Unwrapping Christmas (2 page)
Snatching up the phone, Rose caught the last notes —“all the way!”
“Hello!”
“Rose?” Sharon Walker chirped.
“Yes?”
“Did I catch you at a bad time?”
Rose fixed on the smoke and steam spewing up from the sink and was able to fan the air in front of the smoke alarm to silence its shrill cry. Her fingers explored the knot on her head, not surprised to find it the size of a cheese cube. “Did you need something, Sharon?” Sharon was the Sunday school social director.
“Lois Gleeson had emergency gall bladder surgery this morning.”
Rose sobered. “I’m sorry. Is she okay?”
“She’s doing nicely; she can come home in the morning.
I’m arranging take-in meals for the coming week. Can I put you down to help on Friday and Monday evening? She’ll need something with fiber, no dairy content, and low fat.”
As much as Rose wanted to voice a refusal, she couldn’t.
But where would
she
find time to prepare additional food and deliver it two evenings this week? She’d have to crowd it in between basketball and choir practices, but how could she refuse Lois? Lois had carried in meals for her family when Rose was stricken with the flu last winter.
“Sure, I’d love to help!” She closed her eyes, head throbbing, and reached for a pen to scribble the dates on her calendar. Without the trusty calendar and day planner she carried in her purse, she’d forget to dress some mornings.
They chatted a few minutes before Sharon excused herself to make the remainder of her culinary mercy calls.
A loud clatter shattered the silence after they hung up.
Rose slowly turned to stare at the calendar shelf, now hanging lopsided, secured to the wall by one bracket. December 1 was probably somewhere between the kitchen and the next block.
Rose collapsed in a chair, a mental to-do list racing through her mind. Church, the Christmas program, thrift shop, brownies, fix dish for Lois, and on and on. And on.
How could she possibly get it all done? And what would Joey say about her taking on even more? Lately he had seemed a little irritated at her constant running and doing, but wasn’t she doing the Lord’s work? How could she say no to any one of the requests? She’d promised God to do everything her hands found to do, and to do it well.
Suddenly she felt every ounce of her thirty-eight years crowding her.
ENGLAND
Merry Christmas
The custom of sending Christmas cards originated in England, a nation rich in varied traditions. Window candles attract carolers, who fill the air with Christmas music. A Yule log finds its place of tradition in the hearths of some homes in England and Wales. Children hang stockings by the chimney or their beds, hoping Father Christmas will bring them gifts. Christmas feasting includes the wassail bowl and flaming plum pudding. On Boxing Day, December 26, gift boxes and alms are distributed to the needy.
Rose slid into the church pew, glanced at her watch, and sighed. She’d made it. Pastor Ralph was starting ser vices, but instead of preparing her mind for a blessing, all she could think about was how she had somehow survived the last hour. Joey’s office meeting had run late, Eric’s basketball practice went longer than usual, and Anna’s cheerleading clinic had gone into extended session. Nobody had eaten. There wasn’t time to make dinner since she had to stop by the local grocery to replace the burned brownies she was obligated to provide for Eric’s youth group. She mentally assessed her near-empty pantry for dinner choices. She’d whip up a batch of tuna salad even though they’d already eaten fish three times this week. Her family might grow gills, but at least they’d have their omega-3 requirements met for the month.
She slid further down in the pew and relaxed. She was alone, not an unfamiliar state. Joey
hadn’t made it home in time for ser vices, but the kids were in their respective youth groups. Because of meetings and separate class activities, the family rarely sat together these days. She kept an ear tuned to the pastor, but her mind was on the church-affiliated thrift store. Thursday was her morning to work. Seasonal clothes were pouring in, and they all had to be sorted and tagged.
Business was brisk and she had a feeling some of the people were doing their Christmas shopping by choosing good quality items that showed little wear. It made her heart ache to think some people had to buy used clothing for their children’s Christmas, particularly when she considered the bounty her own children would receive. She was indeed blessed. That was why she tried never to resent the time she spent volunteering at the thrift shop.
She released a mental sigh, checking her watch again. She was exhausted and her head ached. She hoped Pastor Ralph didn’t run over tonight, because in addition to dinner, she had to plan a casserole to take to Lois on Friday night. Something with fiber, no dairy, low fat. Checking to make sure no one was watching, she eased her day planner out of her purse, her eyes scanning the crowded pages. Why did she have such a hard time saying no? For one thing, after a couple of sermons on how Christians were expected to bear fruit, she felt guilty if she even thought of refusing to help.
She could have easily drifted off or passed out, and either would have been a welcome relief at that moment. Gradually she became aware that something had changed. People were listening more intently. The pastor was through, but people were still sitting. The room grew quiet as someone walked to the pulpit. Rose blinked, trying to focus. It was time for the ser vice to be over, yet a member of her Sunday school class was speaking. It was Jean Farris, and tears streamed down her cheeks. Cold chills ran up Rose’s spine. Jean could barely speak as emotions rattled her thin body. She and Jean had been friends for years, babysat for each others’ kids. What could be wrong . . . ?
“. . . I need your prayers and support. Today, my husband’s chest X-rays came back questionable. Of course they’re running further tests — we have to wait and see . . . ”
A hush fell over the congregation. Rose shifted in the pew, her heart going out to the anxious wife. She thought about Jean and Ken’s two children — a boy, twelve years old, and a girl, eleven. Jean homeschooled the kids and had no other job; how would she manage if anything happened to Ken? How would Jean cope without Ken’s steady influence? Without her loving husband?
Wait. She was borrowing trouble. The tests could come back negative, or the X-rays could have been faulty . . . that was possible.
Worrying a damp handkerchief in her hands, Jean poured out her heart. “I don’t know what to do, where to turn. If anything happens to Ken . . . ” She sank to the front pew, her shoulders shaking from barely suppressed sobs.
Ken Farris, robust, the picture of health, a deacon who was highly respected for his moral values. Rose shook her head in disbelief. How could he be this ill and she not know? Although Jean said his X-rays had come back . . . what? Questionable? Jean hadn’t mentioned a word about him feeling ill . . . or had she? The past month had been a blur with the start of basketball season and the church craft bazaar.
Jean continued from her seat. “I’ve never faced anything of this magnitude. I need — ” She sobbed openly —“help. Someone please help us.”
Silence followed. It was the sort of loud stillness that made you want to do or say something, but Rose knew she couldn’t trust her thoughts or her words. Ken could be facing a critical or even a terminal illness. The implication was so overwhelming, Rose couldn’t compute.
Pastor Ralph immediately lifted the concern in prayer — petitioning God for strength and healing. Rose prayed silently for peace and comfort for Jean and Ken. A wave of compassion filled her.
Please, God, give them
strength to bear this ordeal.
She put herself in Jean’s place. If this were Joey . . . She shoved the thought away, unable to bear it. Joey was her life.
Prayer requests continued, but all subsequent problems faced by neighbors, aunts, and cousins paled in comparison to Jean’s crisis. Rose’s eyes moved to the freshly hung garlands and festive tree, and tears welled in her eyes. She quickly dashed them away, blocking emotion. Her friend sat in the front pew, alone and miserable, lost in anguish.
Jean remained in the pew when the ser vice ended. Relief filled Rose when she saw a few members begin to gather around. She knew she should say something, needed to say something, but what?
Her heart ached for her friend. She glanced at her watch. The kids would be waiting in the car. Hungry. Cranky.
Stepping to the front row, Rose waited for an opening and then quickly enveloped Jean in a supportive hug.
“Oh, Rose . . . How could we go on without him?” Jean murmured.
“Everything will be fine,” Rose soothed, but her mind ranted other thoughts.
Why don’t I say what this is? Horrible.
Ghastly! Without Ken, Jean’s life — her two children’s
lives — would be turned upside down. Say something more
concrete! Tell her that what she’s facing is serious and there are
no words to express your distress. Confess that you don’t know
what to say, but you desperately want to help. Tell her that you
don’t have the power to change the situation, but God does.
Say something other than a banal, “Everything will be fine.”
Rose knew Jean had to be questioning why God would allow something so potentially terrible to happen to this wonderful man and his family. Rose didn’t have an answer — she only had her faith. At this hour, fear had stripped Jean of that precious element. Ken and Jean served the Lord, they raised their children in his ways. Why did God permit illness? Death? Rose searched for words that would bring comfort to this troubled and confused wife, but she came up empty. Platitudes failed in the face of real crisis.
Rose lifted her voice above the din. “Please don’t hesitate to call me if you need anything. Meanwhile, try to be positive. Maybe it’s just a blip on the X-ray.” She squeezed her friend’s shoulder supportively. Leaning closer, she whispered, “I’ll pray for you.”
Feeling she had failed Jean, Rose straightened and smiled at Mrs. Johansson as the older lady pushed in to say something. Rose realized she was actually grateful for the reprieve. For the first time in a long time, she was thankful to leave. She checked her watch: 8:15.
She still had to make tuna salad for supper.
Joey was waiting when she walked in the door. She felt a rush of gratitude as she looked at his dear, familiar face. Thank God he was healthy, but then no one had suspected Ken was ill. Life was uncertain; it was wrong to waste one minute of it.
“Hey, honey.” He hooked an arm around her neck and kissed her. “What’s for dinner?”
“Tuna.” She kissed him back.
“Again?”
“Starving kids in — ”
“I know. Be thankful for what we have.”
She added another kiss. “Dinner will be served in fifteen minutes.”
She mixed the tuna while Anna filled glasses with ice and poured soft drinks. Rose should have stopped for milk on the way home, but she was just too tired.
The family gathered around the table. Anna seemed preoccupied tonight, smiling occasionally, as if she knew a secret. Rose made a mental note to ask why the grin? But later. Tomorrow was a school day and both kids had homework.
When dinner was over, she and Joey lingered at the table talking. She told him about Ken.
He shook his head. “Man, I hate to hear that. Ken’s a good guy.”
Rose sighed. “It could be nothing, but I felt so helpless, not knowing what to say. Do you think I’m insensitive?”
Joey met her worried gaze. “Where did that come
from? You’re the most sensitive person I know. You just don’t always notice things.”
She grimaced. “Like what?”
“Eric didn’t have much to say tonight. That’s unusual for him.”
Rose dismissed Joey’s observation. “He was just tired. He’s a growing boy. Anna was grinning like a Cheshire cat, but that doesn’t mean anything either.”
“I think it’s more than that with Eric. With me working so much overtime, he’s alone too much.”
Rose sensed the unspoken criticism behind his words, and she prickled. She did
not
ignore her children or their needs. “I’m here.”
“No, you’re not. Most of the time you’re off volunteering somewhere, or at the church.”
“Are you saying that’s wrong? I’m serving the Lord.” And where was Joey coming from with all this censure? Eric had his own agenda, and he knew she and Joey were there if he needed anything.
His eyes caught and held hers. “Are you really? Or are you just busy?”
She threw her napkin on the table. “I can’t believe this. You’re saying I shouldn’t work in my church and my community?”
“The Bible says we’re to be moderate in all things. It’s good to help others, but not at the expense of your own family.”
He pushed back from the table and walked out of the room, leaving her to stare after him.
Well . . . how dare he?
Seemed Scrooge had arrived early this year.
The church-affiliated Second Time Around thrift shop sat at the top of a small grade. The road curved up the hill with a sharp turn at the top, leading into the paved drive. Rose maneuvered the U-turn and eased her van into the parking lot. She’d been up since dawn, working on the bulletin fact sheet. The job would be a breeze, and it was informative to learn more about Advent and its true meaning. The congregation would appreciate her efforts.