling sick.

I was worried for him and bummed because Billy was the life of the party.

We needed him well enough to whack the Christmas Eve pinata with his cane, scramble to scoop up all the candy, and then come to each of us to taunt us with his winnings.

At least we still had a few more days until Christmas.

We would just remember Billy in our prayers and surely he'd be better by then, right?

Christmas Eve morning came, and when my mom went to check on Billy and to our relief, he seemed to be feeling better.

We went on with our preparations for our traditions to be held that evening, and let Billy rest a little more.

By 5 p.m., the house was bustling with family and the magical excitement of Christmas brings.

A few of us went to Billy's room to check in on him and wake him for the fun.

As we entered the room, we instantly noticed his breathing was especially strained.

I had heard that breathing before when my son had croup and the sound immediately set off alarms in my mind.

Everyone's reaction was the same.

We need to take Billy to the hospital.

But first he needs a blessing.

My father would often lay his hands on our heads and offer a prayer.

By inspiration and priesthood authority intended to heal the sick.

My brother Charles, Billy's true favorite, was asked to give the blessing as the rest of us gathered into the room.

A tangible spirit of love and peace filled that room as Billy's brothers and father laid their hands upon his head.

My mother and I leaned into each other as we listened to the sweet blessing.

I impatiently waited for the reassurance that Billy would quickly recover.

I opened my eyes before the blessing was over to look at my brother, then exchanged a look with my mother.

We were overcome with emotion and understanding.

My brother's words softly settled over us.

Billy, you are so very loved by your family.

Heavenly father loves you too, and he wants you to come home to him.

Nothing but sobs could be heard as we all tried to comprehend what was just spoken.

What?

How could this be?

He just has a cold.

It's Christmas.

My dad called for the ambulance just as my sister walked in the door from a day of shopping.

Even though she had the flu, she had been searching all day for that one gift.

Billy wanted a captain's hat.

When she heard the news, she dropped the hat to the floor and burst into tears.

Between all of my siblings, there were a lot of young children who were still excited for Christmas.

They couldn't really comprehend what was going on, and it was overwhelming to try to continue to celebrate when we just wanted to be with Billy.

I stayed home that night with little sleep and tried to be cheerful on Christmas morning for my children.

Word of Billy's condition got out and without having to ask, several women from church gave up Christmas Day with their families and showed up at our door with their own Christmas dinners in hand, and fed and watched the children so that we could go to the hospital.

What a priceless and selfless gift they gave.

I walked into the hospital room to see my mother by Billy's side.

Both her hands gently stroking his soft skin.

Her gaze would not leave him.

I knew she was trying to soak up every moment she had left with him.

I walked over to her side and touched Billy's pale hand.

I haven't clipped his nails in a while.

It's the thought that came to my mind.

What a funny thought at such a somber moment.

But at times I would help shave and groom him.

And I felt this pang of guilt that I hadn't taken that time to help him lately.

As the rest of the family filed into the room, I was overwhelmed with the realization of what a gift it was that so many of us were here to say goodbye.

If he had gotten sick at any other time than Christmas, that wouldn't have happened.

Heavenly father knew how loved Billy was, and how hard it would be for us to let him go.

He showed such love and mercy and letting us tell Billy how much we loved him, and giving him one more hug before he called him home.

The doctor removed the breathing tube.

Until this moment, Billy had been unresponsive, so we weren't sure if he would even be able to communicate with us.

Another small miracle, though he couldn't speak.

He was suddenly very alert and happy we were there.

I showed Billy all the things that Santa had stuffed in his stocking, and some of the gifts he had received.

If he could have, I knew he would have jumped up.

The second he saw his new captain's hat, he tried to sit up and reach for it, but didn't have the strength.

But you could sense his contentment as I placed it on his head for him.

His ensemble was complete.

We moved on to Billy's favorite thing to do sing.

Billy would shake his head.

Yes and no as we tried to guess which Christmas song he wanted us to sing.

He always loved to sing at the top of his lungs, and you could see his joy as sounds of Rudolph the Red-Nosed reindeer and other Christmas songs filled the intensive care unit.

In a moment, the entire family spontaneously began singing Billy's all time favorite church song, called To Serve.

Tears and love were overflowing, and I'm surprised we could sing out the words with such strength.

The song Billy sang hundreds of times before took on a whole new meaning.

Billy always talked about how he was going to go on a mission for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter day Saints, when he grew up, and of course, we all knew his disabilities would make this impossible.

The spirit helped us understand that not only had Billy already been on a mission his entire life, but he was also being called home to continue his mission for Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ.

Those unexpected yet precious moments in the hospital were a miracle from Heavenly Father.

As soon as we finished singing and hugging Billy goodbye, he closed his eyes, unresponsive again.

A few hours later, his spirit returned home.

How fitting for the most Christlike member of our family to return to his heavenly home on Christmas Day.

I have the privilege of helping prepare his body for burial.

I wanted to clip his nails and shave his face for the last time.

As I shaved his face.

I softly sang, A spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down, just as he had requested.

Every other time I shaved him to help calm his nerves.

When my brothers dressed him, they put his cowboy boots on backwards, just as he would have liked it.

His cane was placed by his side and captain's hat on his head during the eulogy at his overflowing funeral.

My brother asked that anyone who had ever been hugged by Billy to please stand.

Every person in the room stood.

The Lord knew how much we cherished Billy, and how hard it would be for us to see him leave this world out of his great kindness and love.

He let us know that he was bringing Billy home, and he gave us those precious moments of goodbye.

We will always remember and the story will always be told of the Lord's tender mercies and evidence of his powerful love.

On that beautiful Christmas Eve 2005, exactly 20 years ago, we will miss our sweet Billy.

But we are grateful for as president, Holland said, Christ's triumphant atoning sacrifice and his prison bursting resurrection because of Christ.

Every Christmas can still be joyful for us.

We will always be reminded of the gift of eternal families, and the knowledge that we will reunite with Billy again.

I love you, Billy.

I know you are singing in heaven.

Merry Christmas.

To all of you listening, my friends.

Perhaps we can together ask God to help us better see the miracles around us this Christmas.

Or better yet, ask how we can be the miracle for someone else.

Christ is the Christmas miracle.

Christ is hope.

Smiling brightly.