The Unlikely Messenger: A Slice of Life with Debra Brown
Beep.
“What was that?”
I waited.
Allen yawned. “I didn’t hear anything.”
I shrugged and went on with my bedtime routine.
It had been a full December day, early in our marriage. Back then, the Christmas parade rolled through town in the morning, so we bundled up and waved as marching bands, floats, and Santa himself rolled down Main Street. After dark, we lingered over dinner with friends, laughter spilling like sweet tea.
We finished the evening by driving through neighborhoods, marveling at the twinkling displays. Nativity scenes glowed on lawns, rooftops glittered with lights, and wooden reindeer families stood in yards with red-bow collars.
By the time we pulled into the driveway, we were happy and tired. Home felt warm, festive, and cozy.
At last, we slipped under the covers, bone tired and content.
Beep.
I turned to Allen. “That beep.” I sighed, anticipating the ordeal ahead of us. “It’s the smoke detector.”
Allen’s handyman record was, at best, uneven. His “fixed” repair on my lingerie drawer left it falling off its track. And I’ll never forget the powder-room incident before dinner guests arrived. Allen had assured me he had repaired the toilet until Becky excused herself, and a roar like a jet engine blasted through the house.
But nothing compared to this December night.
Allen sighed, rolled out of bed, and dragged a step stool into the hall. He climbed up, with me steadying him, and tugged until the smoke detector dangled in his hand.
“Don’t get electrocuted,” I cautioned.
He harrumphed and climbed down.
Beep.
He rummaged through the junk drawer. Pens, paper clips, rubber bands, and scissors clattered across the counter.
Beep.
“It’s worse than a dripping faucet,” I muttered. Each chirp prickled the back of my neck.
“Found some!” He held up loose batteries and climbed back up the stool. He fiddled with the monitor while I waited.
Beep.
Back down he came. “Wrong screwdriver. Phillips, not flathead.” He groaned and headed back to the kitchen.
More digging. More muttering. More clattering.
Beep.
“These batteries are dead. We will have to wait until morning.”
So we crawled back into bed and pulled the blankets over our heads, hoping to muffle the sound. But the chirp pierced the stillness every sixty seconds. It felt like a woodpecker in the brain.
Beep.
Allen threw off the covers, opened drawers, slammed cabinets, and declared, “There is not a single battery in this house.”
More tossing. More turning. More beep, beep, beep.
Allen flipped on the light, pulled on his clothes, and said, “I am going to buy batteries.”
The door slammed behind him, wobbling the wreath. I watched his car lights pass by the window as he drove to the twenty-four-hour convenience store.
I waited in the living room in the soft glow of Christmas lights.
The house smelled of holiday baking. Decorative packages with bows and ribbons waited under the tree. Ornaments glimmered in the branches, competing with the magnolia garland on the mantle. Our St. Nicholas china sparkled in the dining room, ready for holiday meals. The festive accents seemed to watch over the night.
The tree twinkled in the corner. The clock ticked between beeps.
When Allen returned, the cold night air clung to him. He tore into the impossible packaging, freed the batteries, and climbed the step stool again. I heard a twist, a snap, and a click.
Silence.
The whole house seemed to exhale. The tree stood tall and still, with its live-tree scent filling the air. Magnolia leaves shimmered along the mantle. At long last, we slipped under the covers, laughter bubbling up even in our weariness.
It was not the Silent Night we expected, but it became one we would never forget. And in that quiet, I realized something important.
The first Christmas night would not have been silent either. Bethlehem bustled with crowds. Inns overflowed. Animals stomped around in the stable. A newborn’s cry pierced the darkness. Yet, peace entered the world that night. It was not the peace of everything happening without a hitch. It was the peace of Emmanuel, God with us.
That December night reminded me that we chase peace in perfect decorations, flawless meals, or even a house without beeping. But real peace does not come from every detail falling into place. It comes from the presence of Christ, steady and unchanging, even in the chaos.
This year, I will carry that sentiment with me. Whether the night hums with noise or settles in silence, God’s peace is already here. It does not wait for new batteries. It arrives as a gift, just as it did in Bethlehem, ready to steady our restless hearts.
In peace I will lie down and sleep, for you alone, Lord, make me dwell in safety” – Psalm 4:8.
Debra Brown’s motto is “Be the Spark.” She has a passion for family, her 3 cats, flowers, pretty food, and health & wellness. Devra is an author, UGA honors graduate/The Citadel MBA.