I received this message in my morning mail, at a time when I was wondering if all this does make a difference. This one message from a dear friend, means it really is all worth while. Thank you Jack Keller.

Jack sent along another message that touched my heart, "The Miracle of a Brother's Song". Please take a few moments and reflect on God's miracles.

When I was quite young, my father had one of the first telephones in our neighborhood. I remember well the polished old case fastened to the wall. The shiny receiver hung on the side of the box. I was too little to reach the telephone, but used to listen with fascination when my mother used to talk to it.

Then I discovered that somewhere inside the wonderful device lived an amazing person - her name was "Information Please" and there was nothing she did not know. "Information Please" could supply anybody's number and the correct time.

My first personal experience with this genie-in the-bottle came one day while my mother was visiting a neighbor. Amusing myself at the tool bench in the basement, I whacked my finger with a hammer. The pain was terrible, but there didn't seem to be any reason in crying because there was no one home to give sympathy. I walked around the house sucking my throbbing finger, finally arriving at the stairway.

The telephone!

Quickly, I ran for the foot stool in the parlor and dragged it to the landing. Climbing up, I unhooked the receiver in the parlor and held it to my ear. "Information Please," I said into the mouthpiece just above my head.

A click or two and a small clear voice spoke into my ear. "Information"

"I hurt my finger..." I wailed into the phone. The tears came readily enough now that I had an audience.

"Isn't your mother home?" came the question.

"Nobody's home but me." I blubbered.

"Are you bleeding?"

"No," I replied. "I hit my finger with the hammer and it hurts."

"Can you open your icebox?" she asked. I said I could.

"Then chip off a little piece of ice and hold it to your finger," said the voice.

After that, I called "Information Please" for everything. I asked her for help with my geography and she told me where Philadelphia was. She helped me with my math. She told me my pet chipmunk that I had caught in the park just the day before would eat fruit and nuts.

Then, there was the time Petey, our pet canary died. I called "Information Please" and told her the sad story. She listened, then said the usual things grown-ups say to soothe a child. But I was un-consoled.

I asked her, " Why is it that birds should sing so beautifully and bring joy to all families, only to end up as a heap of feathers on the bottom of a cage?"

She must have sensed my deep concern, for she said quietly, "Paul, always remember that there are other worlds to sing in." Somehow I felt better.

Another day I was on the telephone. "Information Please."

"Information," said the now familiar voice.

"How do you spell fix?" I asked.

All this took place in a small town in the Pacific Northwest. When I was 9 years old, we moved across the country to Boston. I missed my friend very much. "Information Please" belonged in that old wooden box back home, and I somehow never thought of trying the tall, shiny new phone that sat on the table in the hall.

As I grew into my teens, the memories of those childhood conversations never really left me. Often, in moments of doubt and perplexity I would recall the serene sense of security I had then. I appreciated now how patient, understanding, and kind she was to have spent her time on a little boy.

A few years later, on my way west to college, my plane put down in Seattle. I had about half an hour or so between planes. I spent 15 minutes or so on the phone with my sister, who lived there now. Then without thinking what I was doing, I dialed my hometown operator and said, "Information, Please."

Miraculously, I heard the small, clear voice I knew so well, "Information." I hadn't planned this but I heard myself saying, Could you please tell me how to spell fix?"

There was a long pause. Then came the soft spoken answer, "I guess your finger must have healed by now."

I laughed. "So it's really still you,' I said. "I wonder if you have any idea how much you meant to me during that time."

"I wonder", she said, "if you know how much your calls meant to me." "I never had any children, and I used to look forward to your calls."

I told her how often I had thought of her over the years and I asked If I could call her again when I came back to visit my sister. "Please do," she said. "Just ask for Sally."

Three months later I was back in Seattle. A different voice answered "Information." I asked for Sally.

"Are you a friend?" She said.

"Yes, a very old friend," I answered.

"I'm sorry to have to tell you this, she said. Sally had been working part-time the last few years because she was sick. She died five weeks ago."

Before I could hang up she said, "Wait a minute. Did you say your name was Paul?"

"Yes."

"Well, Sally left a message for you. She wrote it down in case you called. Let me read it to you." The note said, "Tell him I still say there are other worlds to sing in. He'll know what I mean."

I thanked her and hung up. I knew what Sally meant.

Anonymous

Never underestimate the impression you may make on others. Whose life have you touched today?

The following is suposedly a true story. We all know that music and song are the universal language on earth. Song can touch your heart when all else fails.

---

Like any good mother, when Karen found out that another baby was on the way, she did what she could to help her 3-year-old son, Michael, prepare for a new sibling. They learned that the new baby was going to be a girl, and day after day, night after night, Michael sang to his unborn sister in his Mommy's tummy.

The pregnancy progressed normally for Karen. Then the labor pains came. Every five minutes - every minute. But complications arose during delivery. Hours of labor... Would a C-section be required? Finally, Michael's little sister was born.

But she was in serious condition.... With siren howling in the night, the ambulance rushed the infant to the neonatal intensive care unit at St. Mary's Hospital, Knoxville, Tennessee.

The days inched by. The little girl got worse. The pediatric specialist told the parents, "There is very little hope. Be prepared for the worst." Karen and her husband contacted a local cemetery about a burial plot. They had fixed up a special room in their home for the new baby - but now they only planned a funeral.

All the while, Michael kept begging his parents to let him see his sister, "I want to sing to her," he said.

Week two in intensive care: It looks as if a funeral will come before the week is over. Michael keeps nagging about singing to his sister, but kids are not allowed in Intensive Care. Still, Karen made up her mind. She decided to take Michael into the ICU whether the staff liked it or not! If he didn't see his sister then, he may never see her alive.

She dressed him in an oversized scrub suit and marched him into the ICU. He looked like a walking laundry basket, but the head nurse recognized him as a child and bellowed, "Get that kid out of here now! No children are allowed."

The motherly instinct rose up strong in Karen, and the usually mild-mannered lady glared with steel eyes at the head nurse's eyes, her lips showing a firm line. "He is not leaving until he sings to his sister!"

Karen towed Michael to his sister's bedside. He gazed at the tiny infant losing the battle to live. And he began to sing.

In the pure hearted voice of a 3 year old, Michael sang: "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are gray..."

Instantly the baby girl responded. The pulse rate became calm and steady for the first time since her birth. "Keep on singing, Michael," his mother told him.

"You never know, dear, how much I love you, Please don't take my sunshine away..."

The ragged, strained breathing became as smooth as a kitten's purr. "Keep on singing, Michael," Karen encouraged.

"The other night, dear, as I lay sleeping, I dreamed I held you in my arms..." Michael's little sister relaxed, as rest -- healing rest -- seemed to sweep over her. "Keep on singing, Michael."

Tears conquered the face of the bossy head nurse. Karen glowed.

"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. Please don't, take my sunshine away."

Funeral plans are scrapped. The next day - the very next day - the little girl is well enough to go home!

Woman's Day magazine called it "The Miracle of a Brother's Song." The medical staff just called it a miracle. Karen called it a miracle of God's love! Perhaps this is one way of saying, "never give up on the people you love."

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