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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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