Marcus Newman walked the streets of Chicago, numb to the cold wind that whipped his body. This was December 24th, just one more Christmas Eve. Despite the sub zero temperatures and the wind that felt like knives, he kept walking as he did every Christmas Eve, because he discovered if he walked and walked until he was frozen and exhausted, he would be too tired to go home and blow his head off.

One more Christmas Eve. The snow crunched beneath his feet. The tears caked his face with salty icicles for the empty house he had made his living tomb. Every so often he would pause and lean against a building, the agony welling in his chest so completely it took several minutes before he could go on.

He watched the countless sets of people happily meander by, the lights in a thousand different windows and it all reminded him, more than ever, that he was completely alone.

Five years earlier he had been the one responsible for killing his wife and child. A little too much holiday cheer at his uncle's party caused him to careen off the snowy road and into a tree, crushing the passenger's side. Pinned and helpless, he listened to his wife and child pray as they bled to death.

With the DUI, his lawyer got him off, but not a day passed when his crime didn't haunt every corner of his mind. His life became a pointless drudge he was too cowardly to escape.

'You gutless wonder! Why don't you do it? Why don't you die! ' the cacophony of endless thoughts plagued him. 'You've got it coming! Do it!!'

He finally slumped onto a bus stop bench and stared into space. The weather had driven most sane people off the streets and as he sat there, too numb to move, letting the thought comfort him that all he had to do now, was close his eyes and go to sleep. The cold was as cold as his heart, as cold as his love: it would take him down so he wouldn't feel cold or anything anymore.

".help me."

A tiny voice echoed somewhere nearby and Marcus blinked.

".help.me.please.."

From stinging lips he said, "Who's there?"

"..help..me." came the ghost-like wail. ".please Jesus.don't let me die.help.."

Marcus sat up, disbelieving at first, then he thought it had to be coming from only one place..

"..heellllpppp!!.."

He rose to his feet and walked forward. Alarmed, he realized the voice was coming from the sewer.

".please!!.please..the wall is falling.!!"

"Hey!" he called into the hole. "Are you okay?"

"OH! PLEASE! GET ME OUT OF HERE!"

Coming to himself a bit, Marcus thought it sounded like a little girl, maybe nine or ten.

"It's okay! I'll-I'll get some help!"

"NO! You have to get me now! There's cold water ..you gotta get me!"

"Uh-uh." he stammered. "Just hold on!"

"..p-p-please.I'll die if you go.don't go!"

Hurriedly, Marcus hunkered down closer to the sewer and called to the girl, "Okay, okay! I'm here! I'm not going to leave!"

In the street lay a pile of broken glass, as if a bunch of drunks had gotten together and tried to beat each other to death with bottles of booze. Instantly his thoughts echoed '...like you...killing people with your drinking....killer...'

He took a deep breath and lay down in the glass and ice and stuck his head as far into the sewer hole as possible. He felt the needle pinch of glass in his upper thighs, but it didn't matter. Little girls shouldn't die on Christmas Eve. His little girl shouldn't have died on Christmas Eve.

Straining his eyes in the dimness he called, "Sweetheart, can you tell me your name?"

"Dw-dw--dwaneesha....help me..."

Following the sound of her voice, he peered very hard and made out the dark form of a child a few feet below him. He could see it, but there had to be a ledge where she was standing and farther below, he could hear the sound of running water. And the girl was right: it was freezing.

"Dwaneesha? That's a real pretty name.."

"I don't want to die!" she cried in panic.

"No! No! I'm not going to let anything happen to you, sweetie!"

"I'm just so scared!! And my momma doesn't know what happened to me and I'm gonna make Jesus mad cause I disobeyed her and He's gonna send me to hell and I don't want to go..."

Marcus tried to see how far he could stretch without diving headlong into the sewer himself. "No, honey! Jesus isn't going to be mad....I had..I mean my wife...she-she would always tell our little girl how much Jesus forgives people and how much He loves everyone..." a little bit more and he might be in range of her shadow. "You don't think Jesus is going to be mad at anyone on His birthday do you?"

"I-I was real bad, " she wailed. "I ran away tonight. I got into our presents and they aint' wrapped yet, I ate all my brothers candy and lied about it. I done stuff like that before and Momma said I keep doing that I'm in trouble. You do something bad enough, you're gonna go to hell!"

"No, baby, no," Marcus told her absently as he continued his reach. He practically willed his body into the curb hoping he'd be able to do this. "Look, you ask Jesus into your heart and it's all forgiven.it's all." his hand brushed the top of her head and he gasped, ".forgiven."

The little girl screamed her surprise, but Marcus was rewarded with the feel of her hand clamping onto his. She didn't seem to weigh very much, but he tried to haul her up.and found that he couldn't. His body was just too numb.

"You got me!" Dwaneesha cried happily. "Oh, pull me out! Mister! When I went running down the street and slipped I didn't think I'd go sliding all the way in here and then I didn't think I'd be a-a-alive! Thank you, mister! I bet Jesus lives in your heart real big, huh?"

"Uh.uh, yeah. Dwaneesha," he panted, thinking he made a particularly lousy Savior. "I'm at kind of a bad angle here, I don't think I can lift you that well..I'll-I'll try, but I need you to do your part and climb if you can, ok?"

"Okay." Then slowly, painfully, he began the task of playing human life-rope. Dwaneesha grabbed his forearm and he gritted his teeth keeping his muscle flexed, because when he relaxed even slightly, it felt like his shoulder would dislocate.

"M-mister?" she asked as she fought her way up his arm. "You-you been a Christian a whole long time then?"

"Wh-what?" he asked, distracted by the question, but then he suddenly it dawned on him; the words of comfort he had tried to give the little girl were the words Jesus was speaking to his own heart. And in that moment he knew every story of Jesus's love, forgiveness and sacrifice his dear wife had shared with him were absolutely true. His throat dried and he gasped his response. "No, not long."

"You sure I'll be okay then?." she panted as she dragged herself to his shoulder, "He really will forgive me?"

"Yeah," he said and his eyes stung as he started to clearly see the braided head of someones ornery, but beloved little girl. "But if you're a daughter of the King you'll want to act like it."

"I will," she said, squeezing herself past his head. "I'm gonna be real good."

Marcus felt so weak, it was hard to turn himself, but he managed to make it onto his side to see Dwaneesha. He smiled knowing he was looking at a ball of energy with too much going on, a kid who spent more time in the corner than any other part of the house. She looked frantically back and forth as if expecting her mother to drop out of the sky, said a quick, "Thank you, Mister! Merry Christmas!" And then ran like a frightened gazelle.

Marcus smiled, at least she'd be alive for her next spanking.

A police car rolled by and radioed for an ambulance. His legs were sliced and he was surprised to find out his weakness was all from blood loss. He didn't know what had happened to Dwaneesha, but felt sure in his heart that the kid had made it home. And many people shook their heads over how terrible it was to go through that on Christmas Eve. But Marcus wasn't unhappy at all. It had been one more Christmas Eve and God had given him a brand, new, life.

© Michel Archer 2004.