A Miracle in Snow
Happy 6th day of Hanukkah, everyone!
Here’s an unpublished picture book/retelling I wrote a few years ago. Shared now because I figure we can use all the extra miracles….
Sometimes, we don’t believe in the miracles.
Sometimes, we can’t see anything ahead of us.
But we keep going.
***
A MIRACLE IN SNOW
One winter evening, when the sky was an ocean—deep and blue and full of hidden things…
A woman pulled on her heaviest coat. And stepped into her boots…
“Leah, where are you going?” asked Sarah. “Tonight is the first night of Hanukkah, and it’s nearly sundown. Time to light the candles!”
But Leah shook her head. “Hanukkah is well and good. But our woodpile is empty and there’s a storm coming. What if we lose power?”
“What if we don’t?” said Sarah “Stay with me, and celebrate the miracle of the oil.”
But Leah waved her hand in the air. “I’ll be back soon!” she called over her shoulder. “Miracles are a nice idea, but they won’t keep us warm.”
She opened the door, letting in a gust of wind, sharp as a knife.
Sarah pulled her sweater close. “Oh!” she cried. “I don’t think you have time. The snow is almost here. Can’t you smell it?”
Leah peered up at the sky and shook her head. “I’ll chop quickly and make it home before the storm,” she said. “I won’t go far.” And she left.
Sarah gazed after Leah as she trudged into the chilly dusk.
Then in the sky, stars began to appear, so Sarah quickly closed the door, turned, and ran… …to fetch her menorah.
She struck a match and lit the candles.
She sang the blessings.
Then she sat on the sofa, to watch the candles blaze in the front window.
As darkness swallowed the house, Sarah grew cold, but the glow from the candles filled the room with a warm light. And she began to doze.
Meanwhile, deep in the woods behind the house, Leah gathered sticks and swung her hatchet. She called out to the trees. “Miracles, ha! Who needs them?”
And when she had filled her sledge, Leah stood back and admired her handiwork, in the light from her lantern.
“Now, THERE’S a miracle,” she boasted to the night sky. “A job well done.”
The sky answered her with a sudden howl of wind, and then… The snow came.
It began in a dizzying burst of huge flakes that swirled and rushed like dry leaves.
In an instant, the world was a blur, a confusing flutter, and Leah was lost inside a blizzard.
She could see no trees.
She could see no path at her feet.
She could not even find her sledge.
Then… Leah stumbled, fell against a stump, and hit the ground, shattering her lantern.
Her feet became numb. Ice gathered in her hair. Her eyes drifted shut.
But in her dream… she caught a glimpse, a fleeting vision of Sarah, dozing in the glow of her candles…
It warmed her, and she sat back up.
“Oh, if only…” she said sadly, “If only I had stayed home. What I wouldn’t give for a miracle now.”
And that might have been the end of the story. But a moment later… Two tiny lights floated before her, a few feet away, As if a pair of fireflies were dancing side by side.
“It’s not possible,” Leah said. “…and yet…”
When she stood and reached a hand towards the lights, they began to move, to drift away from her.
Leah took a step.
And then another.
In this way, she left the woods, moving slowly through the snow that stung her cheeks.
Leah squinted into the shrieking wind And though she was still trapped inside the storm, always, always… the lights drifted before her eyes. Fading and flickering, but never going out.
Hours later, Leah found herself before her own front window.
Where, as she watched, the two drifting lights disappeared. On the OTHER side of the glass. Just as the sun began to rise.
“But…” stammered Leah. “That’s impossible!”
When she opened the door and fell inside, Leah startled Sarah awake.
Sarah gasped at the snow-covered figure. “My stars…” she cried. And after that, “Oh, Leah, thank goodness!”
She jumped up and pulled the icy coat from Leah’s shoulders, replaced it with a warm blanket.
Then Sarah turned, and frowned. She pointed at two burnt wicks, still smoking in the menorah.
“It’s very strange,” she said. “I’ve been sleeping here since you left, but the candles are just now dying. How on earth did they last the night?”
Leah shrugged. “Oh, I suppose it’s just a miracle,” she said, kicking off her boots.
“A miracle?” said Sarah. “I thought you did not have time for miracles.”
Leah smiled. “Let’s make oatmeal,” she said. “I’m cold and hungry. That will be a miracle too.”
But in fact, Sarah and Leah did not eat right away.
Instead, they sat together by the window, and stared at the menorah a little longer.
They watched as two last wisps of white smoke curled from the burnt candle-ends, drifted into the air, and vanished.
And suddenly, beyond the window, an extraordinary sunrise turned the entire glittering world to morning.
THE END