They drove for some time in silence, and Joshua wondered if Sarah was sleeping. He himself was feeling quite tired.
He thought of their wedding, several hours earlier. The Justice of the Peace showed the effects of some early holiday cheer, as did his wife and brother-in-law, who served as witnesses. But they were all sufficiently sober to perform the ceremony and sign the register.
Sarah, he thought, looked lovely in the second-hand maternity dress. She’d be beautiful to him in an old sack; what she wore didn’t matter.
He glanced over as she stirred slightly in the seat beside him.
Smiling, he took her hand, and spoke. “How is my wife feeling?”
She squeezed his hand and responded. “Your wife is fine. So happy to be ‘your wife’.”
“It was a nice wedding,” he said thoughtfully. “But I kind of wish at rabbi had married us.”
“Doesn’t matter,” she said, still holding his hand. “If God’s out there somewhere, he doesn’t care if a rabbi, judge or preacher married us. He’s smiling down on us anyway.”
They continued in silence, broken only occasionally when Sarah looked at a map to assure they were heading in the right direction. Cleveland was a long way from Baltimore, but an acquaintance of Joshua’s said he’d give him a job there, and there were no jobs to be had in Baltimore. Even if he’d graduated high school, it wouldn’t have made a difference. And with the baby on the way, employment was more important than finishing high school.
“You think I’ll be a good mother?” Sarah asked shyly, after several miles of silence.
He looked over at her. “Sarah, you will be the most wonderful mother ever.”
“Well, you know, we never had very good examples.”
“We learned everything not to do.” He smiled at her. “We’ll do just fine.”
In central Pennsylvania they drove into some light snow, and the strong winds pelted it against the small car. Sarah wrapped the sleeping bag tighter around her. Joshua glanced over at her.
“You’re cold. We’d better stop for the night.”
“I’m not cold. This sleeping bag is warm as anything.”
He saw a sign for ‘Lodging, next exit,’ and took it.
“We’re in luck. We’ve been driving for a long time without seeing anything.”
They drove off the highway and down the small, country road for several miles, before seeing a small, rundown motel advertising a vacancy. Joshua pulled into the lot.
“I’ll just be a minute.” He jumped out of the car into the cold and hurried into the motel office.
True to his word, he came out quickly. He sighed deeply before speaking.
“One hundred and twenty dollars a night. Sarah, we just don’t have that kind of money.”
“Of course we don’t.” She smiled. “Maybe we ought to buy ourselves a motel and charge $120.00 a night for a room.”
It was just before 6:00 p.m., but Joshua was tired. They’d been driving since 8:00, stopping briefly to get married, and then for meals and gas. He started the car and followed the signs leading back to the highway. Before he’d gone a mile, he spotted an old barn. He slowed the car, stopped, and hesitated before speaking. Sarah spoke first.
“Something wrong?”
He sighed. “No, nothing’s wrong, but we need to get warm. Without any heat in this car, my fingers are getting numb.” He forced a grin. “What do you think about winter camping?” He looked over at the barn.
“Sounds fine to me,” she said, smiling.
Joshua pulled the car into the overgrown driveway leading to the barn, and stopped.
“I’ll go take a look around; you wait here.”
He returned in a few minutes. “Looks okay. And the walls are solid; you can’t feel the wind at all in there.”
She climbed out of the car, and he moved it around to the back, so it wouldn’t be seen from the road. Then they went into the barn, stopping for a moment so their eyes could adjust to the dim light.
“You know,” she said, “I’ve always seen pictures of that baby Jesus they say was born in a little barn. I wonder if it was like this one.”
“Well, our baby won’t be born in a barn. We’ll be in Cleveland tomorrow, and you’ve still got a few days.”
Joshua retrieved sleeping bags and blankets from the car, and, in an old cow stall, arranged as comfortable sleeping arrangements as were possible. They snuggled close, the only smells remaining in the barn those of straw, making it not unpleasant.
After a short time, Joshua spoke. “Sarah, Honey, I’m real sorry about this.” She turned to look at him, her face showing her puzzlement.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, look at us here. Newlyweds, sleeping our first night in an old barn.” He looked away, but she reached up and gently turned his face toward hers.
“We’re in this together, husband and wife. We’re warm and safe, and I need to tell you,” she said, looking deep into his eyes, “I have everything in life I want. All I’ve ever wanted since the day we met was you. Now we’re married.”
He smiled at her. “We’re together for the rest of our lives,” he said, pulling her close and wrapping his arms around her.
She was quiet for a moment, before responding. “Joshua, do you think there’s anything that comes after? I mean, ‘the rest of our lives.’ Is that the end?”
“I don’t know. I never thought about it much.” He looked directly at her. “What do you think?”
She paused for a moment, then turned to look at him directly again. “Well, I think there’s a God out there somewhere, and he never made a man as good as you just to throw him away in sixty or seventy years. I just can’t think of a time when you will never be.” She paused, and then continued. “Sometimes I think there never was a time when we weren’t, you know what I mean?” She put a hand on her stomach. “Do you think this baby just never was before we got together? I mean, I can’t really explain it, but I just think there’s something bigger than all of us.”
**********
A few miles away, Bishop Wilson left work, and drove the short distance home. Approaching his house, he hit the button to open the garage door, and slid the car into the garage. Three days to Christmas, and tonight was the Stake Youth Dance. His daughter had talked of nothing else for weeks; she’d just turned 16, and Kyle, the stake heartthrob, had asked her to the dance. He smiled as he walked into the house, appreciating the elaborate decorations, and smelling the roast beef. He entered the kitchen where Carol, his wife, was preparing dinner. Sounds of laughter and conversation – the typical sounds of a family of six – came from all directions in the house.
“Hey,” he said, giving her a quick kiss.
“Hey, yourself. Did you remember to get the straw for the manger outside? Jenna says that’s the last thing needed, and she wants everything perfect when Kyle arrives.” She rolled her eyes as she said this.
“Oh, I forgot the straw. I suppose she can’t do without it?”
“Of course she can.” Carol smirked at him. “I’m just not sure the doting daddy can do without getting it for her.”
He grinned. “How soon until we eat?”
“Half an hour. But where on earth are you going to get straw at this hour?”
“I’ll get some from the barn. It’s not scheduled for demolition until the 29th.”
She made a face. “Just make sure you don’t bring back any rodents in it.”
He kissed her again and returned to his car, backed out of the driveway and headed down the road.
Driving to the barn, he thought of the investment he’d made. He and a few others had purchased a tract of land, and construction would start on the townhouse development in January, if the weather cooperated. The several acres had just a few old buildings on them, and he remembered seeing straw in the barn when he’d walked over the property with the realtor. He’d grab a few handfuls, sufficient for the outdoor manger on their lawn, and be back in time for supper.
Joshua and Sarah finished the sandwiches they’d bought at a sub shop earlier, and she dozed off and on while he held her. It had grown dark; although only about 6:30, with the cloudy sky, and the lateness of the year, it seemed much later. They’d get a good night’s sleep and start early in the morning, Joshua thought, and arrive in Cleveland by mid-afternoon.
He saw the headlights before he heard the car. Perhaps it was just someone turning around. But no, the car pulled in and stopped by the barn. He nudged Sarah. “Someone’s here. Could be cops.”
“We’re not doing anything wrong.”
“We’re trespassing.” He spoke tensely. “Just be very still. Maybe they won’t see us.”
They crouched together as closely as possible, and peered out to the main part of the barn through a crack in the wall of the cow stall.
Bishop Wilson pushed in the door, which creaked loudly. He’d grabbed a leaf bag before leaving the house, and now he switched on his flashlight, reached over and picked up a few handfuls of straw and stuffed them into the bag. When the bag was full, he stood up.
There was something he couldn’t quite define, but he knew he wasn’t alone. He wasn’t afraid, and wondered if he should be. There could be no good reason for someone to be lurking in this barn, yet he had no feeling of fear.
“Who’s here?” he called out. Silence. He shone the flashlight around the barn, up to the loft, but saw nothing. “I’m not going to hurt you. Where are you?” Still no response. “Please don’t make me walk all over this barn; I’m not dressed for it.” He shone the light around again, very slowly this time, and as it passed the wall of the stall behind which Joshua and Sarah hid, their frightened eyes reflected the light. Bishop Wilson slowly walked toward them.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he repeated. “I’m a clergyman. I just needed some straw for a Christmas display.” He walked toward them. When he was still several feet from the stall, Joshua stood up.
“We’re not here to hurt anything. We just needed a place to stay for the night.” His voice cracked, showing his nervousness. “We’ll leave now if you want us to.” Sarah slowly stood up beside him.
In the light of the flashlight, Bishop Wilson saw a teenaged couple, the girl very pregnant, and both of them scared and vulnerable. He thought quickly that there was a reason he’d forgotten to get the straw earlier.
“Where do you live?” he asked.
“We’re moving to Cleveland; I got a job there. We’re from Baltimore.”
The bishop couldn’t imagine what kind of job this young man thought he had in Cleveland, but that was not his immediate concern; that could be dealt with later.
“We didn’t hurt anything,” Joshua continued. “We just got here a while ago. If this is your barn, we’re sorry, and we’ll leave right away. Our car is parked in the back.”
“No, please, you don’t have to leave. I mean, you do, and yes, it is my barn. But you can’t stay out here. It’s too cold. Come home with me, stay the night and you can be on your way tomorrow.”
“No, thank you,” Sarah said, stooping to pick up a blanket. “We’ll just be on our way.”
“Please, you don’t have to be on your way, and you don’t have to stay here. I live just a few miles away; we can be there in 15 minutes.”
Joshua looked as Sarah; he hated to have her sleep in a barn, didn’t know where they’d go if they left, and thought that this man seemed sincere. He had his arm around here, and pulled her a little closer as he spoke.
“That’s very nice of you. It is kind of cold, and as you see, my wife is due in a few days. I hate to have her sleeping in a barn, but, well, money-“
“Just come with me,” Bishop Wilson said, smiling. He extended his hand to Joshua. “I’m Bishop Wilson.”
“Nice to meet you,” Joshua said, shaking hands.” I’m Joshua Feinburg, and this is my wife, Sarah.” The bishop and Sarah shook hands.
They quickly gathered up the sleeping bags and blankets, and tossed them into the trunk. “What about our car?” Sarah asked.
“It‘ll be safe here,” Bishop Wilson said. “Do you need anything from it tonight?”
Not needing anything but the blankets and sleeping bags, they climbed into Bishop Wilson’s car and were soon home.
They entered the kitchen, now empty, and the bishop called out. “Anyone home? We have company.”
Carol came into the room, smiling, and greeted them. “Hello,” she said warmly.
Introductions were made, and Carol and the bishop quickly moved dishes, opened the table to add a leaf, and quickly reset it. He then called the others to dinner.
The younger children weren’t even mildly curious; they greeted the guests politely, but were more concerned with finishing dinner and getting back to their other activities, then they were with Joshua and Sarah. Jenna, dressed for the formal dance, sat and chatted, but ate nothing.
“Jenna, darling, you have to eat something,” her mother pleaded.
“I can’t, Mother, I might spill something on my dress.”
They conversed about nothing in particular, finishing dinner. The three younger children excused themselves, and the rest sat at the table. They were still there when the doorbell rang.
“It’s him! Daddy, will you answer it. I need to check my hair!” Jenna stood and ran to the nearest bathroom, as her father went to answer the door.
A moment later, the bishop re-entered the dining room, accompanied by a handsome young man, dressed in a dark suit. Introductions were made, and Kyle sat down to wait for Jenna. She entered the room and heard Kyle saying, “My father’s an ob-gyn; why don’t you ask the bishop to give him a call? I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you.”
Kyle stood when he saw her, a broad grin lighting his handsome face.
“Sorry, to keep you waiting, Kyle,” she said, smiling.
After a few more minutes of conversation, Kyle and Jenna left, walking into the cold night, down the front path to Kyle’s car.
“Jenna, you’re beautiful,” Kyle said softly, opening the door for her.
“Thank you,” she said, hoping that the darkness prevented him from seeing her blush.
He went around and slid in behind the steering wheel, started the car and drove off.
“I like those friends of your dad’s.”
“Yeah, they seem real nice.”
They drove a few minutes in silence. Then Jenna spoke abruptly. “Kyle, I don’t think we should go to the dance.”
He pulled over and stopped the car, then looked at her in amazement.
“Jenna, you look beautiful. This is the biggest dance of the year.” He paused and looked straight out the windshield. He spoke softly. “Are you sorry you said you’d go with me?”
“Oh, Kyle, no!” She took his arm and looked directly into his face. “But I just can’t get Joshua and Sarah out of my mind! They never had a chance to do any of the things we do. Do you know what she said at dinner? She said something about ‘that baby Jesus,’ like she doesn’t even know who he is! She doesn’t even know who Jesus is! Let alone ever going to a Church dance, or Young Women’s camp, or Seminary or anything.” She rushed on. “They’re no different than us in some ways, but we know so much more than they do. Do you know, they didn’t even finish high school! And here we are, in our fancy clothes, and your dad’s fancy car, off to a dance, when they don’t even know if there’s a God! I just think we need to talk to them. “ She repositioned in the seat slightly, looking out the windshield, then back at Kyle.
“I’m sorry, Kyle, but we need to go back. I want to be with you tonight. Please come home with me. You’ve been out with the missionaries a lot. You can teach them the first discussion, can’t you? Please?”
“Jenna,” he said, laughing, “Let me get a word in edgewise, please. Yes, we’ll skip the dance. They seem like real nice people, and as you said, we have plenty of dances.” He paused for a minute. “One condition, though.”
“Yes?”
“You have to come with me to the next dance.”
She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “It’s a date!”
He started the car and did a u-turn, and headed back to her house.
12/17/10
29 Substitute Santa
The cell phone vibrated in Kurt’s pocket. He grabbed it before the Pink Panther theme blasted out in the candlelit dining room. “Yeah,” he answered, too rushed to check the caller ID. He was surprised to hear his wife’s voice.
“Are you busy?” Courtney asked.
“I’m always busy.” Kurt managed the Chez Henri, a black-tie restaurant in Park City.
“You have to go to the ward party tonight. Bishop Nielson needs a Santa. The fellow from second ward got sick at the last minute.”
“What?” Kurt had forgotten all about the ward Christmas party tonight. “That’s impossible.”
“I told Bishop Nielson you’d do it. He’s desperate.”
Kurt felt his blood pressure rise. It was Christmas Eve and the diners were in a holiday mood. “I’ve got a restaurant to run.”
“Tell that to the bishop.”
Kurt knew he’d lost the argument. “All right. When do I have to be there?”
“Ten minutes ago. The program’s already started.”
Kurt explained the situation to Zack, his assistant manager.
“Hey, you’re covered.” Zack was an over-achieving college student, single, and eager to work extra hours. “Your family needs you tonight, man.”
Kurt grimaced. “Merry Christmas. Ha, ha, ha.”
Fifteen minutes later he walked through the meetinghouse doors. The sound of children’s voices singing “Christmas Bells” came from the cultural hall.
Bishop Nielson was waiting in the foyer. He rushed up to grab Kurt’s hand, obviously nervous. Perspiration glistened on his balding head. “Thanks for coming on such short notice.” They hurried down the hall. “Change in my office,” the bishop said. “I’ll wait out here.”
The Santa suit lay draped on a chair. A box containing the white, fuzzy beard and red hat had been left on the desk. Black, one-size-fits-all irrigation boots completed the outfit. Kurt knew why Bishop Nielson had asked him to fill in. No extra padding was needed for the suit. As he flung the large black garbage bag of goodies on his back, he had only one worry.
“I don’t want my kids to know I’m Santa,” Kurt said, closing the door behind him.
“The beard hides your face.” Bishop Nielson patted Santa on the back. “You’re a natural.”
The bishop escorted him up the steps of the curtained stage at the far end of the cultural hall. “Watch for Sister Skinner’s clue,” he said and left Kurt on his own, itching his whiskers.
Kurt plunked the heavy bag next to the decorated Christmas tree and parted the curtain a crack, searching for his family. The room was crowded. He found his boys in the choir, singing “Silent Night”. Ten-year-old James wore his plaid bathrobe. A towel was tied on his head with a rope to make him look like a shepherd. Seven year-old Sam wore an aluminum foil crown. Where was McKenna, his five year-old daughter? Not surprised, he spotted her dressed as an angel with a golden halo and cardboard wings.
Courtney looked like an angel too, smiling sweetly at the children. The chair next to her was empty as if she had been saving it for him. Kurt wished he could be seated there right now. He was perspiring in the furry, red suit.
Sister Skinner said, “Boys and girls, let’s sing “Jingle Bells”. If we sing it loud enough, I think Santa might hear.” The pianist played a short introduction and then the children joined in. Some sang, “Jingle bells, Batman smells, Robin laid an egg.”
“Ho, ho, ho! Merry Christmas!” Kurt shouted as the curtain parted.
Everyone clapped and cheered and for one crazy moment he felt like a movie star.
Bishop Nielson took the microphone. “Santa has taken time out of his very busy schedule to be here tonight.”
You got that right, Kurt thought.
“He has gifts for each of the children. Let’s form a line and one by one, Santa will listen to what you want for Christmas.”
Sister Skinner led the children to the stage door. Parents with cameras stood ready. With a deep sigh, Kurt sat in the metal folding chair next to the Christmas tree and opened the black plastic bag. He hoped Santa didn’t lay an egg tonight.
One by one, the children climbed on his lap. Kurt asked what they wanted for Christmas and listened, nodding as though every wish was granted. Then he gave each child a paper sack filled with Christmas candies, peanuts, and an orange.
Kurt knew the parents were trying to guess his identity. So far, none had. As his family approached on line, he heard a friend ask Courtney, “Where’s Kurt?”
“Guess.”
“He had to work tonight? That’s too bad.”
She laughed. “He practically lives there.”
Kurt winced at the sarcasm in her voice.
Courtney took pictures while the boys sat on Santa’s lap. Sam, the ten-year old, asked for a four-wheeler.
“Ho, ho, ho,” Kurt laughed. Not on your life, he thought. A remote control, maybe.
Seven year-old Jimmy asked for an Xbox.
“Ho, ho, ho.” In your dreams, Kurt thought. Maybe when your math grades improve.
And then five-year old McKenna sat on his lap. “You can’t fool me,” she said, fidgeting with her halo. “I know you’re not Santa. My daddy is Santa. He puts the presents under the tree. Mommy helps him too.”
“Ho, ho, ho!” Smart kid, Kurt thought. “What do you want for Christmas, little girl?”
McKenna leaned close and whispered in his ear, “When you come to our house, break the TV.”
“You want a new TV?”
“No, I want you to break our TV. The big one in the living room.”
Kurt stiffened. What was she thinking? He’d bought that TV last summer. It cost over a thousand dollars, a lot of late nights at the Chez. “Why?” he asked, forgetting to disguise his voice.
“Daddy’s at work all the time,” she said, “When he comes home, he just sits in front of the TV. He doesn’t play with me. He doesn’t even talk to me.”
“Ho, ho, ho.” Kurt laughed but he felt nervous. He was tired when he came home from the restaurant--definitely not up to playing with a five year-old. Didn’t she know that her daddy had to work? He’d explain that to McKenna when he got home. But then he remembered—he wasn’t going home after the party. He had to return to the restaurant. Kurt probably wouldn’t get home until after midnight tonight and McKenna would be sound asleep by then.
“Boys, hurry. Stand next to Santa,” Courtney said. Jimmy and Sam crowded close on each side. “Smile.” Courtney clicked the picture.
Kurt glanced at his daughter. She didn’t smile.
“Thanks, Santa,” Courtney said, blowing him a kiss.
Kurt watched her help McKenna with her coat and mittens. He wanted to go home with them. It was strange, watching his family leave. Without him.
Later in the bishop’s office, Kurt looked like himself again in his suit and tie. Bishop Nielson stood at the desk folding the red suit. “We had a good turn-out,” he said. “Almost all the candy bags are gone.”
“Santa gave me a gift too,” Kurt said.
“Oh? What’s that?”
“A new perspective,” he said, pulling on his coat. Kurt smiled as he left the bishop’s office. He was going home to spend Christmas Eve with his family.
“Are you busy?” Courtney asked.
“I’m always busy.” Kurt managed the Chez Henri, a black-tie restaurant in Park City.
“You have to go to the ward party tonight. Bishop Nielson needs a Santa. The fellow from second ward got sick at the last minute.”
“What?” Kurt had forgotten all about the ward Christmas party tonight. “That’s impossible.”
“I told Bishop Nielson you’d do it. He’s desperate.”
Kurt felt his blood pressure rise. It was Christmas Eve and the diners were in a holiday mood. “I’ve got a restaurant to run.”
“Tell that to the bishop.”
Kurt knew he’d lost the argument. “All right. When do I have to be there?”
“Ten minutes ago. The program’s already started.”
Kurt explained the situation to Zack, his assistant manager.
“Hey, you’re covered.” Zack was an over-achieving college student, single, and eager to work extra hours. “Your family needs you tonight, man.”
Kurt grimaced. “Merry Christmas. Ha, ha, ha.”
Fifteen minutes later he walked through the meetinghouse doors. The sound of children’s voices singing “Christmas Bells” came from the cultural hall.
Bishop Nielson was waiting in the foyer. He rushed up to grab Kurt’s hand, obviously nervous. Perspiration glistened on his balding head. “Thanks for coming on such short notice.” They hurried down the hall. “Change in my office,” the bishop said. “I’ll wait out here.”
The Santa suit lay draped on a chair. A box containing the white, fuzzy beard and red hat had been left on the desk. Black, one-size-fits-all irrigation boots completed the outfit. Kurt knew why Bishop Nielson had asked him to fill in. No extra padding was needed for the suit. As he flung the large black garbage bag of goodies on his back, he had only one worry.
“I don’t want my kids to know I’m Santa,” Kurt said, closing the door behind him.
“The beard hides your face.” Bishop Nielson patted Santa on the back. “You’re a natural.”
The bishop escorted him up the steps of the curtained stage at the far end of the cultural hall. “Watch for Sister Skinner’s clue,” he said and left Kurt on his own, itching his whiskers.
Kurt plunked the heavy bag next to the decorated Christmas tree and parted the curtain a crack, searching for his family. The room was crowded. He found his boys in the choir, singing “Silent Night”. Ten-year-old James wore his plaid bathrobe. A towel was tied on his head with a rope to make him look like a shepherd. Seven year-old Sam wore an aluminum foil crown. Where was McKenna, his five year-old daughter? Not surprised, he spotted her dressed as an angel with a golden halo and cardboard wings.
Courtney looked like an angel too, smiling sweetly at the children. The chair next to her was empty as if she had been saving it for him. Kurt wished he could be seated there right now. He was perspiring in the furry, red suit.
Sister Skinner said, “Boys and girls, let’s sing “Jingle Bells”. If we sing it loud enough, I think Santa might hear.” The pianist played a short introduction and then the children joined in. Some sang, “Jingle bells, Batman smells, Robin laid an egg.”
“Ho, ho, ho! Merry Christmas!” Kurt shouted as the curtain parted.
Everyone clapped and cheered and for one crazy moment he felt like a movie star.
Bishop Nielson took the microphone. “Santa has taken time out of his very busy schedule to be here tonight.”
You got that right, Kurt thought.
“He has gifts for each of the children. Let’s form a line and one by one, Santa will listen to what you want for Christmas.”
Sister Skinner led the children to the stage door. Parents with cameras stood ready. With a deep sigh, Kurt sat in the metal folding chair next to the Christmas tree and opened the black plastic bag. He hoped Santa didn’t lay an egg tonight.
One by one, the children climbed on his lap. Kurt asked what they wanted for Christmas and listened, nodding as though every wish was granted. Then he gave each child a paper sack filled with Christmas candies, peanuts, and an orange.
Kurt knew the parents were trying to guess his identity. So far, none had. As his family approached on line, he heard a friend ask Courtney, “Where’s Kurt?”
“Guess.”
“He had to work tonight? That’s too bad.”
She laughed. “He practically lives there.”
Kurt winced at the sarcasm in her voice.
Courtney took pictures while the boys sat on Santa’s lap. Sam, the ten-year old, asked for a four-wheeler.
“Ho, ho, ho,” Kurt laughed. Not on your life, he thought. A remote control, maybe.
Seven year-old Jimmy asked for an Xbox.
“Ho, ho, ho.” In your dreams, Kurt thought. Maybe when your math grades improve.
And then five-year old McKenna sat on his lap. “You can’t fool me,” she said, fidgeting with her halo. “I know you’re not Santa. My daddy is Santa. He puts the presents under the tree. Mommy helps him too.”
“Ho, ho, ho!” Smart kid, Kurt thought. “What do you want for Christmas, little girl?”
McKenna leaned close and whispered in his ear, “When you come to our house, break the TV.”
“You want a new TV?”
“No, I want you to break our TV. The big one in the living room.”
Kurt stiffened. What was she thinking? He’d bought that TV last summer. It cost over a thousand dollars, a lot of late nights at the Chez. “Why?” he asked, forgetting to disguise his voice.
“Daddy’s at work all the time,” she said, “When he comes home, he just sits in front of the TV. He doesn’t play with me. He doesn’t even talk to me.”
“Ho, ho, ho.” Kurt laughed but he felt nervous. He was tired when he came home from the restaurant--definitely not up to playing with a five year-old. Didn’t she know that her daddy had to work? He’d explain that to McKenna when he got home. But then he remembered—he wasn’t going home after the party. He had to return to the restaurant. Kurt probably wouldn’t get home until after midnight tonight and McKenna would be sound asleep by then.
“Boys, hurry. Stand next to Santa,” Courtney said. Jimmy and Sam crowded close on each side. “Smile.” Courtney clicked the picture.
Kurt glanced at his daughter. She didn’t smile.
“Thanks, Santa,” Courtney said, blowing him a kiss.
Kurt watched her help McKenna with her coat and mittens. He wanted to go home with them. It was strange, watching his family leave. Without him.
Later in the bishop’s office, Kurt looked like himself again in his suit and tie. Bishop Nielson stood at the desk folding the red suit. “We had a good turn-out,” he said. “Almost all the candy bags are gone.”
“Santa gave me a gift too,” Kurt said.
“Oh? What’s that?”
“A new perspective,” he said, pulling on his coat. Kurt smiled as he left the bishop’s office. He was going home to spend Christmas Eve with his family.
28 The Real Magic
Stephen stood in the doorway, watching his little girl kneeling before the Christmas tree. The sparkling array of colorful lights cast an etherial glow around her brown hair. Daddy’s little angel, that’s what Jane looked like. From her Christmas light halo to her long white nightgown, she fit the picture beautifully.
He moved to take a step toward her, wanting to share one brief moment of her innocent anticipation of the coming holiday, but noticed her hands balled into fists at her side and stopped. She only made fists when she was angry. It was the first tell she’d developed as a small child. Her bright red face and wailing lips had faded as she’d gained the self-control and composure of a ten-year-old, but her fists had remained the same.
Jane’s head was bowed low as she examined one of the ornaments. A Santa ornament. Stephen took a long slow breath and closed his eyes, trying to think of what he was going to do. He had hoped she wouldn’t learn the truth about Santa for at least another year.
Before he had a chance to compose an explanation, Jane stood and turned, freezing when she saw him. Her eyes sparkled with a combination of the moist residue riming her lower lids and the reflection of the lights from the Christmas tree. She watched him silently, her brow creased in what looked like disappointment and betrayal. His stomach tied in knots at the sight. This was going to be a lot harder than he’d expected.
“Can we talk?” He asked, gesturing for her to take a seat on the couch.
Jane nodded and moved to the overstuffed sofa, her lips pursed in a frustrated line.
Stephen took her place at the tree, pulling the Santa ornament from the sagging limb then sitting next to her. “Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?”
“No,” she answered, shaking her head and staring blankly at the coffee table in front of them.
Stephen held up the ornament, watching the carved wooden Santa twist and twirl on the end of its silver string. The little Kris Kringle had been his favorite holiday decoration as a child. He ran his thumb over its chin, the white-washed beard a few soft rubs away from oblivion.
“I wonder if your problem might have something to do with this.” He held the ornament between them, and noticed, for the first time how the wooden figure seemed to hang limply from its string. He imagined how the tiny Santa must look to Jane. An overused decoration that was as worn out as the lie it was carved from.
Jane’s eyes refilled with tears, the pain of a crushed childhood dream running down her cheeks. “Hannah said Santa isn’t real. She says you and mom are lying.”
“Who’s Hannah?” Stephen asked, cupping the ornament in his hands. He wished bitterly that Hannah hadn’t been so selfish, spoiling what he had hoped would be her last magical Christmas.
“A girl from school,” Jane said, sniffing. She ran her sleeve across her wet cheeks then under her nose.
“So, Hannah from school told you that Santa isn’t real?” Stephen studied the red sack slung over the wooden Santa’s shoulder. It bulged with dozens of small lumps, all different shapes and sizes. “Did she tell you we were lying?”
Jane nodded, “Yeah.”
“And you believe her?” He studied her carefully, ready to weigh more than the words in her response.
“I don’t know.” She leaned back into the couch, her head sinking into the cushion leaving her staring at the ceiling.
“Do you think your mother and I would lie to you?”
“Maybe.” She lifted her hands and let them flop back onto her lap as she turned to face him. “Hannah says you lied about Santa, the tooth fairy and the Easter bunny.”
“We don’t believe in the Easter Bunny,” Stephen said. The Easter bunny was one candy-filled diversion he wasn’t willing to perpetuate on such a sacred holiday.
“I know. But what about Santa and the tooth fairy?” Jane sat forward, her eyes watching him with an earnestness they had never held before.
Stephen placed the carved Santa on the coffee table and sunk back into the couch, turning sideways and tucking his foot under his knee so he could face her. “Let me ask you a question.” He hesitated for a moment before continuing. “What made Santa so special to you?”
Jane’s brows furrowed as she concentrated on the Christmas tree. “I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do,” Stephen said, nodding. “Just think about it.”
Jane was silent for a moment, her focus shifting from the tree to her father. “Well...because he brings presents.”
Stephen failed to suppress a small chuckle. He quickly cleared his throat, cutting the laugh short. “Is it only the presents that make him special?”
“No,” Jane said quickly, shaking her head in defense of her answer.
“Okay. What else makes him special?”
“He brings toys to everybody.” She pressed her index fingers together, as if getting ready to count off a list. “He has reindeer that fly and a magic sleigh...”
Stephen watched as an innocent excitement returned to her face, her eager voice making a case for a man she no longer believed in.
“... he’s magic—” She faltered in the middle of her list, her hands balling into fists again. “Santa isn’t real. Magic isn’t real.”
“Magic isn’t real?” he asked in a stunned, sober tone. It was hard enough to watch her discover the truth about Santa, but he couldn’t bear to let her cast aside the gift of magic.
“Magic is for babies,” Jane retorted. She folded her arms across her chest and glared at him with a stern gaze that left him feeling as if the role of parent and child had been reversed.
Stephen fished a small coin from his pocket, careful to keep it hidden. He slid it between two fingers before reaching behind her ear. “Then what’s this?” he asked, producing a penny. He let his mouth hang open in surprise, as if the penny had magically appeared and he had merely rescued it.
“That’s just a stupid trick. I already know how you do it.” She scoffed, her lips turned down in a disgusted manner that convinced him he was glimpsing the teenager to come. She pulled the penny from between his fingers and replicated the magic trick using his ear.
“See.” She presented him with the copper coin.
“You used to think it was magic.” He took the penny from her waiting fingers and placed it on the coffee table next to the wooden Santa. “What changed?”
“You showed me how to hide the penny between my fingers.” Her words sounded like an accusation, as if he had been the one to spoil magic tricks and Santa, all on the same night.
Stephen looked at his knuckles, picturing the day he’d taught Jane how to hide the penny between her fingers. She had been excited to learn and even more eager to show her friends. Why couldn’t this discovery be the same? Why couldn’t she see the magic of Santa as the gift he had always intended it to be, not some frivolous lie? Somehow, he had to find a way to show her that there was more to Old Saint Nick than reindeer and presents. “Do you think,” he said, grabbing the penny and handing it to her, “that I lied when I said I was magic?”
“No,” Jane held her fists stiffly in her lap, leaving the penny untouched.
“Why not?” He extended the coin further toward her.
“Because you were....I don’t know. But you weren’t lying.”
He loved the way she defended him, as if his honor was at stake. “I’m glad you don’t think I lied. But what’s the point of a fake magic trick? Why would I persuade you to believe in something that wasn’t real?”
Jane rolled her eyes and forced out an agitated breath, “I don’t know.”
Stephen let her answer hang in the silent room. It was true, convincing a child magic tricks were real did feel harmless, fun even. Yet somehow that standard didn’t hold true for Santa. Why?
He returned the penny to the table and picked up the ornament. “Well, I know why. It’s part of the magic of childhood. For a brief moment in our lives we get the chance to believe whatever we want to believe. We get to believe that reindeer can fly, that there’s a toy shop in the North Pole filled with elves who spend their entire lives preparing for Christmas. We get to believe that a chubby old man can fit down a chimney and that somehow, with the help of his magic sleigh, he can fly to every single house, all over the world, in the space of one night.” Stephen’s voice softened. He brushed a lock of hair from her eye and whispered, “Only a child can believe in things like that.”
“But it’s a lie.” Jane leaned away from his touch, her voice filled with longing.
Stephen recognized her yearning. He had felt the same way when he learned the secret about Santa. Christmas hadn’t been the same since. It had taken him decades to recapture even a hint of the magical feeling that had permeated the Christmases of his youth. That was the true magic of Christmas. It was a feeling, not a toy. That’s what she needed to learn. “Jane, Santa isn’t a lie. Don’t you see? He’s a gift.”
“How can lying about Santa be a gift?”
“Your mother and I wanted you to believe in Santa because, in a way, he is real. And I don’t mean he’s real because your Mom and I pretend to be him. If that’s all it was then we would be lying.” Stephen rose from the couch and returned to the tree. He reached deep within the thick boughs to the heart and removed another ornament. He held it in his hand for a moment, watching the Christmas lights reflect in the simple golden image. He sat back down, the fresh scent of pine accompanying him as if the ornament itself were the source of the holiday fragrance.
“By allowing you to believe in Santa, we were letting you believe in something impossible. Something wonderful but completely impossible.” Stephen held his breath and said a quick prayer. He wanted to find the right words to help Jane feel what he was saying. Not just hear it but feel it. If she could feel it, then the transition he hoped she was about to make would hold special meaning. “Did you ever stop and wonder why Santa was so generous? Why an old man would spend his entire life giving gifts to children all over the world? Children he doesn’t even know.”
“I guess.” Jane’s brows crumpled in confusion.
“And did you ever come up with an answer?”
Jane searched some unseen corner of the room for a moment before she responded. “Because he loves children.”
Stephen smiled and nodded in encouragement. “I’ve always believed that Santa spent his whole life giving to others because the real gift he was giving wasn’t toys and candy, but a feeling. A feeling so elusive most adults are incapable of capturing it. He gives presents to children hoping he can touch their hearts. Then—” he opened his hand, producing the ornament he had pulled from the tree, “—when we are older and have lost the magic we will recognize the feeling when we find it again.”
He extended the ornament, holding it next to her hands. “When we find Him.”
Jane picked up the ornament and cradled it in her small hands. A simple, golden silhouette of the nativity rested quietly in her fingers.
Stephen followed her gaze and when her eyes fell on the inscription carved into the bottom of the ornament he read it aloud, “The real magic is His love.”
He let his voice fade so that she could absorb the words. When she looked up, her eyes were glistening.
“If you can believe in Santa and everything that goes along with him, then you can believe that 2000 years ago a baby was born in a stable. And you can believe that this baby wasn’t just a regular baby, but the literal Son of God. And if you can believe that this baby...” Stephen’s voice caught. He cleared his throat quickly not bothering to wipe away the tear trickling down his cheek. He pointed tenderly at the golden silhouette of the Savior. “If you can believe that this baby is the Son of God then you can believe that not only did he live a perfect life for us, but he atoned for our sins. He endured every imaginable pain, both physical and emotional, so that he could care for us. He suffered in the garden of Gethsemane so that in our most desperate times of trouble and pain and sickness he would know how to help us. Every feeling we have ever had, He has felt. Every agony we will ever experience, He has endured.”
Stephen wiped away a tear running down Jane’s cheek then dried his own. “We celebrate Christmas because Jesus was born. And because he was born we will be saved. Far too often people get caught up in all the presents and the goodies and they forget about the Savior. And that’s unfortunate because when that happens, the feeling Santa is trying to share with us gets lost.”
A tingling rush of chills swept across his skin and he knew, in that moment, that he had found the answer he’d prayed for. The elusive spirit of Christmas he was hoping his daughter would feel had settled into his heart, warming him with the comforting feeling of peace. He watched Jane’s face, searching for some sign that she felt it too.
It took several minutes for Jane to speak, and when she did her voice was barely audible. “Dad, does this mean I won’t get presents anymore?”
Her answer startled him. “No, dear. You’ll still get presents.” Stephen tried to keep the disappointment out of his voice. Was that what all this was about? Presents?
Jane’s face relaxed. “Thanks, Dad.”
“You’re welcome,” he whispered. He gave her a kiss on the forehead and watched her leave the room.
“Uhh,” he moaned, rubbing his hands across his face. Her response to his explanation was troubling. Had he failed to teach her the importance of the Savior at Christmastime? Was it possible that he had taught her to worship presents instead?
Suddenly, he felt like a failure. All the years of trying to mix the magic of Santa with the gift of the Savior had backfired. Obviously all she cared about were the toys.
But could he blame her? What child could possibly see past the twinkling lights and shiny new toys into the humble manger? How could something as simple and tender as the birth of Jesus compete with all the excitement of the commercial holiday?
Stephen felt sick as he realized that maybe he had been wrong all along. Maybe it was impossible to celebrate the birth of the Savior and perpetuate the myth of Santa. Maybe there wasn’t room for both.
But that didn’t make sense. Wasn’t Santa’s generosity the perfect example of love and service? He’d always thought so. The undeniable warmth he’d felt during his explanation seemed proof that the two could co-exist. The feeling was palpable, almost a tangible presence in the room. Surely she had felt it too.
The muffled shuffle of feet on the carpet caught his attention and he looked up. Jane was standing in the doorway, the nativity ornament dangling from her fingers.
“What about the tooth fairy?” she asked, handing him the golden decoration.
“What about the tooth fairy?” He said, retrieving it from her grasp.
“Do I still get money from the tooth fairy?”
“Yes.” He nodded, unable to manage the sinking feeling in his gut. “You still get money for your teeth.”
“Good,” she said, standing still, her head perked to the side as if she had one more question.
“What?” Stephen couldn’t imagine what more she could ask. How many childhood fantasies did she have?
“Why do you pretend there’s a tooth fairy?” Her hands rested expectantly on her hips, the corners of her mouth on the verge of a frown.
Stephen shook his head, that was the last question he’d expected. “Because the promise of a couple quarters is all it takes for you rug-rats to find the courage to let me pull your teeth.”
“Oh,” Jane said, surprise evident on her face. She moved to leave but hesitated, her eyes filled with something he couldn’t identify. “Thanks, Dad.”
“For what?” He was growing even more confused by her behavior.
“For Santa.” She wrapped her arms around his neck, squeezed tightly and whispered in his ear. “For using Santa to teach me about the real magic.”
“The real magic?” His voice croaked. Had she felt it after all? Did she really understand?
Jane grabbed him by the shoulders and stared tenderly into his eyes. “The real magic of Christmas is believing.”
Stephen felt a lump rising in his throat. She was right. The real magic of Christmas wasn’t found behind a red suit or under a Christmas tree. It went deeper than that.
The real magic of Christmas lay in our ability to believe.
He moved to take a step toward her, wanting to share one brief moment of her innocent anticipation of the coming holiday, but noticed her hands balled into fists at her side and stopped. She only made fists when she was angry. It was the first tell she’d developed as a small child. Her bright red face and wailing lips had faded as she’d gained the self-control and composure of a ten-year-old, but her fists had remained the same.
Jane’s head was bowed low as she examined one of the ornaments. A Santa ornament. Stephen took a long slow breath and closed his eyes, trying to think of what he was going to do. He had hoped she wouldn’t learn the truth about Santa for at least another year.
Before he had a chance to compose an explanation, Jane stood and turned, freezing when she saw him. Her eyes sparkled with a combination of the moist residue riming her lower lids and the reflection of the lights from the Christmas tree. She watched him silently, her brow creased in what looked like disappointment and betrayal. His stomach tied in knots at the sight. This was going to be a lot harder than he’d expected.
“Can we talk?” He asked, gesturing for her to take a seat on the couch.
Jane nodded and moved to the overstuffed sofa, her lips pursed in a frustrated line.
Stephen took her place at the tree, pulling the Santa ornament from the sagging limb then sitting next to her. “Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?”
“No,” she answered, shaking her head and staring blankly at the coffee table in front of them.
Stephen held up the ornament, watching the carved wooden Santa twist and twirl on the end of its silver string. The little Kris Kringle had been his favorite holiday decoration as a child. He ran his thumb over its chin, the white-washed beard a few soft rubs away from oblivion.
“I wonder if your problem might have something to do with this.” He held the ornament between them, and noticed, for the first time how the wooden figure seemed to hang limply from its string. He imagined how the tiny Santa must look to Jane. An overused decoration that was as worn out as the lie it was carved from.
Jane’s eyes refilled with tears, the pain of a crushed childhood dream running down her cheeks. “Hannah said Santa isn’t real. She says you and mom are lying.”
“Who’s Hannah?” Stephen asked, cupping the ornament in his hands. He wished bitterly that Hannah hadn’t been so selfish, spoiling what he had hoped would be her last magical Christmas.
“A girl from school,” Jane said, sniffing. She ran her sleeve across her wet cheeks then under her nose.
“So, Hannah from school told you that Santa isn’t real?” Stephen studied the red sack slung over the wooden Santa’s shoulder. It bulged with dozens of small lumps, all different shapes and sizes. “Did she tell you we were lying?”
Jane nodded, “Yeah.”
“And you believe her?” He studied her carefully, ready to weigh more than the words in her response.
“I don’t know.” She leaned back into the couch, her head sinking into the cushion leaving her staring at the ceiling.
“Do you think your mother and I would lie to you?”
“Maybe.” She lifted her hands and let them flop back onto her lap as she turned to face him. “Hannah says you lied about Santa, the tooth fairy and the Easter bunny.”
“We don’t believe in the Easter Bunny,” Stephen said. The Easter bunny was one candy-filled diversion he wasn’t willing to perpetuate on such a sacred holiday.
“I know. But what about Santa and the tooth fairy?” Jane sat forward, her eyes watching him with an earnestness they had never held before.
Stephen placed the carved Santa on the coffee table and sunk back into the couch, turning sideways and tucking his foot under his knee so he could face her. “Let me ask you a question.” He hesitated for a moment before continuing. “What made Santa so special to you?”
Jane’s brows furrowed as she concentrated on the Christmas tree. “I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do,” Stephen said, nodding. “Just think about it.”
Jane was silent for a moment, her focus shifting from the tree to her father. “Well...because he brings presents.”
Stephen failed to suppress a small chuckle. He quickly cleared his throat, cutting the laugh short. “Is it only the presents that make him special?”
“No,” Jane said quickly, shaking her head in defense of her answer.
“Okay. What else makes him special?”
“He brings toys to everybody.” She pressed her index fingers together, as if getting ready to count off a list. “He has reindeer that fly and a magic sleigh...”
Stephen watched as an innocent excitement returned to her face, her eager voice making a case for a man she no longer believed in.
“... he’s magic—” She faltered in the middle of her list, her hands balling into fists again. “Santa isn’t real. Magic isn’t real.”
“Magic isn’t real?” he asked in a stunned, sober tone. It was hard enough to watch her discover the truth about Santa, but he couldn’t bear to let her cast aside the gift of magic.
“Magic is for babies,” Jane retorted. She folded her arms across her chest and glared at him with a stern gaze that left him feeling as if the role of parent and child had been reversed.
Stephen fished a small coin from his pocket, careful to keep it hidden. He slid it between two fingers before reaching behind her ear. “Then what’s this?” he asked, producing a penny. He let his mouth hang open in surprise, as if the penny had magically appeared and he had merely rescued it.
“That’s just a stupid trick. I already know how you do it.” She scoffed, her lips turned down in a disgusted manner that convinced him he was glimpsing the teenager to come. She pulled the penny from between his fingers and replicated the magic trick using his ear.
“See.” She presented him with the copper coin.
“You used to think it was magic.” He took the penny from her waiting fingers and placed it on the coffee table next to the wooden Santa. “What changed?”
“You showed me how to hide the penny between my fingers.” Her words sounded like an accusation, as if he had been the one to spoil magic tricks and Santa, all on the same night.
Stephen looked at his knuckles, picturing the day he’d taught Jane how to hide the penny between her fingers. She had been excited to learn and even more eager to show her friends. Why couldn’t this discovery be the same? Why couldn’t she see the magic of Santa as the gift he had always intended it to be, not some frivolous lie? Somehow, he had to find a way to show her that there was more to Old Saint Nick than reindeer and presents. “Do you think,” he said, grabbing the penny and handing it to her, “that I lied when I said I was magic?”
“No,” Jane held her fists stiffly in her lap, leaving the penny untouched.
“Why not?” He extended the coin further toward her.
“Because you were....I don’t know. But you weren’t lying.”
He loved the way she defended him, as if his honor was at stake. “I’m glad you don’t think I lied. But what’s the point of a fake magic trick? Why would I persuade you to believe in something that wasn’t real?”
Jane rolled her eyes and forced out an agitated breath, “I don’t know.”
Stephen let her answer hang in the silent room. It was true, convincing a child magic tricks were real did feel harmless, fun even. Yet somehow that standard didn’t hold true for Santa. Why?
He returned the penny to the table and picked up the ornament. “Well, I know why. It’s part of the magic of childhood. For a brief moment in our lives we get the chance to believe whatever we want to believe. We get to believe that reindeer can fly, that there’s a toy shop in the North Pole filled with elves who spend their entire lives preparing for Christmas. We get to believe that a chubby old man can fit down a chimney and that somehow, with the help of his magic sleigh, he can fly to every single house, all over the world, in the space of one night.” Stephen’s voice softened. He brushed a lock of hair from her eye and whispered, “Only a child can believe in things like that.”
“But it’s a lie.” Jane leaned away from his touch, her voice filled with longing.
Stephen recognized her yearning. He had felt the same way when he learned the secret about Santa. Christmas hadn’t been the same since. It had taken him decades to recapture even a hint of the magical feeling that had permeated the Christmases of his youth. That was the true magic of Christmas. It was a feeling, not a toy. That’s what she needed to learn. “Jane, Santa isn’t a lie. Don’t you see? He’s a gift.”
“How can lying about Santa be a gift?”
“Your mother and I wanted you to believe in Santa because, in a way, he is real. And I don’t mean he’s real because your Mom and I pretend to be him. If that’s all it was then we would be lying.” Stephen rose from the couch and returned to the tree. He reached deep within the thick boughs to the heart and removed another ornament. He held it in his hand for a moment, watching the Christmas lights reflect in the simple golden image. He sat back down, the fresh scent of pine accompanying him as if the ornament itself were the source of the holiday fragrance.
“By allowing you to believe in Santa, we were letting you believe in something impossible. Something wonderful but completely impossible.” Stephen held his breath and said a quick prayer. He wanted to find the right words to help Jane feel what he was saying. Not just hear it but feel it. If she could feel it, then the transition he hoped she was about to make would hold special meaning. “Did you ever stop and wonder why Santa was so generous? Why an old man would spend his entire life giving gifts to children all over the world? Children he doesn’t even know.”
“I guess.” Jane’s brows crumpled in confusion.
“And did you ever come up with an answer?”
Jane searched some unseen corner of the room for a moment before she responded. “Because he loves children.”
Stephen smiled and nodded in encouragement. “I’ve always believed that Santa spent his whole life giving to others because the real gift he was giving wasn’t toys and candy, but a feeling. A feeling so elusive most adults are incapable of capturing it. He gives presents to children hoping he can touch their hearts. Then—” he opened his hand, producing the ornament he had pulled from the tree, “—when we are older and have lost the magic we will recognize the feeling when we find it again.”
He extended the ornament, holding it next to her hands. “When we find Him.”
Jane picked up the ornament and cradled it in her small hands. A simple, golden silhouette of the nativity rested quietly in her fingers.
Stephen followed her gaze and when her eyes fell on the inscription carved into the bottom of the ornament he read it aloud, “The real magic is His love.”
He let his voice fade so that she could absorb the words. When she looked up, her eyes were glistening.
“If you can believe in Santa and everything that goes along with him, then you can believe that 2000 years ago a baby was born in a stable. And you can believe that this baby wasn’t just a regular baby, but the literal Son of God. And if you can believe that this baby...” Stephen’s voice caught. He cleared his throat quickly not bothering to wipe away the tear trickling down his cheek. He pointed tenderly at the golden silhouette of the Savior. “If you can believe that this baby is the Son of God then you can believe that not only did he live a perfect life for us, but he atoned for our sins. He endured every imaginable pain, both physical and emotional, so that he could care for us. He suffered in the garden of Gethsemane so that in our most desperate times of trouble and pain and sickness he would know how to help us. Every feeling we have ever had, He has felt. Every agony we will ever experience, He has endured.”
Stephen wiped away a tear running down Jane’s cheek then dried his own. “We celebrate Christmas because Jesus was born. And because he was born we will be saved. Far too often people get caught up in all the presents and the goodies and they forget about the Savior. And that’s unfortunate because when that happens, the feeling Santa is trying to share with us gets lost.”
A tingling rush of chills swept across his skin and he knew, in that moment, that he had found the answer he’d prayed for. The elusive spirit of Christmas he was hoping his daughter would feel had settled into his heart, warming him with the comforting feeling of peace. He watched Jane’s face, searching for some sign that she felt it too.
It took several minutes for Jane to speak, and when she did her voice was barely audible. “Dad, does this mean I won’t get presents anymore?”
Her answer startled him. “No, dear. You’ll still get presents.” Stephen tried to keep the disappointment out of his voice. Was that what all this was about? Presents?
Jane’s face relaxed. “Thanks, Dad.”
“You’re welcome,” he whispered. He gave her a kiss on the forehead and watched her leave the room.
“Uhh,” he moaned, rubbing his hands across his face. Her response to his explanation was troubling. Had he failed to teach her the importance of the Savior at Christmastime? Was it possible that he had taught her to worship presents instead?
Suddenly, he felt like a failure. All the years of trying to mix the magic of Santa with the gift of the Savior had backfired. Obviously all she cared about were the toys.
But could he blame her? What child could possibly see past the twinkling lights and shiny new toys into the humble manger? How could something as simple and tender as the birth of Jesus compete with all the excitement of the commercial holiday?
Stephen felt sick as he realized that maybe he had been wrong all along. Maybe it was impossible to celebrate the birth of the Savior and perpetuate the myth of Santa. Maybe there wasn’t room for both.
But that didn’t make sense. Wasn’t Santa’s generosity the perfect example of love and service? He’d always thought so. The undeniable warmth he’d felt during his explanation seemed proof that the two could co-exist. The feeling was palpable, almost a tangible presence in the room. Surely she had felt it too.
The muffled shuffle of feet on the carpet caught his attention and he looked up. Jane was standing in the doorway, the nativity ornament dangling from her fingers.
“What about the tooth fairy?” she asked, handing him the golden decoration.
“What about the tooth fairy?” He said, retrieving it from her grasp.
“Do I still get money from the tooth fairy?”
“Yes.” He nodded, unable to manage the sinking feeling in his gut. “You still get money for your teeth.”
“Good,” she said, standing still, her head perked to the side as if she had one more question.
“What?” Stephen couldn’t imagine what more she could ask. How many childhood fantasies did she have?
“Why do you pretend there’s a tooth fairy?” Her hands rested expectantly on her hips, the corners of her mouth on the verge of a frown.
Stephen shook his head, that was the last question he’d expected. “Because the promise of a couple quarters is all it takes for you rug-rats to find the courage to let me pull your teeth.”
“Oh,” Jane said, surprise evident on her face. She moved to leave but hesitated, her eyes filled with something he couldn’t identify. “Thanks, Dad.”
“For what?” He was growing even more confused by her behavior.
“For Santa.” She wrapped her arms around his neck, squeezed tightly and whispered in his ear. “For using Santa to teach me about the real magic.”
“The real magic?” His voice croaked. Had she felt it after all? Did she really understand?
Jane grabbed him by the shoulders and stared tenderly into his eyes. “The real magic of Christmas is believing.”
Stephen felt a lump rising in his throat. She was right. The real magic of Christmas wasn’t found behind a red suit or under a Christmas tree. It went deeper than that.
The real magic of Christmas lay in our ability to believe.
12/16/10
26 Seven Swans
“I hate Christmas,” Danielle growled as she let herself into her flat. She really didn’t, but after the day she’d had, she had to let her feelings out on something. The weather was stormy, rain mixed with snow, and she was soaked since she’d had to walk home. The string of lights she’d put up in the window had shorted out, leaving her flat dark and unwelcoming. The postman had come, but there were no Christmas cards and no packages, not even the books she’d ordered, just a big, official-looking, padded envelope. She dropped it on the hall table with a sigh, thinking that she’d open it later, after a warm cup of cocoa … but there was no cocoa left. She’d used the last of it to make cookies over the weekend, and had forgotten to buy some that afternoon. Not that she could have spent any money anyway. She’d become more and more frustrated while browsing the Christmas Market, looking for something to give friends and family who already had everything they needed and wanted, and then she’d discovered that her wallet had been stolen.
After dealing with all the technical issues that such a theft invoked, Danielle sank onto the couch and clicked on the television, but the weather was messing up the satellite reception again, and there was nothing on. Remembering the official-looking envelope, she decided she might as well finish her bad day by opening it up, and then she could go to bed and hope for something better to-morrow.
Inside the envelope was a book, and a card from her Uncle Eric that said simply It’s your turn to be an angel.
An angel? What exactly did he have in mind? The book didn’t hold a clue; it merely illustrated the song The Twelve Days of Christmas, which as far as Danielle remembered did not feature angels. And Uncle Eric wasn’t her true love, either. An old friend of the family in every sense of the word, he’d been more like a doting grandfather, even now when he was living far away in a retirement home.
Danielle flicked through the pages. The book felt very old, and yet each illustration looked new and real. She stopped at the picture of the seven swans and swore she could see the water of the pond lapping at the shore. Yet, if the water were moving, why weren’t the swans? It must be some kind of optical illusion. She turned the book slightly to see what would happen, but it still looked the same. To see if she could discover what had made the effect, Danielle put a finger onto the picture.
She felt a powerful whoosh, and then she was no longer sitting on the couch, but teetering precariously in the shallows of a pond complete with swans. In the darkness behind her, there were cheers and applause, but then Danielle lost her balance and sat down hard. Cold, black water enveloped her up to her waist, and she gasped, both at the temperature and at the sudden change of scenery. The cheers turned to laughter that was quickly silenced, and Danielle glanced over her shoulder to see a group of people standing on the bank, some holding torches, and all watching her with obvious amusement. Wrapped in cloaks, they looked like something out of the Middle Ages.
The swans paddled towards her, coming from all directions. Frightened of a possible attack, Danielle scrambled to her feet and floundered towards the bank, not caring as the cold mud sucked her slippers away. One of the men met her there, helping her the last few steps onto dry land and wrapping his cloak around her. It was warm and soft with animal fur.
“Welcome, angel,” he said, guiding her towards the others. They all echoed him with a joyous, “Welcome, angel!”
But the youngest child protested, “The angel last year was a man.”
“And this year, it’s a woman,” the girl’s mother announced. To Danielle, she said, “Welcome, angel. Let’s get you some dry clothes before Mass. Poly? Polyhymnia! Run and find something for her to wear!”
“Yes, my lady,” said one of the teenage girls from the back of the group, then raced away. As they followed, Danielle glanced around. In the light of the torches, she saw a stone bridge over the pond – moat, actually – that led to a medieval-looking stone gate complete with portcullis. Ahead of her, the girl wormed her way through the crowd until she was standing right in front of them, walking backwards so that she could keep an eye on Danielle.
“I’m terribly sorry, but I think you must be expecting somebody else,” Danielle said as they crossed the bridge. “I’m not an angel, my name is Danielle, and truthfully, I’m not even sure where I am.”
“This is the village of Seven Swans,” said the older woman. “I’m Lady Faustina, and you’ve met my husband, Lord Maximian.”
“My name is Aurora,” the girl said. “That’s my brother Decebalus. And my other brother Laurentinus. And his wife …”
She bumped into Decebalus, and Lady Faustina said, “Aurora, watch where you’re going!”
Aurora turned around with resigned obedience, and Lady Faustina sighed. To Danielle, she said, “I’m sorry. She gets so excited at Christmastime.”
“Doesn’t everybody?” Danielle replied. They’d passed through the gate now, and were in the courtyard of a castle. Lady Faustina steered her towards a set of huge wooden doors, and they entered into a great hall where servants were bustling around, clearing away the remains of a huge feast. The heat was pleasant after the outside cold, but Danielle noticed that it came from more than just the roaring fireplace.
“Oh!” she exclaimed, looking down at her feet. “These stones are warm!”
“Hypocaust,” Lady Faustina explained. “Now come.”
The room was decorated with greenery of all kinds, and Danielle recognized both holly and ivy. There were also little wreaths made of something white that she wasn’t close enough to identify. Following Lady Faustina up a spiral staircase, Danielle came to an upper chamber, lit only by a few candles, but showing signs of greenery as well. The girl Poly straightened up from a chest, unfolding a dark green garment onto the four-poster bed.
“This is for summer, my lady,” she murmured, but Lady Faustina said, “It’s dry, and she’ll be warm enough under the cloak. Come, Danielle, get out of those wet things. Poly will dry them by the fire in the kitchen.”
Danielle stripped off her clothes and Poly helped her into the dress. It was a bit short, as were the boots that Poly had found, but both were manageable.
“Let’s get over to the church,” Lady Faustina said. “We’ll just make it if we hurry.”
Poly held out the cloak and Danielle pulled it on as she hurried down the steps. The church was on the village side of the moat and the bell stopped ringing as they crossed the bridge. Lady Faustina made shooing motions with her arms, and Danielle increased her speed, so that they entered just before the service began. The nave was full of people, and as Lady Faustina worked her way up one side, Danielle realized that there were no seats or pews at all; everybody had to stand. At least the church had its own hypocaust as well, so that the floor was not cold.
Part of the church service was a Nativity play which started with the Holy Spirit coming to Mary in the shape of a swan. Lord Maximian, dressed in a cloak covered with long white feathers, spread his arms wide and enveloped the woman playing Mary until nothing but the top of her head was visible. There was a bit of rustling from under the cloak, and when he released her, “Mary” had stuffed something up her dress to indicate pregnancy. Staring at this in utter astonishment, Danielle thought that someone must have mixed up the Bible with the Roman legend of Leda and the swan.
The swan motif did not end there. Not only did the angels who told the shepherds the good tidings also wear cloaks of swan feathers, but the play also included a scene about a Bishop Cygnus. Having become worried about one of the members of his church, a poor shepherd who lived far outside the village, Cygnus went out on the day before Christ’s Mass to check up on him, but became lost in a blizzard. After praying for help, he opened his eyes, and saw a swan waddling in the snow, a most unusual sight. Thinking that it must be a sign, Cygnus followed the swan, which led him right to the shepherd’s door, then lay down and died. Cygnus found the shepherd ill in bed, but was able to make a meal from the swan’s meat, which restored the shepherd to health the next day. Every Christ’s Mass day from then on, Cygnus followed the example of the swan, giving food to the poor.
It was like the legend of Bishop Nicholas and the stockings by the fire, Danielle thought, only different. She must have fallen into another dimension, an alternate universe of some kind, where the Roman influence had lasted much longer than in her own. It would explain the mixture of a stone castle with Roman underfloor heating and people with Roman names wearing medieval clothing and boots rather than togas and sandals. But at least they still celebrated, and even remembered the Christ part of Christmas, which was reassuring. And really, the swan element was no stranger than Santa Claus, reindeer, or elves.
A touch on her shoulder turned Danielle’s attention to Lord Maximian, and when she gave him a questioning look, he took the green cloak from her shoulders and replaced it with the feathered one he’d been wearing for the play. He also placed a wreath of feathers on her head, then guided her to where the priest was standing.
“And now the angel of the swans will bless us all,” the priest announced, “and when she’s finished, we will hand out the cakes.”
Smothering a nervous giggle, Danielle smiled at the sea of expectant faces in front of her, wondering exactly what to do. She had neither angelic authority nor special powers, but she could at least wish them all well. Taking Lord Maximian by the hand, Danielle said, “May God bless you in this Christmas season and throughout the year.”
He looked surprised, then pleased, then leaned down and kissed her. “Thank you!” Lady Faustina put her hands on the sides of Danielle’s face and kissed her as well. Following the example of his parents, Decebalus briefly touched his lips to Danielle’s cheek, blushing. Under the watchful eye of his young wife, Laurentius gave her a quick peck on the forehead.
“The other angel always just did us all at the same time,” Aurora said when it was her turn. She held up both arms and quoted, “God bless us, every one!” Recognizing the line from Dickens, Danielle grimaced because she hadn’t thought of such a thing. Then Aurora threw her arms around Danielle’s neck and gave her a loud, wet smooch. “But I like this way better.”
Danielle went through each member of the congregation, fighting the temptation to shorten her sentence simply to “Bless you” as though responding to a series of sneezes, and got a kiss from everybody in return. She couldn’t remember ever having seen such delighted, grateful faces, and soon forgot that she was not a real angel.
The priest had been handing out swan-shaped cakes from baskets behind the altar, and when Danielle finished with the last villager, he gave her one, too. She’d already bitten into the wing of the spicy treat when she noticed that the baskets were empty and he did not have one. Breaking the other wing off, she offered it to him, and he accepted with an embarrassed smile.
“My lord, my lady, whenever you need my help with playing Cygnus, I am ready,” the priest said, but Lady Faustina shook her head. “Elpidius, go home to your wife. She needs you more than we do.”
“Well,” the priest protested, but Lord Maximian pointed firmly to the door. Bowing, the priest hurried away.
“Poor man,” Lady Faustina said to Danielle. “His wife’s been ill ever since they lost the baby.”
“Is there anything we can do to help?” Danielle asked, wishing she were a doctor.
“You could bless her when we play Cygnus,” Decebalus suggested. Danielle glanced at him, wondering if “playing Cygnus” meant what she thought it meant, and saw that he was blushing again, which made her smile.
“Yes, exactly,” Lady Faustina agreed. “We’ll do them first. Poly, go and see if Fulvius has brought the cart around yet.”
Poly rushed to the door of the church, then came back to say that everything was ready. Danielle followed Lady Faustina and the others outside to where an old man with a lantern was guiding a horse and cart. The cartbed was covered by a tarpaulin, but there were large lumps visible underneath.
“To Elpidius first,” Lady Faustina told Fulvius, and he clicked his tongue to the horse. As they walked behind the cart, Aurora said, “Can I be Cygnus this time, please?”
“Do you think you’re strong enough?” Lord Maximian asked, and Aurora nodded. “Yes! I’ve been practicing all year!”
“All right,” he replied, and Aurora squealed in delight. They soon reached Elpidius’ cottage, and Danielle noted with surprise that they parked the cart around the back. Aurora folded back the tarpaulin, but it was Laurentius who lifted out a large bundle and placed it into her outstretched arms. She staggered happily away under the weight, and Laurentius looked over to Danielle. “Your turn.”
She put out her arms, expecting to receive a similar bundle, but hers seemed to be wrapped up in the same kind of feathered cloak that she was still wearing. As she followed Aurora around to the door of the cottage, however, part of her load slipped from her grasp. Thinking she’d dropped something, Danielle looked down, and almost dropped her burden in horror. It wasn’t a cloak she was carrying – it was a dead swan, with its head and neck dangling over her arm!
“Merry Christmas!” Aurora shrieked. The cottage door had opened and Elpidius motioned them to come in. The room was small, with a mattress on one side of the fire, and a table with two stools on the other side. Aurora dropped her sack onto the table, and Danielle laid the swan next to it, glad to be rid of the corpse.
“It’s the angel,” she heard Elpidius say, and turned around. He was kneeling by the mattress, stroking his wife’s hair away from her face, then he glanced imploringly at Danielle and moved aside. The woman’s eyes fluttered and focused on Danielle as she knelt down, but although her lips moved, no sound came out. Danielle put her hands on either side of the woman’s hot, dry face and said what she had said to all the others. “May God bless you in this Christmas season and throughout the year.”
The woman put her hand over one of Danielle’s and clasped, smiling briefly, then relaxed and closed her eyes. Afraid that she might have died then and there, Danielle felt for a pulse, then sat back on her heels in relief when she found it. “She’s still alive.”
“Swan soup will have her well in no time,” Aurora announced, “just like in the legend.”
The woman opened her eyes again, glancing beyond Danielle to the table, and this time she whispered, “Swan?”
“I’ll make it,” Elpidius said, and straightened up. Grasping Danielle by the hand, he said, “You’ve given us hope, angel. Thank you, and thank God.”
As she and Aurora went out, Danielle thought that hope must be the best gift of all. She felt so buoyed by the thought that she hardly minded when Laurentius put another dead swan into her arms for her next visit, telling herself that it was just like a frozen turkey, only different. This time, it was Decebalus who lugged the sack to the door, and he and Aurora alternated accompanying Danielle to the various cottages.
When the cart was empty and they were walking back to the castle, Aurora announced, “This was the best Christmas ever! I love playing Cygnus!” and then yawned until it seemed she’d never get her mouth shut again. Smothering her own yawn, Danielle nodded silently.
“Too bad you won’t be here to-morrow,” Decebalus said. “There’ll be dancing.”
“But will you come next year?” Aurora asked. “Or will the other angel come again?”
“I think I’ll come next year,” Danielle said. As they approached the bridge, she scanned the moat, but there were no swans. Instead, there was a powerful whoosh, a moment of complete blackness, and the surface under her feet was suddenly so yielding that she lost her balance and thudded into the wall of her living room. Clinging there, she realized she’d materialized on top of her couch, and was still wearing her borrowed clothing. Carefully, Danielle climbed down, taking an extra big step to avoid the book which lay open on the floor.
Well! No wonder Uncle Eric always had a secretive smile on his face whenever he spoke about Christmas. Being an angel! Travelling to other dimensions! Danielle leaned over and picked up the book, closing it gingerly. She didn’t want to be accidentally whisked to the next adventure before she’d had the chance to recover from the first one. Or did the book only work once each day? That would be logical, and because she’d started in the middle, she had a feeling she could pick and choose which page she’d try next. What would it be like, she wondered, to be an angel to twelve drummers drumming?
After dealing with all the technical issues that such a theft invoked, Danielle sank onto the couch and clicked on the television, but the weather was messing up the satellite reception again, and there was nothing on. Remembering the official-looking envelope, she decided she might as well finish her bad day by opening it up, and then she could go to bed and hope for something better to-morrow.
Inside the envelope was a book, and a card from her Uncle Eric that said simply It’s your turn to be an angel.
An angel? What exactly did he have in mind? The book didn’t hold a clue; it merely illustrated the song The Twelve Days of Christmas, which as far as Danielle remembered did not feature angels. And Uncle Eric wasn’t her true love, either. An old friend of the family in every sense of the word, he’d been more like a doting grandfather, even now when he was living far away in a retirement home.
Danielle flicked through the pages. The book felt very old, and yet each illustration looked new and real. She stopped at the picture of the seven swans and swore she could see the water of the pond lapping at the shore. Yet, if the water were moving, why weren’t the swans? It must be some kind of optical illusion. She turned the book slightly to see what would happen, but it still looked the same. To see if she could discover what had made the effect, Danielle put a finger onto the picture.
She felt a powerful whoosh, and then she was no longer sitting on the couch, but teetering precariously in the shallows of a pond complete with swans. In the darkness behind her, there were cheers and applause, but then Danielle lost her balance and sat down hard. Cold, black water enveloped her up to her waist, and she gasped, both at the temperature and at the sudden change of scenery. The cheers turned to laughter that was quickly silenced, and Danielle glanced over her shoulder to see a group of people standing on the bank, some holding torches, and all watching her with obvious amusement. Wrapped in cloaks, they looked like something out of the Middle Ages.
The swans paddled towards her, coming from all directions. Frightened of a possible attack, Danielle scrambled to her feet and floundered towards the bank, not caring as the cold mud sucked her slippers away. One of the men met her there, helping her the last few steps onto dry land and wrapping his cloak around her. It was warm and soft with animal fur.
“Welcome, angel,” he said, guiding her towards the others. They all echoed him with a joyous, “Welcome, angel!”
But the youngest child protested, “The angel last year was a man.”
“And this year, it’s a woman,” the girl’s mother announced. To Danielle, she said, “Welcome, angel. Let’s get you some dry clothes before Mass. Poly? Polyhymnia! Run and find something for her to wear!”
“Yes, my lady,” said one of the teenage girls from the back of the group, then raced away. As they followed, Danielle glanced around. In the light of the torches, she saw a stone bridge over the pond – moat, actually – that led to a medieval-looking stone gate complete with portcullis. Ahead of her, the girl wormed her way through the crowd until she was standing right in front of them, walking backwards so that she could keep an eye on Danielle.
“I’m terribly sorry, but I think you must be expecting somebody else,” Danielle said as they crossed the bridge. “I’m not an angel, my name is Danielle, and truthfully, I’m not even sure where I am.”
“This is the village of Seven Swans,” said the older woman. “I’m Lady Faustina, and you’ve met my husband, Lord Maximian.”
“My name is Aurora,” the girl said. “That’s my brother Decebalus. And my other brother Laurentinus. And his wife …”
She bumped into Decebalus, and Lady Faustina said, “Aurora, watch where you’re going!”
Aurora turned around with resigned obedience, and Lady Faustina sighed. To Danielle, she said, “I’m sorry. She gets so excited at Christmastime.”
“Doesn’t everybody?” Danielle replied. They’d passed through the gate now, and were in the courtyard of a castle. Lady Faustina steered her towards a set of huge wooden doors, and they entered into a great hall where servants were bustling around, clearing away the remains of a huge feast. The heat was pleasant after the outside cold, but Danielle noticed that it came from more than just the roaring fireplace.
“Oh!” she exclaimed, looking down at her feet. “These stones are warm!”
“Hypocaust,” Lady Faustina explained. “Now come.”
The room was decorated with greenery of all kinds, and Danielle recognized both holly and ivy. There were also little wreaths made of something white that she wasn’t close enough to identify. Following Lady Faustina up a spiral staircase, Danielle came to an upper chamber, lit only by a few candles, but showing signs of greenery as well. The girl Poly straightened up from a chest, unfolding a dark green garment onto the four-poster bed.
“This is for summer, my lady,” she murmured, but Lady Faustina said, “It’s dry, and she’ll be warm enough under the cloak. Come, Danielle, get out of those wet things. Poly will dry them by the fire in the kitchen.”
Danielle stripped off her clothes and Poly helped her into the dress. It was a bit short, as were the boots that Poly had found, but both were manageable.
“Let’s get over to the church,” Lady Faustina said. “We’ll just make it if we hurry.”
Poly held out the cloak and Danielle pulled it on as she hurried down the steps. The church was on the village side of the moat and the bell stopped ringing as they crossed the bridge. Lady Faustina made shooing motions with her arms, and Danielle increased her speed, so that they entered just before the service began. The nave was full of people, and as Lady Faustina worked her way up one side, Danielle realized that there were no seats or pews at all; everybody had to stand. At least the church had its own hypocaust as well, so that the floor was not cold.
Part of the church service was a Nativity play which started with the Holy Spirit coming to Mary in the shape of a swan. Lord Maximian, dressed in a cloak covered with long white feathers, spread his arms wide and enveloped the woman playing Mary until nothing but the top of her head was visible. There was a bit of rustling from under the cloak, and when he released her, “Mary” had stuffed something up her dress to indicate pregnancy. Staring at this in utter astonishment, Danielle thought that someone must have mixed up the Bible with the Roman legend of Leda and the swan.
The swan motif did not end there. Not only did the angels who told the shepherds the good tidings also wear cloaks of swan feathers, but the play also included a scene about a Bishop Cygnus. Having become worried about one of the members of his church, a poor shepherd who lived far outside the village, Cygnus went out on the day before Christ’s Mass to check up on him, but became lost in a blizzard. After praying for help, he opened his eyes, and saw a swan waddling in the snow, a most unusual sight. Thinking that it must be a sign, Cygnus followed the swan, which led him right to the shepherd’s door, then lay down and died. Cygnus found the shepherd ill in bed, but was able to make a meal from the swan’s meat, which restored the shepherd to health the next day. Every Christ’s Mass day from then on, Cygnus followed the example of the swan, giving food to the poor.
It was like the legend of Bishop Nicholas and the stockings by the fire, Danielle thought, only different. She must have fallen into another dimension, an alternate universe of some kind, where the Roman influence had lasted much longer than in her own. It would explain the mixture of a stone castle with Roman underfloor heating and people with Roman names wearing medieval clothing and boots rather than togas and sandals. But at least they still celebrated, and even remembered the Christ part of Christmas, which was reassuring. And really, the swan element was no stranger than Santa Claus, reindeer, or elves.
A touch on her shoulder turned Danielle’s attention to Lord Maximian, and when she gave him a questioning look, he took the green cloak from her shoulders and replaced it with the feathered one he’d been wearing for the play. He also placed a wreath of feathers on her head, then guided her to where the priest was standing.
“And now the angel of the swans will bless us all,” the priest announced, “and when she’s finished, we will hand out the cakes.”
Smothering a nervous giggle, Danielle smiled at the sea of expectant faces in front of her, wondering exactly what to do. She had neither angelic authority nor special powers, but she could at least wish them all well. Taking Lord Maximian by the hand, Danielle said, “May God bless you in this Christmas season and throughout the year.”
He looked surprised, then pleased, then leaned down and kissed her. “Thank you!” Lady Faustina put her hands on the sides of Danielle’s face and kissed her as well. Following the example of his parents, Decebalus briefly touched his lips to Danielle’s cheek, blushing. Under the watchful eye of his young wife, Laurentius gave her a quick peck on the forehead.
“The other angel always just did us all at the same time,” Aurora said when it was her turn. She held up both arms and quoted, “God bless us, every one!” Recognizing the line from Dickens, Danielle grimaced because she hadn’t thought of such a thing. Then Aurora threw her arms around Danielle’s neck and gave her a loud, wet smooch. “But I like this way better.”
Danielle went through each member of the congregation, fighting the temptation to shorten her sentence simply to “Bless you” as though responding to a series of sneezes, and got a kiss from everybody in return. She couldn’t remember ever having seen such delighted, grateful faces, and soon forgot that she was not a real angel.
The priest had been handing out swan-shaped cakes from baskets behind the altar, and when Danielle finished with the last villager, he gave her one, too. She’d already bitten into the wing of the spicy treat when she noticed that the baskets were empty and he did not have one. Breaking the other wing off, she offered it to him, and he accepted with an embarrassed smile.
“My lord, my lady, whenever you need my help with playing Cygnus, I am ready,” the priest said, but Lady Faustina shook her head. “Elpidius, go home to your wife. She needs you more than we do.”
“Well,” the priest protested, but Lord Maximian pointed firmly to the door. Bowing, the priest hurried away.
“Poor man,” Lady Faustina said to Danielle. “His wife’s been ill ever since they lost the baby.”
“Is there anything we can do to help?” Danielle asked, wishing she were a doctor.
“You could bless her when we play Cygnus,” Decebalus suggested. Danielle glanced at him, wondering if “playing Cygnus” meant what she thought it meant, and saw that he was blushing again, which made her smile.
“Yes, exactly,” Lady Faustina agreed. “We’ll do them first. Poly, go and see if Fulvius has brought the cart around yet.”
Poly rushed to the door of the church, then came back to say that everything was ready. Danielle followed Lady Faustina and the others outside to where an old man with a lantern was guiding a horse and cart. The cartbed was covered by a tarpaulin, but there were large lumps visible underneath.
“To Elpidius first,” Lady Faustina told Fulvius, and he clicked his tongue to the horse. As they walked behind the cart, Aurora said, “Can I be Cygnus this time, please?”
“Do you think you’re strong enough?” Lord Maximian asked, and Aurora nodded. “Yes! I’ve been practicing all year!”
“All right,” he replied, and Aurora squealed in delight. They soon reached Elpidius’ cottage, and Danielle noted with surprise that they parked the cart around the back. Aurora folded back the tarpaulin, but it was Laurentius who lifted out a large bundle and placed it into her outstretched arms. She staggered happily away under the weight, and Laurentius looked over to Danielle. “Your turn.”
She put out her arms, expecting to receive a similar bundle, but hers seemed to be wrapped up in the same kind of feathered cloak that she was still wearing. As she followed Aurora around to the door of the cottage, however, part of her load slipped from her grasp. Thinking she’d dropped something, Danielle looked down, and almost dropped her burden in horror. It wasn’t a cloak she was carrying – it was a dead swan, with its head and neck dangling over her arm!
“Merry Christmas!” Aurora shrieked. The cottage door had opened and Elpidius motioned them to come in. The room was small, with a mattress on one side of the fire, and a table with two stools on the other side. Aurora dropped her sack onto the table, and Danielle laid the swan next to it, glad to be rid of the corpse.
“It’s the angel,” she heard Elpidius say, and turned around. He was kneeling by the mattress, stroking his wife’s hair away from her face, then he glanced imploringly at Danielle and moved aside. The woman’s eyes fluttered and focused on Danielle as she knelt down, but although her lips moved, no sound came out. Danielle put her hands on either side of the woman’s hot, dry face and said what she had said to all the others. “May God bless you in this Christmas season and throughout the year.”
The woman put her hand over one of Danielle’s and clasped, smiling briefly, then relaxed and closed her eyes. Afraid that she might have died then and there, Danielle felt for a pulse, then sat back on her heels in relief when she found it. “She’s still alive.”
“Swan soup will have her well in no time,” Aurora announced, “just like in the legend.”
The woman opened her eyes again, glancing beyond Danielle to the table, and this time she whispered, “Swan?”
“I’ll make it,” Elpidius said, and straightened up. Grasping Danielle by the hand, he said, “You’ve given us hope, angel. Thank you, and thank God.”
As she and Aurora went out, Danielle thought that hope must be the best gift of all. She felt so buoyed by the thought that she hardly minded when Laurentius put another dead swan into her arms for her next visit, telling herself that it was just like a frozen turkey, only different. This time, it was Decebalus who lugged the sack to the door, and he and Aurora alternated accompanying Danielle to the various cottages.
When the cart was empty and they were walking back to the castle, Aurora announced, “This was the best Christmas ever! I love playing Cygnus!” and then yawned until it seemed she’d never get her mouth shut again. Smothering her own yawn, Danielle nodded silently.
“Too bad you won’t be here to-morrow,” Decebalus said. “There’ll be dancing.”
“But will you come next year?” Aurora asked. “Or will the other angel come again?”
“I think I’ll come next year,” Danielle said. As they approached the bridge, she scanned the moat, but there were no swans. Instead, there was a powerful whoosh, a moment of complete blackness, and the surface under her feet was suddenly so yielding that she lost her balance and thudded into the wall of her living room. Clinging there, she realized she’d materialized on top of her couch, and was still wearing her borrowed clothing. Carefully, Danielle climbed down, taking an extra big step to avoid the book which lay open on the floor.
Well! No wonder Uncle Eric always had a secretive smile on his face whenever he spoke about Christmas. Being an angel! Travelling to other dimensions! Danielle leaned over and picked up the book, closing it gingerly. She didn’t want to be accidentally whisked to the next adventure before she’d had the chance to recover from the first one. Or did the book only work once each day? That would be logical, and because she’d started in the middle, she had a feeling she could pick and choose which page she’d try next. What would it be like, she wondered, to be an angel to twelve drummers drumming?
25 Gold, Frankincense and Myrrh
Every bulb on every tree stabbed at Jack’s bloodshot eyes like being poked with sharp sticks. Every other night of the year he’d slept in the comfortable, incognito darkness of the downtown park. A few months ago, someone had taken it to mind that the old dump needed sprucing up, seeing as how it was only a couple of blocks from the new, glittering downtown. First, they’d started up a farmer’s-slash-flea market every weekend, then when winter hit, they brought in a bit of T.L.C. for the season.
As if throwing some lights on a few trees is gonna make the world’s problems go away, Jack thought, then growled at himself. Truth was he’d enjoyed the lights for the first two or three nights. Then again, he’d been on a good buzz then, and a few hits off a brown sack wrapped bottle made everything seem to look better. No, the world didn’t get any kinder, nor the people in it, but the slow burn of alcohol in his guts made him just not care.
Tonight he was just too ripping sober to think anything in the world was good or kind. The painful truths of life came into way too sharp of a focus when he actually had the mind to think about them. That was probably why he’d stayed pretty well sloshed for the last fifteen years. Right this minute, all he could think about was how to get his hands on another bottle of anything that could be called ‘rot-gut’, and sink himself back into the comfortable, hellfire pit of drunkenness.
A couple strolled hand in hand down the sidewalk, and Jack held out a shaking hand. They were both well-dressed, well groomed, and from the names printed on the sides of the shopping bags they carried, they obviously had money.
“Got any change you could spare?” he asked, the words grating on his soul. Once upon a time, a very long time ago now, he’d actually had some pride. He’d almost forgotten what it felt like, but every once in a while – usually when he was forced into involuntary soberness – that pride reared its head to torment him. Once, way back before the current ice age, he’d had a life with all the trimmings. ..
The young woman leaned closer to her companion, who gave Jack a dirty look, pulled his wife closer to his side, and hurried past. Three steps on the other side of him, they stopped, and the young woman leaned her face close to the young man’s ear. The man turned around, leaving her there, and stepped toward Jack, pulling his wallet from his pocket.
“Merry Christmas,” he said, slipping something into Jack’s hand. Saying nothing more, he turned back to the woman, who smiled broadly at him. They walked off arm in arm, no doubt happy with themselves for their Christmas generosity.
Let ‘em be smug. Jack didn’t care, especially after he unfolded the bills and found three twenties in his hand. That would buy a nice bottle or two.
He shoved the money deep into the inside pocket of his overcoat. He’d let the couple get out of sight before he headed down the street to Charlie’s Liquor. He’d let them think he spent their noble gesture on food, or to buy a house and turn his life around and become a pillar of society.
They can have their illusions; he said to himself, Heaven knows I don’t have any. They’ll have to have enough for both of us.
He staggered a bit as he stood up. He’d been sitting on that bench a bit too long, and his right leg had gone to sleep again. He hated it when that happened, but it was not as bad as when his arm did the same thing. What was a little staggering from an old drunk, anyway? People expected it, blamed the booze even when a body hadn’t had any.
He was swimming in deep thoughts of amber liquid and its accompanying floating feeling as he got to the corner of the park and almost tripped over what he thought was a big rock on the edge of the sidewalk. What? Had they decided to relandscape, too, he wondered. But as he turned to take a closer look at the boulder, it looked up at him with the sweetest face he’d ever seen.
She was all dressed in black; the backpack slung over one shoulder gave her an irregular shape. Her hair, what he could see of it peeking out from under the hood of her sweatshirt, was dyed black as well, but her eyes were as blue as the dawn. And scared.
“What the devil are you doing there?” he growled at her. He surprised both of them by speaking to her, he hadn’t intended to.
“Just trying to keep warm,” she said, her eyes wide with fear.
“Why don’t you go home?” he asked, “Don’t you know it’s dangerous out here at night?”
“I can’t go home,” the girl answered.
“Why not?” Jack glanced down the street. If he didn’t hurry, Charlie’s would close and he’d be out of luck for the night. “What? Fight with your mom? Don’t be stupid, go home!”
“I don’t have a way to,” the girl stood up from her crouched position. “I got here on the bus. I don’t have any money to go home.”
Jack sighed deeply, his hope for the warm burn in his belly from a bottle of booze fading.
“How long you been out here?” he asked, gesturing to the park around them.
“Since this afternoon.”
Jack watched a single tear drip down the girl’s cheek, another one of those ugly realities he’d rather be avoiding.
“You hungry?”
She said nothing, but nodded furiously.
“Come on, then.” He turned and walked away, half hoping she wouldn’t follow him, but she did. She stuck close to his elbow as he led her down the sidewalk, past the door of his beloved Charlie’s Liquor and across the street to the burger joint.
“How old are you?” he asked her as they waited for the food they ordered.
“Sixteen.” She looked him in the eye, without judgment or disgust, the first person to do so in years. It made him uncomfortable, that pride thing crimping in his gu againt. “My name’s Kat.”
“That’s not a name,” he grumbled, looking out the window just in time to see Charlie’s blue neon ‘open’ sign blink off. Dang it. “A cats an animal. What’s your real name?”
“Kaitlyn,” she answered, looking a little embarrassed at his remark.
“Well, Kaitlyn,” Jack said, “Where’d you come from?” He knew he’d be smarter not to pry into the girl’s personal life, but she’d made him lose out on a good night’s drunk, and he intended to share his misery.
“Springfield.”
“That’s a couple hundred miles from here,” Jack said with a frown. “How’d you get here?”
“I came on the bus.” Kaitlyn said, her eyes wandering over the tray the waitress brought and set before them. “I was going to go all the way to New York, but somebody stole my purse. So now I’m stuck.”
“Running away from home?”
“Something like that.” Kaitlyn ripped open a ketchup packet and poured the contents over her fries. “Seems a little stupid now. I wish I’d never got on that bus.”
The conversation ended as the two vagrants ate dinner, the best one either had eaten in days. Jack’s mind worked right along with his jaw, and by the time he finished his food, he’d pretty much worked out what had to happen next.
“Come on,” he said, getting up from the table as Kaitlyn slurped the last of her soda. “You and me got somewhere to be.”
“Where?” Kaitlyn asked as she slid out of the booth.
“You’ll see.”
They walked out of the restaurant, Kaitlyn silently keeping close to his elbow. They crossed the street, back past the now closed Charlie’s Liquor store, over two blocks and down one. He held the door open for her, and they walked into the Greyhound station. Jack said nothing as they walked up to the ticket counter, but he did point out the special holiday travel fare poster as they passed it. Go home for the holidays! Any city in the state - $50!
“One ticket to Springfield,” he told the man behind the counter. Kaitlyn answered all the necessary questions, and Jack dropped his life savings – the three $20 bills, minus the dinner at the burger place—on the counter to pay for the ticket.
“Do you think my mom will let me come back, after what I did?”
A face crossed Jack’s mind that he hadn’t let himself think about for a very long time.
“Trust me,” he answered, “she’ll be glad to see you come home. Any parent would.” If only children were as glad to see their parents…
Kaitlyn hugged him, an impulsive embrace that Jack never saw coming. Before he could say or do anything, the call came over the loudspeaker. The bus to Springfield and all points west was loading now at Gate Three. A grateful girl waved and smiled and disappeared through the door.
Jack sighed and headed out the door on the other side of the building. The bus station didn’t allow loiterers, he knew from experience, and he wasn’t in the mood for a confrontation with the cops. He did notice, as he stepped out into the night, that he felt warmer inside than he had before. He blamed the hamburger, but he knew that wasn’t really it. Really, it was the thought of a little girl on a bus on her way home in the middle of the night, two days before Christmas.
That face showed up in his thoughts again. He shoved his hands deep in his coat pockets, as if steeling himself for the painful thoughts that came with that particular memory. His own daughter, several years older than Kaitlyn, had refused to speak to him the last time he went by the house. To be fair, he had been blind drunk, and a little too loud, and it had been late at night. He hung his head, hearing the words she’d said to him.
…don’t want your grandkids to see you like this. Come back when you can sober up!
For the first time ever, things suddenly seemed clear. Yes, it was painful, but if the situation was reversed, and he was in Kaitlyn’s shoes, he knew he’d do whatever he could to get home to his family. He knew he had to do whatever it took, even if that meant the booze.
Metal jingled in his pocket and he pulled out two quarters, all that was left of the gift of strangers. Enough to make a phone call. Not much, but a start…
The receiver was icy cold when he put it to his ear.
“Nancy?”
“Dad?”
“It’s me.”
A long silence.
“Nan, I’d like to come by and see the kids for Christmas.” Jack couldn’t believe the sound of the words coming out of his own mouth.
“I just don’t know…”
“I’m sober, honey.” He said before she could refuse. “And I’m going to do my best to stay this way.”
On the other end of the phone, he could hear his daughter’s tears. She invited her father to dinner, the first ever occasion since she’d gotten married. Behind the happiness, Jack could feel apprehension. He wondered if he was making promises he could not keep.
He hung up the phone feeling a whole new kind of warmth inside himself. Almost as good as booze-burn. He still wanted that drink, but since he didn’t have any money, it really didn’t matter anyway. Maybe, just maybe, he’d found something better.
With nowhere else to go until Christmas day dinnertime, he headed back to the park. If no one else had claimed that spot under the play structure, he might just burrow in there for the night. Tomorrow, maybe he could find somewhere to take a shower and clean up for his family holiday.
“Hey, Joe!” He called out a greeting to another park regular as he walked across the grass. “How you doin’?”
The old man looked up, his wrinkly face even uglier in the weird shadows of the Christmas lights on the park trees.
“Not so good these days,” he answered. “Got robbed a couple of nights back. Don’t know what they thought they were going to get off me, but they did it anyway.”
Jack noticed that his friend wore only a light windbreaker, and the rucksack he usually carried slung over one shoulder was conspicuously missing.
“Did you go down to the mission?” Jack asked. “Get another coat?”
“They don’t got any,” Joe shrugged. “They said too many people need ‘em. So there weren’t one for me.” He patted his belly with a good natured smile. “’Sides, they wouldn’ta had anything to fit me and my girlish figure.” Even as he chuckled, Jack saw him shiver violently.
“Here,” he said, slipping this own coat off his shoulders. Underneath it, he wore two tatty sweaters, neither one remotely fashionable. “Not fancy, but it’s warm.”
“I can’t take your coat, Jack!” Joe protested, but Jack held it out to him firmly.
“I’ll be fine,” Jack said. “I got two sweaters to keep me warm. ‘Sides, I’m going home for Christmas. Gonna see my grandkids.”
Joe accepted the coat with humble gratitude, and stood up to put it on. He smiled as the coat, still warm from Jack’s body, wrapped around him.
Jack said goodnight, and found his way to the playground. His spot was empty, and he crawled in underneath the slide, out of the wind. He settled in and made himself comfortable.
“Jack.” A voice, vaguely familiar, pulled him out of sleep. He opened his eyes, finding it brighter than usual for a winter morning. But then, he wasn’t under the slide anymore. And he wasn’t cold.
“I’m right here,” he answered that voice.
“Come, follow me.” A man, standing a few feet away, gestured to him. Jack went to him, thinking as he did that the man looked an awful lot like that picture of Jesus in the church building he used to go to every Sunday. “I have a place waiting for you in Heaven.”
“I can’t go to Heaven,” Jack said, shaking his head. He wanted to follow, more than he wanted anything in the world, ever. But his own recollection of the past held his feet in check. “I don’t deserve to.”
“How can you say that?” The Stranger asked him, “When you have given me the same gifts that the wise men brought at my birth?”
This has got to be a dream, he thought. I’ve never brought any gifts to Jesus. I’m nothing but an old drunk!
“You gave your gold to a stranger who needed a way home. You gave your myrrh, the gift of healing, to your daughter when you called and promised more than you have ever given before. And you laid your frankincense in the hands of a friend who needed uplift and comfort.” The man in white smiled the kindest smile Jack had ever seen. In it, he saw the same smile he had seen on Kaitlyn’s face, heard in his daughter’s voice, and felt inside himself when he saw his coat warming his friend. “Tonight, you’ve given everything for others, and there is no greater love than that.”
The Lord laid his hands on Jack’s shoulders.
“Now come, celebrate my birthday with me in the Kingdom of My Father.”
With the warmest feeling radiating through his entire spirit, stronger than anything he had ever felt before, Jack followed.
As if throwing some lights on a few trees is gonna make the world’s problems go away, Jack thought, then growled at himself. Truth was he’d enjoyed the lights for the first two or three nights. Then again, he’d been on a good buzz then, and a few hits off a brown sack wrapped bottle made everything seem to look better. No, the world didn’t get any kinder, nor the people in it, but the slow burn of alcohol in his guts made him just not care.
Tonight he was just too ripping sober to think anything in the world was good or kind. The painful truths of life came into way too sharp of a focus when he actually had the mind to think about them. That was probably why he’d stayed pretty well sloshed for the last fifteen years. Right this minute, all he could think about was how to get his hands on another bottle of anything that could be called ‘rot-gut’, and sink himself back into the comfortable, hellfire pit of drunkenness.
A couple strolled hand in hand down the sidewalk, and Jack held out a shaking hand. They were both well-dressed, well groomed, and from the names printed on the sides of the shopping bags they carried, they obviously had money.
“Got any change you could spare?” he asked, the words grating on his soul. Once upon a time, a very long time ago now, he’d actually had some pride. He’d almost forgotten what it felt like, but every once in a while – usually when he was forced into involuntary soberness – that pride reared its head to torment him. Once, way back before the current ice age, he’d had a life with all the trimmings. ..
The young woman leaned closer to her companion, who gave Jack a dirty look, pulled his wife closer to his side, and hurried past. Three steps on the other side of him, they stopped, and the young woman leaned her face close to the young man’s ear. The man turned around, leaving her there, and stepped toward Jack, pulling his wallet from his pocket.
“Merry Christmas,” he said, slipping something into Jack’s hand. Saying nothing more, he turned back to the woman, who smiled broadly at him. They walked off arm in arm, no doubt happy with themselves for their Christmas generosity.
Let ‘em be smug. Jack didn’t care, especially after he unfolded the bills and found three twenties in his hand. That would buy a nice bottle or two.
He shoved the money deep into the inside pocket of his overcoat. He’d let the couple get out of sight before he headed down the street to Charlie’s Liquor. He’d let them think he spent their noble gesture on food, or to buy a house and turn his life around and become a pillar of society.
They can have their illusions; he said to himself, Heaven knows I don’t have any. They’ll have to have enough for both of us.
He staggered a bit as he stood up. He’d been sitting on that bench a bit too long, and his right leg had gone to sleep again. He hated it when that happened, but it was not as bad as when his arm did the same thing. What was a little staggering from an old drunk, anyway? People expected it, blamed the booze even when a body hadn’t had any.
He was swimming in deep thoughts of amber liquid and its accompanying floating feeling as he got to the corner of the park and almost tripped over what he thought was a big rock on the edge of the sidewalk. What? Had they decided to relandscape, too, he wondered. But as he turned to take a closer look at the boulder, it looked up at him with the sweetest face he’d ever seen.
She was all dressed in black; the backpack slung over one shoulder gave her an irregular shape. Her hair, what he could see of it peeking out from under the hood of her sweatshirt, was dyed black as well, but her eyes were as blue as the dawn. And scared.
“What the devil are you doing there?” he growled at her. He surprised both of them by speaking to her, he hadn’t intended to.
“Just trying to keep warm,” she said, her eyes wide with fear.
“Why don’t you go home?” he asked, “Don’t you know it’s dangerous out here at night?”
“I can’t go home,” the girl answered.
“Why not?” Jack glanced down the street. If he didn’t hurry, Charlie’s would close and he’d be out of luck for the night. “What? Fight with your mom? Don’t be stupid, go home!”
“I don’t have a way to,” the girl stood up from her crouched position. “I got here on the bus. I don’t have any money to go home.”
Jack sighed deeply, his hope for the warm burn in his belly from a bottle of booze fading.
“How long you been out here?” he asked, gesturing to the park around them.
“Since this afternoon.”
Jack watched a single tear drip down the girl’s cheek, another one of those ugly realities he’d rather be avoiding.
“You hungry?”
She said nothing, but nodded furiously.
“Come on, then.” He turned and walked away, half hoping she wouldn’t follow him, but she did. She stuck close to his elbow as he led her down the sidewalk, past the door of his beloved Charlie’s Liquor and across the street to the burger joint.
“How old are you?” he asked her as they waited for the food they ordered.
“Sixteen.” She looked him in the eye, without judgment or disgust, the first person to do so in years. It made him uncomfortable, that pride thing crimping in his gu againt. “My name’s Kat.”
“That’s not a name,” he grumbled, looking out the window just in time to see Charlie’s blue neon ‘open’ sign blink off. Dang it. “A cats an animal. What’s your real name?”
“Kaitlyn,” she answered, looking a little embarrassed at his remark.
“Well, Kaitlyn,” Jack said, “Where’d you come from?” He knew he’d be smarter not to pry into the girl’s personal life, but she’d made him lose out on a good night’s drunk, and he intended to share his misery.
“Springfield.”
“That’s a couple hundred miles from here,” Jack said with a frown. “How’d you get here?”
“I came on the bus.” Kaitlyn said, her eyes wandering over the tray the waitress brought and set before them. “I was going to go all the way to New York, but somebody stole my purse. So now I’m stuck.”
“Running away from home?”
“Something like that.” Kaitlyn ripped open a ketchup packet and poured the contents over her fries. “Seems a little stupid now. I wish I’d never got on that bus.”
The conversation ended as the two vagrants ate dinner, the best one either had eaten in days. Jack’s mind worked right along with his jaw, and by the time he finished his food, he’d pretty much worked out what had to happen next.
“Come on,” he said, getting up from the table as Kaitlyn slurped the last of her soda. “You and me got somewhere to be.”
“Where?” Kaitlyn asked as she slid out of the booth.
“You’ll see.”
They walked out of the restaurant, Kaitlyn silently keeping close to his elbow. They crossed the street, back past the now closed Charlie’s Liquor store, over two blocks and down one. He held the door open for her, and they walked into the Greyhound station. Jack said nothing as they walked up to the ticket counter, but he did point out the special holiday travel fare poster as they passed it. Go home for the holidays! Any city in the state - $50!
“One ticket to Springfield,” he told the man behind the counter. Kaitlyn answered all the necessary questions, and Jack dropped his life savings – the three $20 bills, minus the dinner at the burger place—on the counter to pay for the ticket.
“Do you think my mom will let me come back, after what I did?”
A face crossed Jack’s mind that he hadn’t let himself think about for a very long time.
“Trust me,” he answered, “she’ll be glad to see you come home. Any parent would.” If only children were as glad to see their parents…
Kaitlyn hugged him, an impulsive embrace that Jack never saw coming. Before he could say or do anything, the call came over the loudspeaker. The bus to Springfield and all points west was loading now at Gate Three. A grateful girl waved and smiled and disappeared through the door.
Jack sighed and headed out the door on the other side of the building. The bus station didn’t allow loiterers, he knew from experience, and he wasn’t in the mood for a confrontation with the cops. He did notice, as he stepped out into the night, that he felt warmer inside than he had before. He blamed the hamburger, but he knew that wasn’t really it. Really, it was the thought of a little girl on a bus on her way home in the middle of the night, two days before Christmas.
That face showed up in his thoughts again. He shoved his hands deep in his coat pockets, as if steeling himself for the painful thoughts that came with that particular memory. His own daughter, several years older than Kaitlyn, had refused to speak to him the last time he went by the house. To be fair, he had been blind drunk, and a little too loud, and it had been late at night. He hung his head, hearing the words she’d said to him.
…don’t want your grandkids to see you like this. Come back when you can sober up!
For the first time ever, things suddenly seemed clear. Yes, it was painful, but if the situation was reversed, and he was in Kaitlyn’s shoes, he knew he’d do whatever he could to get home to his family. He knew he had to do whatever it took, even if that meant the booze.
Metal jingled in his pocket and he pulled out two quarters, all that was left of the gift of strangers. Enough to make a phone call. Not much, but a start…
The receiver was icy cold when he put it to his ear.
“Nancy?”
“Dad?”
“It’s me.”
A long silence.
“Nan, I’d like to come by and see the kids for Christmas.” Jack couldn’t believe the sound of the words coming out of his own mouth.
“I just don’t know…”
“I’m sober, honey.” He said before she could refuse. “And I’m going to do my best to stay this way.”
On the other end of the phone, he could hear his daughter’s tears. She invited her father to dinner, the first ever occasion since she’d gotten married. Behind the happiness, Jack could feel apprehension. He wondered if he was making promises he could not keep.
He hung up the phone feeling a whole new kind of warmth inside himself. Almost as good as booze-burn. He still wanted that drink, but since he didn’t have any money, it really didn’t matter anyway. Maybe, just maybe, he’d found something better.
With nowhere else to go until Christmas day dinnertime, he headed back to the park. If no one else had claimed that spot under the play structure, he might just burrow in there for the night. Tomorrow, maybe he could find somewhere to take a shower and clean up for his family holiday.
“Hey, Joe!” He called out a greeting to another park regular as he walked across the grass. “How you doin’?”
The old man looked up, his wrinkly face even uglier in the weird shadows of the Christmas lights on the park trees.
“Not so good these days,” he answered. “Got robbed a couple of nights back. Don’t know what they thought they were going to get off me, but they did it anyway.”
Jack noticed that his friend wore only a light windbreaker, and the rucksack he usually carried slung over one shoulder was conspicuously missing.
“Did you go down to the mission?” Jack asked. “Get another coat?”
“They don’t got any,” Joe shrugged. “They said too many people need ‘em. So there weren’t one for me.” He patted his belly with a good natured smile. “’Sides, they wouldn’ta had anything to fit me and my girlish figure.” Even as he chuckled, Jack saw him shiver violently.
“Here,” he said, slipping this own coat off his shoulders. Underneath it, he wore two tatty sweaters, neither one remotely fashionable. “Not fancy, but it’s warm.”
“I can’t take your coat, Jack!” Joe protested, but Jack held it out to him firmly.
“I’ll be fine,” Jack said. “I got two sweaters to keep me warm. ‘Sides, I’m going home for Christmas. Gonna see my grandkids.”
Joe accepted the coat with humble gratitude, and stood up to put it on. He smiled as the coat, still warm from Jack’s body, wrapped around him.
Jack said goodnight, and found his way to the playground. His spot was empty, and he crawled in underneath the slide, out of the wind. He settled in and made himself comfortable.
“Jack.” A voice, vaguely familiar, pulled him out of sleep. He opened his eyes, finding it brighter than usual for a winter morning. But then, he wasn’t under the slide anymore. And he wasn’t cold.
“I’m right here,” he answered that voice.
“Come, follow me.” A man, standing a few feet away, gestured to him. Jack went to him, thinking as he did that the man looked an awful lot like that picture of Jesus in the church building he used to go to every Sunday. “I have a place waiting for you in Heaven.”
“I can’t go to Heaven,” Jack said, shaking his head. He wanted to follow, more than he wanted anything in the world, ever. But his own recollection of the past held his feet in check. “I don’t deserve to.”
“How can you say that?” The Stranger asked him, “When you have given me the same gifts that the wise men brought at my birth?”
This has got to be a dream, he thought. I’ve never brought any gifts to Jesus. I’m nothing but an old drunk!
“You gave your gold to a stranger who needed a way home. You gave your myrrh, the gift of healing, to your daughter when you called and promised more than you have ever given before. And you laid your frankincense in the hands of a friend who needed uplift and comfort.” The man in white smiled the kindest smile Jack had ever seen. In it, he saw the same smile he had seen on Kaitlyn’s face, heard in his daughter’s voice, and felt inside himself when he saw his coat warming his friend. “Tonight, you’ve given everything for others, and there is no greater love than that.”
The Lord laid his hands on Jack’s shoulders.
“Now come, celebrate my birthday with me in the Kingdom of My Father.”
With the warmest feeling radiating through his entire spirit, stronger than anything he had ever felt before, Jack followed.
12/15/10
24 The Greatest Christmas Gift Ever
"Greater love hath no man than this...."
'I remember the day as if it were just yesterday, although many years have passed.'
Those were the words the old man used. A few years have passed since he and I sat and talked, but I now understand the words and the look in his eye as he spoke.
It was a day about like any other winter day in our area – cold, windy and generally miserable. I wouldn't even have been out in it, had it not been necessary to get a last minute Christmas gift. The last thing I wanted was to die of exposure to the weather in a Michigan winter. And yet, here I was, sitting at a bus stop in the frigid, unfriendly conditions that any sane individual would be avoiding like the plague. That's when he approached and sat on the bench next to me. He was of average height, weight and appearance, but there was a sense of happiness that was disarming in a strange way.
"Hello, young man, how are you this fine day?" He offered his hand, wrapped as it was in glove. A bit surprised, I offered mine in return before I had even processed the thought.
"As good as anyone can be on such a nasty day, I guess." I went back to looking for the bus and wondering if I would need to be thawed before I could get on it.
"Nasty? No, sir. It's a wonderful day to be alive. Any day this side of dirt is a good one."
I have to admit that I thought he might have been a bit addled to be so enthusiastic about such inclement weather conditions, but the world is full of all kinds, after all. We can't all be sane and well-adjusted. Yet, he continued.
"I take it you don't share my enthusiasm." His smile did not fade in the least.
"Well, no, I have never been one to enjoy winter that much. I would rather be inside with a hot cocoa and a good movie or book right now. Instead, I need to get a gift for my niece, if there are even any left when I get there." I snorted and huffed in disgust at the thought of the shelves being picked over or empty.
"I once felt as you do. Not anymore, though." He clapped his gloved hands together and looked about himself as if he were sitting on a park bench in the middle of new spring flowers. There was an unmistakable joy in his gaze and countenance. It made me wish I could share it, yet I could not even understand it. "It all changed one winter, just like this one. That winter was like a gift to me."
"Gifts...." I sniffed. "Well, this winter is no gift to me, that's for sure. I don't expect my last minute search will pay off, so I will have been out in the cold for nothing and my niece will still have no present of any real value."
"Value is in the eye of the beholder, son."
"Well, that may be, but the fact remains that I would rather be inside where it's warm. Why Jesus chose to be born in the middle of winter is beyond me."
At that the old man began to laugh. It was warm and infectious and somehow chased away the cranky feelings I had been expressing so openly to a stranger.
"Well, there is some debate as to the time of year he was born, but let me share a story with you while we wait...if that's alright with you?" He raised his eyebrows in anticipation of my answer.
"Sure, why not. I have nothing else to do until the bus comes." I was being polite. Pleasant or not, I wasn't convinced his story was going to make me feel any better.
"Alright, then. I remember the day as if it were just yesterday, although many years have passed."
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly and settled back on the bench as he began to weave his tale. It took only a moment to know that the story was real to him and I was drawn in, like an observer unseen and sitting in the darkness of a theatrical presentation. His words were heartfelt as he continued.
"As I said, it was a winter just like this one – the winter of 1971, as a matter of fact. I was an irresponsible, young rascal of the highest order." He snickered softly and you could sense that he saw again in his mind the scenes of that day. "I was wrapped up in sex, drugs and rock and roll. And I was on the path to eventual destruction, I am sure. And I was not alone in my drive to oblivion, either. Several friends, so-called, were sharing the view with me along that road. We were partiers, all of us. Hard partiers."
Suddenly, it was as if only he and I existed in the world at that moment. There was an utter and complete stillness that enveloped us. No traffic noises, no sounds at all, but for the voice of this one old man. Even my chattering teeth and heavy breathing had ceased to be noticeable. I hung on every word this man spoke, unable to pry my attention from him.
"...so there we were, Dan and I, sitting at the kitchen table, high on LSD and rambling about some inane thing that we must have thought to be very clever and insightful at the time. That's when it happened...." He paused in a far-away gaze and sat silent with the hint of a smile on his face.
"What? What happened?" My voice seemed like a noisy intruder in the quiet that surrounded us.
"The Holy Ghost, son. Suddenly we were not alone anymore. We both knew it, too. There was no denying it for either of us. One moment we were just two stoned idiots sitting there talking and the next we had our minds blown totally by the presence of God." He chuckled again. "LSD is a powerful drug, but this...oh, this...this was something neither of us had ever experienced in our short and impetuous lives. It was every bit like a Klieg light in total darkness. It was as if someone had snapped on a switch and suddenly we were in a different realm, you know?"
Of course I didn't. There was no way I could, but I nodded and he continued. The strange thing is, I no longer thought him crazy. I should have, with a tale such as he was relating to me at the moment, but he was genuine in his belief that it had happened and, for some unknown and unexplainable reason, I could not disbelieve it either.
"God never takes away your personal moral agency, son. The question implied that night was, 'is it revelation or is it hallucination?' We both knew the answer to that one immediately. There was no denying that we both were experiencing the same event. No drug, no matter how powerful, does that. And this.....this was so much more powerful than the drug ever could have been. It eclipsed any drug-induced experience I or any man had ever had in the history of the world, I assure you. The feeling of pure and utter love was tangible, so thick you could cut it with a knife. It was like a big hug from someone you have a mutual love with." He stared off into space for a moment in private reverie before proceeding.
"The next several hours were spent in receiving revelation. If you have never felt pure intelligence pour into you, you have no concept of the exhilaration and joy that it brings. It was as if we were plugged into the great cosmic switchboard and suddenly knew things we had never even conceived of before. Just suddenly knew them to be true. And later they proved to be so, too."
He went on to relate how he and his friend, Dan, had sat there at that same table for hours more, each being alternately used by the Holy Ghost as a mouthpiece to teach these principles to one another. Things they never knew were being taught to them even as they spoke the words. I have to admit that if anyone but this man had been telling me the story, that is all I would have thought it to be -- a fanciful story, and nothing more. But this was not your average story, nor, it seemed, your average man.
"We then took a walk, as we were unable to sleep after such an event, as you can imagine. We saw the world in an entirely new and unique way that night. The snow on the ground and the ice that we stepped on. It was like the world was one huge ball of crystal and mankind was scratching and chipping it with his every step and movement...desecrating this Urim and Thummim the Lord had formed for our use."
The terms were unfamiliar to me, but I did not interrupt. I would look them up later. Surely, they had to be in the Bible or a dictionary. He proceeded.
"And then we were led back to the apartment we had so recently departed from. That was when the most amazing thing happened."
More amazing than anything yet? I did not interrupt this time. I didn't want to hear my own voice intruding in the midst of such a wondrous tale as I was hearing.
"We had been listening to many LP records when we visited that apartment. Some we had heard many times, but I have to tell you, under the influence of the Holy Ghost, things can take on a totally different meaning than you think them to be. And that is what happened that night to Dan and I. The LP was by a group called FREE and the title was Fire And Water. Do you see the analogy in that? The sense of humor God has?"
He waited but a second for my reply and I nodded my agreement.
"Oh, yes, he has a wonderful sense of humor, but he loves his children, too, and he showed us that night the error of our ways and the right path. We were instructed to place the needle on the record...you knew that they didn't always have CD's, right?" He grinned as I smiled back at the thought.
"The song was Heavy Load. It had this plodding, sad and heavy piano back-beat that was for all the world reminiscent of a man under the weight of sin and grief, dragging himself along a lonely and dismal road, with no companion but God, to whom he makes his complaint that he can go no further down, recognizing he has taken the wrong road in his life. As the song opens, Dan and I are suddenly pressed down under the unseen weight of our own sins and find ourselves lieing on the floor, sobbing with great, heaving gasps. As the last strains die out, the weight lifts and we are again free of that crushing pressure. We are allowed a short time to discuss the experience and are instructed to again repeat the song, with the same result. And a third time we are told to do the same thing. Each time it is the same. The same crushing weight of sin, the same crying in desperation and sorrow for our shortcomings. The same grief over our choices in life."
That this was not your average story was more than apparent now. It was the most engaging and intriguing story I had ever heard in my life. I could not help but believe it, regardless of how improbable and far-fetched it was. The man told it as any man would after living it personally. There was no denying the truth of it, even as a listener.
"I went from being missing from home a week or more at a time, to being home every night and reading the Bible. You can imagine how perplexed my parents must have been." Again he grinned and chuckled. "There had been a miraculous change in Dan and I. One minute neither of us knew if there was a God and the next minute we couldn't deny it. No, sir. Not for one second since that time. Personally, I believe God saved my life that night."
I was suddenly aware that I was no longer shivering from the cold. It was as if a warm blanket, fresh from the dryer, had been laid over me.
"Son, I learned that winter that there were more important things about Christmas than getting stoned and 'oooh-ing and ahhh-ing' over the pretty lights or laughing about silly and unfulfilling frivolities. I learned that the greatest gift of all was given by God himself. He knew we had to have a way to get back to him, that we were in a fallen and unworthy state, but he loves us so much that he made the ultimate sacrifice. His own son paid a price that only a God could pay -- to buy us back from death and sin, if we would only accept the payment in our behalf and then live right." At this point, the old man turned to me and looked into my eyes with an intensity that almost burned.
"How would you feel if you knew someone had given his own life to save yours?"
The question hit like a ton of bricks. I was speechless at the thought. If I had done something so wrong and so heinous as to be punishable by death, or if I were in such perils as to need rescuing, how would I feel if my rescuer lost his life in saving mine? I would be devastated, thinking that another family was altered forever because of me. I would want to reach out and take care of their every need, in gratitude, in a feeling of indebtedness for the gift I had been given of my own life. How could I waste it from then on in selfish pursuits? And that's when it hit me; the true meaning of what the old man meant by his question. And that's also when I began to cry, with that same sobbing he had spoken of – that sense of despair and feeling of unworthiness, knowing that the Son of God had been given as a sacrifice for me, for my measly and insignificant life. For my self-centered, egotistical and so far meaningless existence.
The old man put a hand on my shoulder to comfort me. I was still crying like a baby, face in hands. It seemed forever until I could regather my composure. And when I looked at him again, dusk had passed, the street lights had come on and there was what appeared to be a halo around the man. To this day, I would not doubt he was an angel. Maybe not in the supernatural sense, but a messenger from God, nonetheless.
"Here's your bus, son. God bless you and have the best Christmas you ever had, alright?"
"Aren't you waiting for the bus, too?"
"Nope. I was waiting for you. That's my Christmas present."
I didn't know if he meant this had been his present to me or if sharing with me was like a present to him. It didn't matter. I thanked him and made as if to shake his hand when, without warning, he gave me a big bear hug and said, "God bless you, son. I love you and your Father in Heaven loves you." I swear I knew at that moment that this total stranger truly loved me for who I was. I knew it was a pure love, even as God has for me – for all his children.
'I remember the day as if it were just yesterday, although many years have passed.'
I find myself saying these same words to my children and grandchildren, even to total strangers, to this day. And I always smile when I think of the man who said them first to me. I know that God sent that man out on that cold winter night to fix a heart that was twisted and broken; to set a lost wanderer onto the right road again. I have been led by that same Spirit many times myself since then. It never ceases to amaze me or to bring great joy to my heart when I follow those promptings and see the miraculous change in others, for I know that I am helping God to bring peace to the world, one person at a time – one child of God, one brother or sister of mine that I never knew before then. There is no greater love than that which Christ gave for mankind those two millenia ago; no greater sacrifice. It is indeed the greatest Christmas gift ever.
Here is a link to the song referred to in the story. Yes, it is a real song and it really was used by God to change my life. I hope you understand the message of it. I was like the prodigal son and so is the man in the song, except we never know if he is able to return from the choices he has made in life. Thanks to divine intervention, I was able to return to a Father who loves me.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a0L8lCu1Z4w&feature=related
23 With Wondering Awe
Becky Manning found a colorfully wrapped box topped with a red bow. Forgetting about what she was searching for in the closet, she retrieved the box and read the tag – To Sarah, From Becky. A tear rolled down her cheek. She'd forgotten all about last year's Christmas gift. Unfortunatley, certain circumstances prevented her from giving it to her sister. The biggest one was Sarah's passing.
"What's that?"
Becky spun around, nearly dropping the box. Her fourteen-year-old brother stood beside her bed.
"What are you doing here?"
"Mom wants us all in the living room."
Becky sighed and stepped out of the closet. She placed the box on her desk and faced her brother.
"What does she want?"
Jared shrugged, more interested in the package than the errand he was directed to run. "What's that?"
"A present."
Jared read the name. "Why did you get a present for Sarah? She's dead."
Her eyes shimmered with tears. She buried her face in her hands. Jared stood awkwardly, unsure of what to do.
"Becky? I . . . I'm sorry." He patted her shoulder, relieved when her tears subsided.
Becky sniffed and looked at her brother. "It's okay, Jared. I just miss her."
"Me, too. Is that why you got her a gift?"
Becky laughed. "Actually, I got her this last year, but she never got a chance to open it." Jared nodded. Becky put an arm around him. "Let's go see what Mom wants."
Upon entering the living room, Becky halted in mid-stride, as anger surfaced. She placed both hands on her hips and demanded, "What's going on?"
"What does it look like?" her father retorted, as he untangled a large strand of Christmas lights. "We're putting up the Christmas decorations."
"Why?"
Her mother glanced at Becky and furrowed her brows. "Are you all right, dear?"
"No, I'm not all right."
"Well, this will cheer you up. Christmas is in three weeks. Normally, we'd have the decorations up sooner, but we've all been busy."
"It was because of Sarah that we had the decorations up sooner."
Becky's mother laughed. "That's right. Well, we're doing it now so join the fun."
Daniel helped their father with the lights. He's a year older than Becky and a senior in high school. Jared went to work looking for ornaments, and Timmy, the youngest, took care of the garland. Becky watched the display and seethed with anger. No one cared that her little sister couldn't participate in the activities. They all acted as if she never even existed. Watching the camaraderie became too much for her. She bolted out of the room like a shot and slammed her bedroom door. Christmas just wouldn't be the same without Sarah.
Becky had always longed for a sister. Jared was born when she was two, and Timmy came two years after that. When her mother told her she was expecting again, Becky prayed for a sister and was blessed with Sarah. Becky was six years old, but she doted on Sarah as if she were a doll. She absolutely adored Sarah.
At eight years old, Sarah was diagnosed with leukemia. Becky's world plummeted. However, she kept the faith that her little sister would recover. It was a miracle when Sarah went into remission the following summer just before her ninth birthday. The whole family felt extremely blessed that their prayers had been answered. Unfortunately, their happiness was short-lived, when two months later Sarah's cancer returned.
Becky, however, kept her faith alive. She never wanted her sister to see her faith waiver. Becky encouraged Sarah to strive for life in every possible way. When Christmastime arrived and Sarah took a turn for the worse, Becky refused to believe all was lost. This was a season for miracles and her entire family desperately needed a miracle. But the miracle never came.
She stared at the ceiling with a single tear rolling down her cheek. Why did you take her from me? A sister was all I wanted, and you took her away too soon.
A knock sounded on her door. "Go away," she said, as she rolled over to face the stark-white wall, assuming it was one of her meddling brothers.
Her mother poked her head inside. "Becky, honey, are you all right?"
"Yeah, sure," she lied. "I'm just tired."
"Why don't you come help us trim the tree?"
"Because I don't want to."
Letting out a sigh, she continued. "Come on, Becky," her mother coaxed, as she entered the room. "You can't hole yourself in here for the entire holiday."
"Why not?"
Silence ensued, as Becky's mind whirled with possible rebuttals to keep from being dragged to the festivities downstairs. She heard the click of her door being shut and turned. Her mother had left. Becky sighed with relief.
* * * * * *
The next few days left Becky feeling horrible. People were excitably celebrating the Christmas season. The festivities were blatantly obvious everywhere she turned -- even in her own home. Her younger brothers were excited about presents, treats, parties, and were even hit with the spirit of giving. Becky didn't want to give anyone a thing, because she couldn't get passed the heartache the season caused.
On Monday night – ten days before Christmas – she reluctantly joined her family for Family Home Evening. She curled up on the couch, allowing Timmy to rest his head against her. He may be a deacon, but he still adored his big sister. Daniel offered the prayer. Their dad had the boys choose different hymns to sing.
Becky didn't participate, especially when Christmas songs were sung. Her parents didn't say a word regarding her silence. They just sang along with the boys.
"Would you like to choose a song, Becky?" her mother asked.
"Not really."
"Come on. Join in the fun."
"She's being Scrooge," Jared explained. "She hates Christmas, don't you? Bah humbug, right?" he taunted.
"That's enough, Jared," their father scolded.
"It's true. She didn't help with the decorations. She's not singing any of the songs. She's a scrooge I tell you."
Becky closed her eyes, wishing she could be anywhere but there. Tears leaked out the corners of her eyes.
"Look what you did," Timmy said. "You made her cry."
Becky opened her eyes. "Can I go to my room? Please?"
"No. I haven't given the lesson yet," her mother replied.
Their mother started the lesson which was on the birth of Christ. Becky heard this story numerous times in her young life, but today was different. Today, she didn't feel the spirit, nor did she feel happy about the season. She felt anger toward God, who robbed her of the sister she'd always longed for and enjoyed having around since the moment she was born.
Becky rose to her feet. All eyes fell on her since it interrupted their mother's lesson.
"Becky, sit down. I'm not through yet."
"I've heard enough. I don't know how you can be so cruel. You walk around the house so happy, celebrating a holiday that doesn't deserve any celebration. Have you all forgotten about Sarah?"
"Oh, honey."
Becky stepped back from her mother's reach and put a hand up. Tears exploded from her eyes. "Don't you understand? We should be remembering Sarah not celebrating Christmas. A time for miracles? Yeah right. Where was my miracle last year? Instead God took my baby sister and to make it worse, she had to die on Christmas day. That's the cruelest thing God could ever do. Well, go on and celebrate, but leave me out of it. I'd rather remember Christmas the way it was when Sarah was alive."
Becky stormed out of the room, flung herself on her bed, and cried herself to sleep.
* * * * * *
A fog descended on her and she couldn't make out a thing. Tremulously, she ventured forward and saw an image approaching her. Becky paused in awe of the figure growing brighter as it got closer and closer. It was Sarah dressed in white with a brilliant light surrounding her. She took Becky's breath away, as Sarah smiled and beckoned her to come forward. They embraced, as tears were shed on Becky's part.
"I've missed you so much," Becky gushed, as she clung to her sister. "Please don't ever leave me."
"There's something I must show you."
"I'll go anywhere you want, as long as you come back home to me."
Sarah smiled and took her sister's hand. "Let's go," she said.
In a flash, they were taken to a remote place where shepherds watched their flock. A bright light appeared above them. Becky stared in awe, as she watched the scene unfold before her as if it were a movie. She saw multitudes of angels, yet she couldn't hear them speak. None of that mattered though. The incredible peace could be felt all around.
"This is wonderful," Becky exclaimed. "I've never seen anything like it."
"It's a beautiful sight," Sarah agreed, "but there's more to see."
The scene dissolved before her eyes. Next thing she knew, they stood outside a stable. People gathered inside. Becky and Sarah hovered above, not a part of the event taking place before their eyes.
"I don't believe it," Becky said. "That's Mary, isn't it?"
"Yes."
A tear slipped out of the corner of her eye. "Let's go, Sarah. I don't wanna see this."
"Why not?"
"Because you died on his birthday. This whole season reminds me of what I lost."
"I may not be on earth with you, but I still live on. We all come to earth for a purpose, to receive a body, and come unto Christ. My time on earth may have been short, but it served its purpose."
Becky glared at her sister, a look of horror planted on her face. "How can you say that? We didn't get to do all the things that we were meant to do together. I was going to teach you about makeup and clothes. I wanted to be there when you started dating and when you got married. I thought we'd raise our children close by so we could have them be the best of friends."
Tears ran in rivulets down both cheeks. She paused to catch her breath. When she regained her composure, she continued, "But God took that all away from me."
"Don't you see? That wasn't my station in life."
"You'll never get to experience what I have or what I will."
Sarah squeezed Becky's hand. "I'm not supposed to. And it's okay. I had a great life on earth. I wouldn't trade the family I had for a chance to return."
"You might as well. They've pretty much forgotten you."
Sarah shook her head vehemently. "No they haven't. They miss me. But they know they'll see me again. Mom and Dad married in the temple. We were born under that covenant. As long as we live worthily, we'll always be together." Sarah sounded so knowledgeable, although she appeared to be nine years old in Becky's eyes.
"But . . . but why bring me here?"
"So you can see how important this day was in the history of the world. We celebrate His birth because He came to earth knowing His life wouldn't last that long either. He knew He'd be ridiculed, spat upon, and shamed, yet He endured all of that for us. Because of Him and the atonement, we'll be able to return to Heavenly Father. I don't want you to lose sight of that because you miss me."
"I just don't want to forget you."
"Find a way to keep me alive in your heart, but don't stop living because I'm not there anymore."
Becky glanced at Mary holding baby Jesus. Such an awe-inspiring scene. She buried her face in her hands. How could she ever express her apology? She didn't feel worthy to do so.
"I must go," Sarah replied.
"No, don't leave yet. I'm not ready," Becky pleaded. "There's so much I want to say to you."
"We'll have eternity. But for now, you must live your life. Do something good with it, and stay close to Heavenly Father. He'll always be there to guide you."
"I will, but Sarah . . . wait."
"Goodbye, my sister. I love you."
"Oh, Sarah," Becky bawled. "I love you, too."
They embraced and then Sarah was gone. Becky sat up with a start and found herself in her own bed. A dream. It was only a dream, a dream that felt more real than anything she'd ever experienced. With a prayer in her heart and a smile on her face, she drifted back to sleep content that everything would work out after all.
* * * * * *
After reciting the dream to her parents, her mother took a tissue from the box on the end table and blew her nose. "That's so beautiful, Becky. Thank you for sharing that with us."
"I had to share it with you. I feel so stupid for my behavior the past few weeks."
"Honey, I didn't realize how hard you took Sarah's death," her mother replied.
"I know. I'm sorry I kept you in the dark." Becky paused for a moment. "I . . . I want to do something in Sarah's name for Christmas."
"What's that?" her father asked.
"Well . . ."
For the next half hour, they discussed at length Becky's plan. Her parents were thrilled with the idea and asked Becky's brothers for their assistance.
The next day, the entire family went shopping. It was a happy event that Becky would treasure. She let go of the anger she'd been harboring all Christmas season and finally felt peace settle in her heart. The spirit of Christmas was contagious, and it made her whole family giddy with excitement.
Once at home, Jared and Timmy collected all the wrapping paper and brought it in the living room. Becky placed the purchases on the floor, and they got to work wrapping presents. Becky's mother brought out Christmas cookies and hot chocolate for everyone to munch on while they worked.
Daniel glanced out the window and laughed. "Hey, everybody. It's snowing."
The boys rushed to the window to see how much had accumulated on the ground. Becky smiled at her parents. It was going to be a good Christmas after all.
Becky's parents put the wrapped gifts under the tree. After dinner, their father turned on the tree lights. They sang Christmas carols and ate cookies until it grew late. Later, Becky snuggled in her bed whispering a heartfelt prayer. She fell asleep dreaming about Sarah.
* * * * * *
After breakfast, the family carried the wrapped gifts to the van and drove to the hospital. Becky and the boys wore somber expressions, as they walked down corridors toward the right department. Becky's father explained the situation to the head nurse, who gave them permission to drop off the presents to each child in the cancer ward.
Becky's heart melted and an overwhelming peace cloaked her, as she saw children connected to tubes or with no hair. But even through their pain, they beamed when given their Christmas present. The boys received toy cars or trucks; the girls a doll or stuffed animal. Becky also gave the girls an extra special gift – a beautiful silver-plated hairbrush, comb and hand mirror set – just like the one she intended to give Sarah last year.
"Keep the faith," Becky told the girls. "This hairbrush set is to help you not lose hope. Your hair will grow back and you will recover, if it's God's will. My sister lived a remarkable life, but God called her home. I want you all to know that we care. These gifts were given to you in memory of my sister, Sarah Manning."
Becky's mother embraced her with tears streaming down her face. "That was beautiful, Becky. This whole idea was beautiful."
"Thanks, Mom. I couldn't have done it without your help . . . or Sarah's."
On Christmas Eve, Becky unwrapped Sarah's present. She set the hairbrush, comb and hand mirror on her dresser. It stood as a reminder to never take life for granted. She ran the brush through her brown hair and smiled at her reflection in the little mirror. Climbing into bed, she pondered on the year that had gone by. She remembered the struggle and all she neglected to do because of her sorrow over her sister's death. She no longer felt sorrow, but so joyful at having had nine years with the most wonderful sister God chose to send to her.
Timmy rushed into her room what seemed to Becky merely minutes after putting her head on the pillow. "It's Christmas," he shouted with elation, as he bounced on her bed.
Becky opened an eye and looked at her clock on the night stand. It glowed six o'clock, and she moaned as she covered her head with her blanket.
"No, Becky. Wake up," Timmy protested, as he shook his sister awake.
Becky moaned again and flung the blankets aside. "I'm up."
Timmy laughed, as he hauled her out of bed, acting more like a six year old.
The rest of the family entered the family room while yawning. Timmy was apparently the only one wide awake. Becky's father turned on the lights and offered the family prayer. Their mother distributed the presents to everyone.
Becky remembered Sarah's reaction at the gifts she received. Her face would light up and she'd squeal with delight. Remembering it brought a smile to Becky's face. Surprisingly, these memories no longer brought pain and sorrow, just fondness and a happy feeling of having those memories to cherish for years to come.
When all the gifts had been opened, everyone gathered at the table for breakfast. Becky brought the hymn book, flipping it open to the Christmas section. She read each title slowly and paused when she read, "With Wondering Awe." That was it! That totally described her dream. She closed the book, holding it close to her.
Thank you, Sarah. Thank you for giving me my life back. Merry Christmas.
And it truly was a merry Christmas.
"What's that?"
Becky spun around, nearly dropping the box. Her fourteen-year-old brother stood beside her bed.
"What are you doing here?"
"Mom wants us all in the living room."
Becky sighed and stepped out of the closet. She placed the box on her desk and faced her brother.
"What does she want?"
Jared shrugged, more interested in the package than the errand he was directed to run. "What's that?"
"A present."
Jared read the name. "Why did you get a present for Sarah? She's dead."
Her eyes shimmered with tears. She buried her face in her hands. Jared stood awkwardly, unsure of what to do.
"Becky? I . . . I'm sorry." He patted her shoulder, relieved when her tears subsided.
Becky sniffed and looked at her brother. "It's okay, Jared. I just miss her."
"Me, too. Is that why you got her a gift?"
Becky laughed. "Actually, I got her this last year, but she never got a chance to open it." Jared nodded. Becky put an arm around him. "Let's go see what Mom wants."
Upon entering the living room, Becky halted in mid-stride, as anger surfaced. She placed both hands on her hips and demanded, "What's going on?"
"What does it look like?" her father retorted, as he untangled a large strand of Christmas lights. "We're putting up the Christmas decorations."
"Why?"
Her mother glanced at Becky and furrowed her brows. "Are you all right, dear?"
"No, I'm not all right."
"Well, this will cheer you up. Christmas is in three weeks. Normally, we'd have the decorations up sooner, but we've all been busy."
"It was because of Sarah that we had the decorations up sooner."
Becky's mother laughed. "That's right. Well, we're doing it now so join the fun."
Daniel helped their father with the lights. He's a year older than Becky and a senior in high school. Jared went to work looking for ornaments, and Timmy, the youngest, took care of the garland. Becky watched the display and seethed with anger. No one cared that her little sister couldn't participate in the activities. They all acted as if she never even existed. Watching the camaraderie became too much for her. She bolted out of the room like a shot and slammed her bedroom door. Christmas just wouldn't be the same without Sarah.
Becky had always longed for a sister. Jared was born when she was two, and Timmy came two years after that. When her mother told her she was expecting again, Becky prayed for a sister and was blessed with Sarah. Becky was six years old, but she doted on Sarah as if she were a doll. She absolutely adored Sarah.
At eight years old, Sarah was diagnosed with leukemia. Becky's world plummeted. However, she kept the faith that her little sister would recover. It was a miracle when Sarah went into remission the following summer just before her ninth birthday. The whole family felt extremely blessed that their prayers had been answered. Unfortunately, their happiness was short-lived, when two months later Sarah's cancer returned.
Becky, however, kept her faith alive. She never wanted her sister to see her faith waiver. Becky encouraged Sarah to strive for life in every possible way. When Christmastime arrived and Sarah took a turn for the worse, Becky refused to believe all was lost. This was a season for miracles and her entire family desperately needed a miracle. But the miracle never came.
She stared at the ceiling with a single tear rolling down her cheek. Why did you take her from me? A sister was all I wanted, and you took her away too soon.
A knock sounded on her door. "Go away," she said, as she rolled over to face the stark-white wall, assuming it was one of her meddling brothers.
Her mother poked her head inside. "Becky, honey, are you all right?"
"Yeah, sure," she lied. "I'm just tired."
"Why don't you come help us trim the tree?"
"Because I don't want to."
Letting out a sigh, she continued. "Come on, Becky," her mother coaxed, as she entered the room. "You can't hole yourself in here for the entire holiday."
"Why not?"
Silence ensued, as Becky's mind whirled with possible rebuttals to keep from being dragged to the festivities downstairs. She heard the click of her door being shut and turned. Her mother had left. Becky sighed with relief.
* * * * * *
The next few days left Becky feeling horrible. People were excitably celebrating the Christmas season. The festivities were blatantly obvious everywhere she turned -- even in her own home. Her younger brothers were excited about presents, treats, parties, and were even hit with the spirit of giving. Becky didn't want to give anyone a thing, because she couldn't get passed the heartache the season caused.
On Monday night – ten days before Christmas – she reluctantly joined her family for Family Home Evening. She curled up on the couch, allowing Timmy to rest his head against her. He may be a deacon, but he still adored his big sister. Daniel offered the prayer. Their dad had the boys choose different hymns to sing.
Becky didn't participate, especially when Christmas songs were sung. Her parents didn't say a word regarding her silence. They just sang along with the boys.
"Would you like to choose a song, Becky?" her mother asked.
"Not really."
"Come on. Join in the fun."
"She's being Scrooge," Jared explained. "She hates Christmas, don't you? Bah humbug, right?" he taunted.
"That's enough, Jared," their father scolded.
"It's true. She didn't help with the decorations. She's not singing any of the songs. She's a scrooge I tell you."
Becky closed her eyes, wishing she could be anywhere but there. Tears leaked out the corners of her eyes.
"Look what you did," Timmy said. "You made her cry."
Becky opened her eyes. "Can I go to my room? Please?"
"No. I haven't given the lesson yet," her mother replied.
Their mother started the lesson which was on the birth of Christ. Becky heard this story numerous times in her young life, but today was different. Today, she didn't feel the spirit, nor did she feel happy about the season. She felt anger toward God, who robbed her of the sister she'd always longed for and enjoyed having around since the moment she was born.
Becky rose to her feet. All eyes fell on her since it interrupted their mother's lesson.
"Becky, sit down. I'm not through yet."
"I've heard enough. I don't know how you can be so cruel. You walk around the house so happy, celebrating a holiday that doesn't deserve any celebration. Have you all forgotten about Sarah?"
"Oh, honey."
Becky stepped back from her mother's reach and put a hand up. Tears exploded from her eyes. "Don't you understand? We should be remembering Sarah not celebrating Christmas. A time for miracles? Yeah right. Where was my miracle last year? Instead God took my baby sister and to make it worse, she had to die on Christmas day. That's the cruelest thing God could ever do. Well, go on and celebrate, but leave me out of it. I'd rather remember Christmas the way it was when Sarah was alive."
Becky stormed out of the room, flung herself on her bed, and cried herself to sleep.
* * * * * *
A fog descended on her and she couldn't make out a thing. Tremulously, she ventured forward and saw an image approaching her. Becky paused in awe of the figure growing brighter as it got closer and closer. It was Sarah dressed in white with a brilliant light surrounding her. She took Becky's breath away, as Sarah smiled and beckoned her to come forward. They embraced, as tears were shed on Becky's part.
"I've missed you so much," Becky gushed, as she clung to her sister. "Please don't ever leave me."
"There's something I must show you."
"I'll go anywhere you want, as long as you come back home to me."
Sarah smiled and took her sister's hand. "Let's go," she said.
In a flash, they were taken to a remote place where shepherds watched their flock. A bright light appeared above them. Becky stared in awe, as she watched the scene unfold before her as if it were a movie. She saw multitudes of angels, yet she couldn't hear them speak. None of that mattered though. The incredible peace could be felt all around.
"This is wonderful," Becky exclaimed. "I've never seen anything like it."
"It's a beautiful sight," Sarah agreed, "but there's more to see."
The scene dissolved before her eyes. Next thing she knew, they stood outside a stable. People gathered inside. Becky and Sarah hovered above, not a part of the event taking place before their eyes.
"I don't believe it," Becky said. "That's Mary, isn't it?"
"Yes."
A tear slipped out of the corner of her eye. "Let's go, Sarah. I don't wanna see this."
"Why not?"
"Because you died on his birthday. This whole season reminds me of what I lost."
"I may not be on earth with you, but I still live on. We all come to earth for a purpose, to receive a body, and come unto Christ. My time on earth may have been short, but it served its purpose."
Becky glared at her sister, a look of horror planted on her face. "How can you say that? We didn't get to do all the things that we were meant to do together. I was going to teach you about makeup and clothes. I wanted to be there when you started dating and when you got married. I thought we'd raise our children close by so we could have them be the best of friends."
Tears ran in rivulets down both cheeks. She paused to catch her breath. When she regained her composure, she continued, "But God took that all away from me."
"Don't you see? That wasn't my station in life."
"You'll never get to experience what I have or what I will."
Sarah squeezed Becky's hand. "I'm not supposed to. And it's okay. I had a great life on earth. I wouldn't trade the family I had for a chance to return."
"You might as well. They've pretty much forgotten you."
Sarah shook her head vehemently. "No they haven't. They miss me. But they know they'll see me again. Mom and Dad married in the temple. We were born under that covenant. As long as we live worthily, we'll always be together." Sarah sounded so knowledgeable, although she appeared to be nine years old in Becky's eyes.
"But . . . but why bring me here?"
"So you can see how important this day was in the history of the world. We celebrate His birth because He came to earth knowing His life wouldn't last that long either. He knew He'd be ridiculed, spat upon, and shamed, yet He endured all of that for us. Because of Him and the atonement, we'll be able to return to Heavenly Father. I don't want you to lose sight of that because you miss me."
"I just don't want to forget you."
"Find a way to keep me alive in your heart, but don't stop living because I'm not there anymore."
Becky glanced at Mary holding baby Jesus. Such an awe-inspiring scene. She buried her face in her hands. How could she ever express her apology? She didn't feel worthy to do so.
"I must go," Sarah replied.
"No, don't leave yet. I'm not ready," Becky pleaded. "There's so much I want to say to you."
"We'll have eternity. But for now, you must live your life. Do something good with it, and stay close to Heavenly Father. He'll always be there to guide you."
"I will, but Sarah . . . wait."
"Goodbye, my sister. I love you."
"Oh, Sarah," Becky bawled. "I love you, too."
They embraced and then Sarah was gone. Becky sat up with a start and found herself in her own bed. A dream. It was only a dream, a dream that felt more real than anything she'd ever experienced. With a prayer in her heart and a smile on her face, she drifted back to sleep content that everything would work out after all.
* * * * * *
After reciting the dream to her parents, her mother took a tissue from the box on the end table and blew her nose. "That's so beautiful, Becky. Thank you for sharing that with us."
"I had to share it with you. I feel so stupid for my behavior the past few weeks."
"Honey, I didn't realize how hard you took Sarah's death," her mother replied.
"I know. I'm sorry I kept you in the dark." Becky paused for a moment. "I . . . I want to do something in Sarah's name for Christmas."
"What's that?" her father asked.
"Well . . ."
For the next half hour, they discussed at length Becky's plan. Her parents were thrilled with the idea and asked Becky's brothers for their assistance.
The next day, the entire family went shopping. It was a happy event that Becky would treasure. She let go of the anger she'd been harboring all Christmas season and finally felt peace settle in her heart. The spirit of Christmas was contagious, and it made her whole family giddy with excitement.
Once at home, Jared and Timmy collected all the wrapping paper and brought it in the living room. Becky placed the purchases on the floor, and they got to work wrapping presents. Becky's mother brought out Christmas cookies and hot chocolate for everyone to munch on while they worked.
Daniel glanced out the window and laughed. "Hey, everybody. It's snowing."
The boys rushed to the window to see how much had accumulated on the ground. Becky smiled at her parents. It was going to be a good Christmas after all.
Becky's parents put the wrapped gifts under the tree. After dinner, their father turned on the tree lights. They sang Christmas carols and ate cookies until it grew late. Later, Becky snuggled in her bed whispering a heartfelt prayer. She fell asleep dreaming about Sarah.
* * * * * *
After breakfast, the family carried the wrapped gifts to the van and drove to the hospital. Becky and the boys wore somber expressions, as they walked down corridors toward the right department. Becky's father explained the situation to the head nurse, who gave them permission to drop off the presents to each child in the cancer ward.
Becky's heart melted and an overwhelming peace cloaked her, as she saw children connected to tubes or with no hair. But even through their pain, they beamed when given their Christmas present. The boys received toy cars or trucks; the girls a doll or stuffed animal. Becky also gave the girls an extra special gift – a beautiful silver-plated hairbrush, comb and hand mirror set – just like the one she intended to give Sarah last year.
"Keep the faith," Becky told the girls. "This hairbrush set is to help you not lose hope. Your hair will grow back and you will recover, if it's God's will. My sister lived a remarkable life, but God called her home. I want you all to know that we care. These gifts were given to you in memory of my sister, Sarah Manning."
Becky's mother embraced her with tears streaming down her face. "That was beautiful, Becky. This whole idea was beautiful."
"Thanks, Mom. I couldn't have done it without your help . . . or Sarah's."
On Christmas Eve, Becky unwrapped Sarah's present. She set the hairbrush, comb and hand mirror on her dresser. It stood as a reminder to never take life for granted. She ran the brush through her brown hair and smiled at her reflection in the little mirror. Climbing into bed, she pondered on the year that had gone by. She remembered the struggle and all she neglected to do because of her sorrow over her sister's death. She no longer felt sorrow, but so joyful at having had nine years with the most wonderful sister God chose to send to her.
Timmy rushed into her room what seemed to Becky merely minutes after putting her head on the pillow. "It's Christmas," he shouted with elation, as he bounced on her bed.
Becky opened an eye and looked at her clock on the night stand. It glowed six o'clock, and she moaned as she covered her head with her blanket.
"No, Becky. Wake up," Timmy protested, as he shook his sister awake.
Becky moaned again and flung the blankets aside. "I'm up."
Timmy laughed, as he hauled her out of bed, acting more like a six year old.
The rest of the family entered the family room while yawning. Timmy was apparently the only one wide awake. Becky's father turned on the lights and offered the family prayer. Their mother distributed the presents to everyone.
Becky remembered Sarah's reaction at the gifts she received. Her face would light up and she'd squeal with delight. Remembering it brought a smile to Becky's face. Surprisingly, these memories no longer brought pain and sorrow, just fondness and a happy feeling of having those memories to cherish for years to come.
When all the gifts had been opened, everyone gathered at the table for breakfast. Becky brought the hymn book, flipping it open to the Christmas section. She read each title slowly and paused when she read, "With Wondering Awe." That was it! That totally described her dream. She closed the book, holding it close to her.
Thank you, Sarah. Thank you for giving me my life back. Merry Christmas.
And it truly was a merry Christmas.
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