Denise, June 2004
It was my first year as a single mother and life was pretty desperate. I had a minimum wage job and two pre-teen children. Every month was a race to get to payday before the food ran out. There was no money for extras. The girls loved the Monkees, watching the reruns of their show on TV and writing their names on their notebooks. The Monkees were doing a reunion tour and would be appearing at the Baltimore harbor and a group from their class was going. I had to tell them that I could not afford to send them along, and watch them try not to show their disappointment. The fact that they accepted this and repressed their urge to beg and cry made me feel even worse.
November came and I worried how I would get through the holidays. One day I came out of church and found an envelope on the dashboard of my car. In it was 100 dollars. I almost wept with gratitude. Some kind, anonymous Santa had left it and it meant I could get the girls a present or two. The next day I happened upon a newspaper notice that the Monkees would be coming to Hershey Arena, only a hour or so away. I told the kids the Monkees were coming to Hershey we would go see them there. Their faces lighted up and shrieks of joy followed them to their room. I called the arena and was told the tickets were sold out. But somehow it didn’t matter. I believed that we were meant to go. We set off the day after Thanksgiving and had a ride filled with gleeful anticipation. We stopped at the visitor center and were told that the show was sold out. When I think back on it, I wonder where my irrational certainty came from, but I persevered. We went to the box office. The kids stood nervously behind me, the strain of wanting and doubting showing in their tight smiles. The man in the window said, ”I have a cancellation. Three tickets. Not the best seats. Do you want them?” I wish I had a photo of the kid’s faces when I turned and said, “Shall we get them?”
We bought the tickets and had about four hours to kill before the show. We had no money for dinner but we bought a few pieces of candy at the Christmas exhibit and shared. The seats turned out to be off to the side of the stage but right above the tunnel where the four would emerge to go onstage. So were looking right at them as they ran in and out. We were ecstatic.
I got lost on the way home and wandered around a darkened Hershey for about an hour but it didn’t matter. We had seen the Monkees. Even more so, we had sent the power of faith. I had believed that God heard the prayers of silly girls with crushes on singers and that He knew the sadness of mothers who cannot give their children a gift that they want very badly. And that faith had proven right. It was a very shallow request in the grand scheme of things, but for us it was evidence of grace, proof that God answers the prayers of even the least, and hears even the personal wishes of our hearts. And through many years and trials for all of us, I see that that faith is still there. No matter what doubts may assail my now grown children, no matter that the world surrounds them with cynicism, they still know what happened that day in November, and they can never fail to believe.