To Biopage contest THE PURPLE BIKE By Penny Robichaux-Koontz As told to H L Ford I had just taken over a condemned property in Texas, a homeless shelter in a rural area, pitch-black at night except for the light from a lonely, passing train. I had 42 youngsters and 30 adults staying with me in our shelter and no money. The only ornaments for the tree were those I had collected for my own children over the years until this year, 1991. As we were putting the tree up, the children were grumbling. “Miss Penny, how is Santa ever gonna find us out here in the dark?” I encouraged them to sing carols loudly when we heard a knock at the door. There stood the jolly old elf himself, Santa, in full red velvet and white fur trim. The children's eyes widened. I could have heard a snowflake drop. Santa leaned over to whisper, “I'm on my way to a Christmas party and heard you may need a Santa tonight.” “Thanks,” I answered in grateful amazement. He took a seat and talked with the children. Then, laying a finger aside of his nose, up the chimney he did not go but left through the door leaving big smiles behind him. I was delighted; however, as they shared the excitement of Santa's visit, to my dismay, I learned each child had asked Santa for a bike. Suddenly, the magic was gone and the reality of needing 42 bicycles settled on me. “How Lord, will I ever get that many bikes when just getting enough food is stretching my faith?” Articles appeared in the local paper, and people began to visit our shelter. They brought sweatshirts, warm clothing, blankets, and supplies. The word about our needs spread throughout the community. And yes! The bikes also started coming. We stored them in the secret workshop, where we assembled the new bikes at night while the children slept. Christmas morning came and the paper and ribbon flew amid laughter, singing, and a few tears of joy. And oh, the bikes…bikes everywhere! Emotionally spent and tired from playing Santa's helper all night, I headed outdoors to go to my room when I heard a child running behind me, calling “Miss Penny, Miss Penny!" Cedric, a precious little five-year-old boy caught up, his cheeks streaked with tears. I got down on my knees. “Why are you crying, honey?” “Miss Penny, I didn't git me no bike!” Dismayed, I thought, how could we have been off by one bike?! Thinking quickly, I said, “Cedric, did you ask Jesus for a bike?” “No, Miss Penny. I asked Santa Claus.” “Well, that explains it,” I said. “Santa is only a one- Day-a-year wonder. But Jesus, He is our Gift from heaven and He is also our gift-giver, not just one time a year, but today and every day. He loves you and hears you when you pray. You know He is the reason we celebrate this day, so let's talk to Him." With that, Cedric made quite a noisy plea to Jesus for a purple bike someday soon. “Amen!” Struggling to get up off my knees, I saw a pickup truck coming up the dirt drive toward us. The driver pulled to a halt, throwing Texas dust all around. “Are you Miss Penny?” he asked, stepping out of the cab. “That's me,” I said, “Can I help you?” “I'm sorry to be so late. My wife and I planned to be here yesterday,” he said while lifting a bike out of the truck bed. He placed a purple two-wheeler on the drive right in front of Cedric, whose eyes widened with amazement. “Hope you can use a bike like this. Sorry, I was late,” he grinned. I never got the name of that man. A great woman of faith that I am, I stood there speechless as I watched God make Himself absolutely real to a very excited little boy. That moment is as fresh in my heart and mind today as it was that 1991 Christmas. I had only been out of the wheelchair a short time then and had wanted to say "thank you, Lord" for healing my body from the paralysis of childhood polio. From that moment I was on my way to faith adventures with thousands more children over the years who came and went from Jacob's House a home for children in need of rescue. Like little Cedric, I was also on my way to many more miracles as I watched these children grow. Penny Roubichaus-Koontz has now retired from ministering at Jacob's House, but she never tires of sharing her faith, her joy, and her stories of God's children.

I had sat for 20 minutes without noticing any change. The sun was harsh, and it made most of the others I sat with stone faced. A lot were minding their business while a few were already getting into lively conversations and it seemed like I was the only one still in a certain confusion. How is this process organized? I grew up an inquisitive child. You tend to pick up a mind that's always keen on knowing how things worked; when you are born into a strict home where going to play with others is considered a felony and a conversation with a stranger is a crime, but you also somehow owed everyone older than you a greeting. I always welcomed opportunities to learn and I became more introverted and rebellious with the increasing amount of time I had to spend in my head. As I got older, I got super shy, being able to ask a stranger a question was Christmas, and to keep the conversation was Santa's gifts wrapped and tied with red ribbons, so I was mostly left with one person to always talk to, me. I however mastered the art of soliloquy, which never really seemed to work with the ladies. The things that conversations with myself taught me were patience, optimism and how to tear my toys apart to know what made the car move, and to understand the mechanism behind the water gun. I always felt there was no one I could really ask about what bothered me, the adults didn't exactly think. They never seemed to have any answers to my unending questions. Once, my uncle and I were given a bowl of rice with a single piece of fish and meat. When we were done eating, he took the meat and at my protest, he had to convince me. “Fish is better than meat and has more nutrients” he had said, but after a pause my 4 year old self replied, “If that is the case, then why are you eating the meat and not the fish?”. I had once reasoned that if everyone else brought their requests to God in the morning and night, then it would be smarter to come at a time when many people will be busy. A time when he would be quite lonely and in need of company. I could totally relate with God, he was one person I felt wasn't also allowed to go out and play with others, and they never really cared about his opinion too. So just like me he learnt to soliloquize, like he does so well with the contrasting mixture of mute lightening and deafening thunder. Little wonder why storms never scared me. Like when I lost my dad to the cold bullets encouraged by an assassins' ability to use his index finger. Who for some reasons felt I didn't deserve to have any parent at 19. He must have had the same take on the issue as some relatives, “you are now a man” they said. Or when I lost my mum who succumbed to illness leaving behind a 6 year old. On both occasions though, I didn't shed a single tear. Not because I was a man, but because in my head we had talked and agreed that crying will not help make the situation any better. Living most of your childhood in your head and most of your adult life struggling alone, certain things no longer faze you. So when I got a call from my Network provider that my SIM card which I had registered some 10 years ago was no longer registered in my name, I was not shocked. I mean, you will think that being a faithful customer for that long would at least count for something. “We have reshuffled registration”, whatever that meant in English, and I was told that if I didn't go to their office to repair a damage that they had caused, in 4 days, I would be barred from using any of their services. I had woken up that morning reluctantly but patiently bullying myself through the whole preparations that humans have deemed necessary for mixing with a crowd; Bathe, brush, dress up (I wonder who made these rules) optimistic that by the end of the day, I will own my SIM once again. I had tried to work out the meaning of reshuffling registration in my head for 3 days now with no success. So I put on my face mask, and set out not knowing that life had planned another lesson to teach. As I sat watching people go in and out of their office, trying to connect the dots on what has been happening to no avail; I turned to the lady beside me. She had eyes that reminded me of Angelina Jolie. A constellation that drowns you with a wave of its reflection. Like a sea and with just as much surface tension. Yes, I have a thing for eyes. So since I was confused and she had those galaxies on her face, I tried to kill the proverbial two birds with one stone. I will get direction on what to do, and start a conversation. I asked her how the process was organized, to which she chuckled, pointed to a paper and said “put down your name”, after which she turned back to her phone. Being very teachable, I learnt from that moment, that there were simple things of life that even the smartest person can only grasp by gleaning from the experiences of others. So for me today Christmas came but without Santa's gifts.