prologue | chapter 1 | chapter 2

I sit beside her, as I always do - observing her movements, studying her expressions, assuring her I’m always there - just in reach of her left hand. In the balcony, I see her audience - as captivated as I was when I first saw her doing it. They watch her - fascinated, and mesmerized in disbelief. Her song will end - and then - only then, will those seeing her realize that her communication was not intended to be with words - or sight. From the tenth row of the auditorium, you wouldn’t even know she was blind. Tonight they will meet her as Brittany Maier, pianist. But to me she is much more than this.

She is my daughter.

A true-to-life-miracle.

It isn’t long before I hear the familiar sound of sniffling. I can see a few people wiping their cheeks. The astonishment is spoken in their tears. My own eyes well up seeing their emotion - my heart feeling the same abundance of joy. Even I cannot believe I sit here - fourteen years after her tumultuous birth.
Her song ends to thunderous applause. They stand - from the front row to the top of the balcony - love abounding!

I wipe my tears, and assist her to her feet. I smile, seeing she has remembered to bow as I have recently taught her, then she happily returns to her bench.

“Thank you”, I see her lips silently whisper to her audience. Or was she speaking to God?

The audience returns to their seats, anticipating the introduction I will give Brittany’s next song. It is only the beginning of what will be one of the most memorable evenings of their lives. Brittany’s excitement can barely be contained. In an hour the cheers, whistles and clapping will come to a final end. Then I’ll be asked to pose with Brittany for a picture by those who have brought cameras. Some will want to touch her hands, - still others will begin asking their questions, “How did this happen?” , “How old was she when this started?”, “Can she really play anything she hears?”, they’ll ask.

The media and journalists love her - she does bring attention to their work. “Have you ever considered writing her story?” someone will inevitably ask me. No, I think to myself. I am just a mother - not a writer by trade. Oh, sure - I could tell a story in eleventh grade when it was required. But then, there wasn’t a purpose behind it. Good or bad - they were just stories. This is different. Way, way different.

I used to think God wanted certain people to hear about Brittany - she was supposed to impact their lives somehow. So whether I was shopping in the grocery store, or making a deposit at the bank, if someone asked about her, I was willing to tell them the story.
Now as I view this auditorium, I wonder how I would ever have reached so many people individually. . . impossible.

Others - friends, some family - had the answer long before I did. I didn’t think they were serious when they said Brittany’s story warranted more than just an audience of those I would meet in town. Then the right person came along and said the same thing I had heard from my friends, but her impact was much greater.

A beloved singer, from her own stage and with an audience of thousands, began telling Brittany’s story - just a few highlights. When finished, she addressed her audience and said, “Now that’s a story worthy of Oprah, don’t you think? ” and the audience made their approval known,

“Yes!” , they cheered.

Turning to me, she said the words I’d heard before,

“You should write a book.”

If not for that singer, I would still only be sharing this story one person at a time - hoping you lived in my town, and that you asked me at the right moment.

I am Tammy Maier. Brittany’s mother. If I am never asked the question by Oprah herself, I would like to say there is only one thing I know for sure:

God does work in mysterious ways...

Continue to Chapter One >