The pregnancy progressed normally for Karen, an active member of the Panther Creek United Methodist Church in Morristown, Tennessee. In time, the labor pains came. Soon they were every five minutes, then every three, then every minute. But serious complications arose during the delivery and Karen went through several hours of labor. Finally, after a long struggle, Michael’s little sister was born, but she did not respond the way she should and the ambulance rushed her to the neonatal intensive care unit at St. Mary’s Hospital in Knoxville, Tennessee.

     The days crawled by. Michael’s sister got worse. The pediatrician had to tell the little girl’s parents, "There is very little hope. Be prepared for the worst."

     Karen and her husband contacted a local cemetery about a burial plot. They had fixed up a special room in their house for the their new baby girl, but now they found themselves having to plan for a funeral.

     Michael, however, kept begging his parents to let him see his sister. "I want to sing to her," he kept saying. Week two in intensive care looked as if a funeral would come before the week was over. Michael kept nagging his parents about singing to his sister, but kids were not allowed into Intensive Care. But Karen decided she would take Michael to see his sister whether the hospital liked it or not. If he didn’t see her now, he might never see her alive.

     She dressed Michael up in an oversized scrub suit and marched him into ICU. He looked like a walking laundry basket. The head nurse, however, recognized him for the child he was and bellowed, "Get that kid out of here now! No children are allowed!"

     The mother instinct in Karen rose up for battle, and the usually mild-mannered mother glared steel-eyed into the nurse’s face as she squeezed each word out slowly and distinctly, "He is not leaving until he sings to his sister!"

     She held tightly to Michael’s hand and led him to his sister’s bedside. He gazed at the tiny baby losing her battle to live. After a moment, he began to sing in the pure-hearted voice of a 3-year-old, "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are gray."

     Almost immediately the baby began to respond. Her high, erratic, pulse rate began to calm down and slowly steadied. "Keep on singer, Michael," encouraged Karen, her eyes already filled with tears.

     Michael moved as close to his sister as he could get, perhaps so she would hear him better, perhaps so his love would reach her. "You never know, Dear, how much I love you, please don’t take my sunshine away." As Michael continued to sing to her, his sister’s ragged and strained breathing became smooth and easy. "Keep on singing, sweetheart!" said Karen.

     "The other night, Dear, as I lay sleeping, I dreamed I held you in my arms." Michael’s sister began to relax, while rest, healing rest, moved slowly over her. "Keep on singing, Michael," Karen urged.

     By now tears ran down the cheeks of the belligerent head nurse, and Karen’s face glowed like the morning sun. "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine—Please don’t take my sunshine away!" Michael was not only singing to the little girl, he was also pleading with the God of a 3-year-old boy and his dying baby sister.

The next day—the very next day!—Michael’s baby sister was well enough to go home!

     Woman’s Day Magazine called it, "The Miracle of a Brother’s Song." The medical staff at St. Mary’s Hospital just called it a miracle. 

Karen called it a miracle of God’s love—voiced through the song of a 3-year-old boy who had learned to love his baby sister with God’s pure love before she was ever born.