It was perfect. The theme this year was "Genuine Love," and when the vote was taken there was unanimous agreement. Christie's story "A Miracle for Maggie" was the perfect love story for the ninth grade Sunday School class to present as their spring play project.

The following Saturday afternoon, Christie's father called her into his office. She stood in the doorway dressed in peach sweats. "What's up, Dad?" she asked, leaning against the doorjamb. 

"I'm afraid I've got some bad news for you," her father said. He started

every conversation as if there were a crisis brewing, but Christie knew that

things rarely ended up being as serious as he made them out to be.

"It better not be too bad," she said jokingly, "I have to go running. Don't
have time to waste crying."

"This time it is serious," he said. "I know you have your heart set on being Maggie in the play and I want you to understand why you won't be getting the part. You know there are three girls in your Sunday school class and only two female parts in the play. As the pastor, I have to be sensitive to the feelings of everyone in our church, if I give you a part, someone is sure to think I'm playing favorites by casting you instead of their daughter. I hope you can understand and support me in this."

"Is that all," she said, shrugging her shoulders. I figured you'd have to give the parts to the other kids. That's certainly not worth getting upset over." She smiled and tossed him a kiss before heading out the door and across the street to the high school track.

Christie hid her feelings well, but deep inside, a storm was raging. She ran at top speed around the track. It was as if she was trying to outrun her anger, but after a single lap, it caught up with her. Her tears and sweat mingled together as she collapsed beneath the goal post in the empty stadium.

"It's not fair!" she screamed into the empty stands. "Why do I always have to be the one who makes the sacrifices? Why does my father have to be a preacher? I hate being a preacher's kid." She continued to complain to God, telling Him all the things she could never tell her father. "It's always the same old story, 'You can't wear that outfit, some members won't approve. You can't go there, some of the members wouldn't understand. You can't sit with your friends, the church board want us to sit together as a family.' Why do we always have to worry about what the church thinks? It's just not fair, God!"

After that, her bitterness subsided. She jogged once more around the track and then went home. She never mentioned her anger to anyone.

On Sunday, the parts were given out. Christie sat by her father's side, lost in her own thoughts, while he read the assignments.

"Phil will get the part of Jason. David, you will be Sir Anthony, Jason's supervisor, Andy will be Carl, the boyfriend, Heather gets the role of Sherri Maggie's best friend, and Margaret will play her namesake, Maggie."

Margaret! The announcement jolted her out of her daydream. "How can that be?" she thought. She can't act. It's bad enough I won't get the lead, but why Margaret?

"And Christie," her father continued, "will be the prompter, and my number one all-around helper." He winked at her and flashed a smile that said, "This is my daughter, my most faithful supporter."

Christie couldn't believe her father would even consider giving Margaret the lead. She was one of the slowest girls in high school, struggling just to get C's in her classes.

Although Christie never mentioned her disappointment at not getting the part of Maggie, a spirit of bitterness continued to grow inside her. She continually had to prompt Margaret, who couldn't seem to learn her lines and kept turning the wrong way on the stage. Someone else might have lost control and said something she'd later regret, but not Christie. If nothing else, fifteen years as a pastor's daughter had taught her to always appear positive, no matter what she felt inside.

After three weeks of rehearsals, everyone knew their lines. Everyone except Margaret, who still needed constant prompting.

"Christie," her father asked her after the rehearsal, "Would it be possible for you to work one-on-one with Margaret and help her learn lines?"

It wasn't something Christie wanted to do but she had promised to be supportive, so she agreed to work with Margaret every afternoon. She helped her learn the lines, showed her how to be more expressive, and never let anyone know how she really felt.

Finally, by the fifth week Margaret had learned all her lines and was gaining some self-assurance. By the sixth week, Christie had taught her all the required movements and Maggie was moving freely about the stage without thinking. During the seventh week, Christie helped her become more animated and expressive. By the final dress rehearsal, Margaret was as well prepared as the rest of the class.

On the night of the performance, Christie sat in the third row between her own mother and Margaret's mother. She cringed and silently groaned whenever Margaret mispronounced a word or was less expressive than she might have been She's all right, Christie thought, but I would have been better.

When the play was over the congregation applauded enthusiastically. They were both stunned and thrilled at Margaret's ability on stage. No one dreamed she could be so successful playing a leading role.

"Isn't she good?" Margaret's mother whispered. "I didn't think my Margaret would be so good," A tear trickled down her cheek as she continued, "Christie, I really appreciate all the time you spent helping her." Christie was so touched by Margaret's mother's emotion that all she could utter was an uncertain, "Thank you."

"You don't know what a miracle this has been in Margaret's life. She was ready to give up before you started helping her. Each evening, after her sessions with you, she came home thinking she'd accomplished the impossible. I know you wanted the part, Christie, and I just want to thank you for being an example of genuine love."

The congregation stood and applauded. The cast bowed. Margaret's mother was clapping and smiling through her tears. Christie was misty-eyed, too. Her bitterness had melted into guilt. She knew there had been no love in her actions. Outwardly, it may have looked like love, but she knew the truth even if no one else did. Love doesn't envy, is not proud, and isn't bitter. 

She bowed her head and silently prayed, "Dear God, please forgive me for my prideful, bitter attitude. I really wanted that part, but now I see that by not getting it, You've taught me a lesson about genuine love." Then she went to Margaret to congratulate her for an outstanding job.

End