Alabaster's Song: Christmas Through the Eyes of an Angel Read online

  Alabaster's Song

  Alabaster's Song

  Christmas through the Eyes of an Angel

  MAX LUCADO

  Illustrated by Michael Garland

  Text copyright © 1996 Max Lucado.

  Illustrations copyright © 1996 Michael Garland.

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher, except for brief excerpts in reviews.

  Published in Nashville, Tennessee, by Tommy Nelson®, a Division of Thomas Nelson, Inc.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Lucado, Max.

  Alabaster’s Song / Max Lucado ; illustrated by Michael Garland.

  p. cm.

  Summary: On Christmas Eve, a six-year-old boy listens to the angel from the top of the family tree sing just as he did on the first Christmas night.

  ISBN 0-8499-1307-1 (original hardcover)

  ISBN 1-4003-0146-7 (4½ x 5½)

  ISBN 1-4003-0007-X (box set)

  [1. Angels—Fiction. 2. Christmas—Fiction.] I. Garland,

  Michael, 1952— ill. II. Title

  PZ7.L9684A1 1996

  [E]—dc20 96—14749

  CIP

  AC

  Printed in the United States of America

  02 03 04 05 LEO 5 4 3 2 1

  For Austin, Caroline, and Claire Green.

  May you always hear the song of Bethlehem.

  I was six years

  old when I met I

  the angel called Alabaster.

  That was a long time ago.

  I’m grown up now and

  have a little boy of my own.

  But I still remember Alabaster.

  Here is how I first met him.

  My parents put our Christmas tree near my

  room. I could see it through the doorway.

  When everyone thought I was asleep, I would

  lie in bed and stare at the lights and count the

  shiny balls. I would watch the color glimmer

  on the icicles. And I know this sounds a little

  funny, but I would talk to the angel.

  High atop the tree he sat. He

  had feathery white wings and a

  golden halo. I knew he wasn’t

  real. Well, at least I thought he

  wasn’t real. But he looked so

  friendly with those red chubby

  cheeks and bright eyes. He

  looked young. Maybe that’s why

  I talked to him. All my brothers

  and sisters were older than me.

  He was the only one in the

  house my age.

  So I talked to him. I named

  him Alabaster.

  I asked him questions about being

  an angel. “Do angels have to go to

  bed early? Do your wings keep you

  warm? Do you ever get tired of

  sitting on the tree?” He never

  spoke, but that didn’t keep me

  from asking.

  One night when I was in that in-between

  place between being asleep and awake,

  I asked just one more question.

  “What was it like to see Bethlehem?”

  That must have been the right question.

  Suddenly Alabaster was standing beside my bed!

  “It wath wonderful.”

  His face was round, and his eyes were

  bright. His golden halo and white feathers

  glowed and sparkled. He talked to me like

  we were old friends. And when he spoke

  it sounded like he was missing his two

  front teeth.

  “It wath a great night. We went to the

  thperdth becauth they were awake.

  They were tho nithe. Moth the time

  they thought we were thars. But that

  night, they knew thomething thpecial

  wath in the air.” He giggled with a giggle

  that made me giggle, too. By now I was

  sitting on the edge of my bed.

  “What did you do?”

  “We juth thang. Want to hear it?”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  And from that little angel came

  the most beautiful music. He put

  back his head and filled our house

  with a melody only heaven had

  heard and only heaven could make.

  He sang and sang like God himself

  was listening. I put my head on my pillow and listened until I opened

  my eyes and the sun was up and it

  was Christmas morning.

  “Get up!” It was my dad shaking me. “Come and see your presents.”

  I jumped out of bed and ran to the tree. There

  was everything I’d asked for. I was so excited

  I forgot all about Alabaster and his song.

  Soon all the presents were

  opened, and we all sat around

  talking and laughing and looking

  at the new stuff. That’s when I

  heard the song again. Alabaster’s

  song. The room was full of it.

  I looked up. Little

  Alabaster was on the tree

  with his head back and his

  mouth open. He was singing.

  Just like he had the night before.

  I looked around at my family. No one

  else was looking at the angel. They were all

  talking like nothing was happening.

  “Do you hear the singing?” I asked my dad.

  “No.”

  “Do you, Mom?”

  “No,” she answered.

  No one else heard him. But I heard him,

  as clear as if I were on the tree next to

  him. His head was turned toward the

  window, and he was singing to Jesus,

  just like he had done that first night

  in Bethlehem.

  The next Christmas, when I was

  seven, I heard him again. And the

  next. He would stop at my bed on

  Christmas Eve and sing. And from the

  top of the tree on Christmas

  morning, he would sing to Jesus.

  Every year I saw him. Every year I

  heard him. Then I got older.

  I forgot to look for him. I forgot

  to listen for him. After a few

  Christmases, I didn’t hear him

  anymore. I forgot about his song.

  Till today. Today is Christmas.

  And this morning as we opened

  presents, I noticed that my little boy

  was looking at the angel on the tree.

  After a moment he turned to me and

  said, “Do you hear the song, Daddy?”

 

 

  Max Lucado, Alabaster's Song: Christmas Through the Eyes of an Angel

  (Series: # )

 

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