An eight-year-old child heard her parents talking about her little brother. All she knew was that he was very sick and they had no money left. They were moving to a smaller house because they could not afford to stay in the present house after paying the doctor’s bills. Only a very costly surgery could save him now and there was no one to loan them the money.
When she heard her daddy say to her tearful mother with whispered desperation, ‘Only a miracle can save him now’, the little girl went to her bedroom and pulled her piggy bank from its hiding place in the closet. She poured all the change out on the floor and counted it carefully.
Clutching the precious piggy bank tightly, she slipped out the back door and made her way six blocks to the local drugstore. She took a quarter from her bank and placed it on the glass counter.
“And what do you want?” asked the pharmacist.
“It’s for my little brother,” the girl answered back. “He’s really very sick and I want to buy a miracle.”
“I beg your pardon?” said the pharmacist.
“His name is Andrew and he has something bad growing inside his head and my daddy says only a miracle can save him. So how much does a miracle cost?”
“We don’t sell miracles here, child. I’m sorry,” the pharmacist said, smiling sadly at the little girl.
“Listen, I have the money to pay for it. If it isn’t enough, I can try and get some more. Just tell me how much it costs.”
In the shop was a well-dressed customer. He stooped down and asked the little girl, “What kind of a miracle does you brother need?”
“I don’t know,” she replied with her eyes welling up. “He’s really sick and mommy says he needs an operation. But my daddy can’t pay for it, so I have brought my savings”.
“How much do you have?” asked the man.
“One dollar and eleven cents; but I can try and get some more”, she answered barely audibly.
“Well, what a coincidence,” smiled the man, “A dollar and eleven cents – the exact price of a miracle for little brothers.”
He took her money in one hand and held her hand with the other. He said, “Take me to where you live. I want to see your brother and meet your parents. Let’s see if I have the kind of miracle you need.”
That well-dressed man was Dr Carlton Armstrong, a neurosurgeon. The operation was completed without charge and it wasn’t long before Andrew was home again and doing well.
“That surgery,” her mom whispered, “was a real miracle. I wonder how much it would have cost.”
The little girl smiled. She knew exactly how much the miracle cost … one dollar and eleven cents.