This project has produced some very emotional stories, but this is one you won't forget. Here is Marsha's story.

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I was hysterical the night my home burned down. Screaming danced with the smoke

and flames as they all reached into the cold, night sky. I was screaming, my son was

screaming, five small children were screaming........ all for Neah, the sweetest, kindest 20-

year-old on this earth. We were all downstairs, she alone was upstairs—and that made the

tragic difference. Five to six hours after the fire started, the chaplain came into the

ambulance to tell me that I had to leave. There was no hope she was alive.

Three of us were admitted to the ER that night, one stayed for three weeks; he nearly

himself. Neah was and is always on my mind, but I did have to wonder about my home.

Where was Neah’s fiddle? I desperately longed to hold that precious girl’s fiddle again, the

ONE THING I wanted to rescue from the fire.

We adopted Neah when she was two months shy of turning eight. Shockingly, she

could not talk. Then we learned all the truth, she had never held any writing tool, been read

to, been talked to, been helped, been loved. We cherished the blessing of taking over and

providing all those things.

Neah listened to her sister play the violin/fiddle for several years before she had the

language to beg me to learn. That girl wanted to learn everything, so I wasn’t so sure we

should tackle this monumental task. She begged me for a year, so we gave it a try with an

answer to prayer-Sherry McKenzie. After some time, I realized that Sherry had given Neah

an important, life-changing gift. Her teacher gave Neah a voice. Through Neah’s music, she

had a way to communicate with the world. She grew through a few fiddles until she got to

her grown-up fiddle—a 7/8ths violin with a fancy gem-studded tailpiece whom Neah

named May. Neah and May traveled together, talked together, made friends together and

performed together. You see, though Neah still spoke like a young girl, and could only read

on a 2nd grade level, that girl could PLAY! People who knew her never expected anything

from her: these same people would nearly fall over when they heard her play! How could it

be? Truly, it was a miracle.

So, as I stayed with my husband in the hospital, I heard tales of friends who

ventured to the house. My sweet Joey and Sherry found two of Neah’s fiddles, her next-to-

the-last one, and her very last—her May. It’s mostly destroyed, her fiddle May has nearly

died along with her girl. But we have it. I look at it every day and lovingly touch it as the

tears roll down my cheeks. I am so very blessed to have my ONE thing.

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