Under the Christmas Star

by Amanda Tru

  Sometimes my dad listens to the news where these guys sit around and talk about how bad things are in our country, and how much racism there is, and how unfair life is for people of color (which is the more polite term to use today). And I guess prejudice still exists a little bit, or Chuckie Mansfield wouldn’t go around calling me Slanty Eyes, and he wouldn’t have made fun of me when I was still learning English and spoke with an accent.

  I know from Dad’s news shows that a lot of people are angry about how bad things are, and I know there are still problems out there, like my parents have a black friend who got beat up by a policeman only he hadn’t done a single thing wrong.

  But I like the way my dad looks at it. He says that sin is sin, and whether that sin is racism or hatred or pride or greed or anything else, it’s all just as evil in God’s eyes. And just because some people might still be a little prejudiced in their hearts, that doesn’t mean we can’t celebrate all the good things that have happened, like how Mom and Dad can sit in any restaurant they want now or adopt any kid they choose (like me).

  I go to school with kids who are adopted, kids in wheelchairs, and kids who don’t speak English at home. One of the boys in my gym class lives with a foster family, and Becky Linklater’s parents are divorced, and a few of my classmates are Muslim, and some are Christian, and I think there’s one who’s Jewish, and we have quite a few who don’t know what they believe in yet. And just because we’re all different, that doesn’t mean we sit around the lunch table every day refusing to speak to one another or saying mean things, because what kind of world would that be, know what I mean?

  All that is to say I’m really glad I found your website, and I’m going to be checking the mail every day until your package comes. Oh, and did you end up using my mom’s recipe to make muffins for that police chief? I hope he liked them. Did you remember to melt a little butter on the tops before you sprinkled sugar? It’s important not to skip that step.

  If I don’t talk to you before then, have a very merry Christmas.

  Your good friend,

  Woong Lindgren

  Miss Sheldon,

  I just opened your email and saw the picture of the ornament you made, and it looks perfect.

  And yes, I’ll be sure to write and tell you what Mom says when she opens it, even though I have a pretty good feeling that she’s going to start to cry and won’t be able to say anything because she’s so happy.

  Dear Miss Sheldon,

  I was right about Mom.

  Love,

  Woong Lindgren

  1. Have you ever witnessed or been the victim of racism or any other kinds of prejudice?

  2. What unique struggles do couples face if their parents are not supportive of their union?

  3. Is there ever a situation in which you think Christian parents should refuse to attend their child’s wedding?

  4. Did you enjoy hearing this story from Woong’s point of view? How would the story be different if it had been told by someone else?

  www.alanaterry.com/

  Alana Terry is a pastor’s wife, homeschooling mom, self-diagnosed chicken lady, and Christian suspense author. Her novels have won awards from Women of Faith, Book Club Network, Grace Awards, Readers’ Favorite, and more. Alana’s passion for social justice, human rights, and religious freedom shines through her writing, and her books are known for raising tough questions without preaching. She and her family live in rural Alaska where the northern lights in the winter and midnight sun in the summer make hauling water, surviving the annual mosquito apocalypse, and cleaning goat stalls in negative forty degrees worth every second.

  Author Site: www.alanaterry.com

  Newsletter Sign Up: www.alanaterry.com/readers-club

  Facebook: www.facebook.com/alanaterrywrites

  by Alana Terry

  Find the latest information and connect with Alana at her website: www.alanaterry.com

  North Korea Suspense Novels

  The Beloved Daughter: Behind North Korea’s closed borders, a young girl is dying for freedom.

  Slave Again: She traded in her prison uniform for shackles of a different kind.

  Torn Asunder: Hannah’s secret mission could rip them apart and cost them both their lives.

  Flower Swallow: Join Woong on his journey through flood, famine, and a shaman’s curse to freedom and redemption.

  Orchard Grove Christian Women’s Fiction

  Beauty from Ashes: A baby was never part of Tiff’s plans. Especially not a sick baby struggling for life on a ventilator.

  Before the Dawn: When depression steals your identity and leaves you without a name…

  Sweet Dreams Christian Romance

  What Dreams May Come: Her heart is set on becoming a missionary. He’s determined to recruit her for the job.

  Kennedy Stern Christian Suspense Novels

  Unplanned (Book 1): Kennedy’s pro-life worldview is shaken when she receives a mysterious phone call from a girl who’s far too young to be pregnant.

  Paralyzed (Book 2): It’s hard to heal from the past when the past wants you dead.

  Policed (Book 3): A rogue police officer can ruin a lot more than a perfect evening out.

  Straightened (Book 4): Worldviews collide and body counts rise when a conservative politician finds out his son is gay.

  Turbulence (Book 5): Kennedy’s arctic adventure might come to a crashing halt before it even begins.

  Infected (Book 6): Isolated in a hospital lockdown during a global epidemic, Kennedy can only guess who will survive.

  Abridged (Book 7): When the fight for women’s rights becomes a struggle for mere survival.

  Don’t forget to request a free book when you join the Alana Terry Readers’ Club! Visit: www.alanaterry.com/readers-club

  Introducing Amanda Tru

  By Alana Terry

  About three years ago, a little boy named Woong popped into my imagination, begging me to tell his story. His first book, Flower Swallow, chronicles his life growing up on the streets of North Korea before his adoption.

  Woong has been the most engaging character I’ve written about to date. His personality jumped out at me from the very first page of the very first draft of his very first book. Years later, when writing this story, it felt my only job was to sit back and give this spunky little boy a chance to tell his story (or in this case, his parents’ story).

  I hope you’ve enjoyed this novella, and if you’d like to read more, please visit www.alanaterry.com for a list of all titles and to request your three free novels!

  And now it’s time to sit back and enjoy one last story in the Under the Christmas Star Collection. Amanda Tru’s going to introduce us to the Christmas ornament maker behind all these various stories. I hope you enjoy it!

  Author of Shattered Pieces

  a novella by

  Walker Hammond Publishers

  Copyright Notice

  Under the Christmas Star, original copyright © 2018 by Amanda Tru, all rights reserved.

  Description: When an autistic young woman’s car and handcrafted ornaments are stolen, she struggles to keep her business and doubts her future could include friendship, love, and answered prayer.

  Disclaimer: Each book in this collection is the intellectual property and copyrighted material of the respective author and/or publisher and is reprinted as a part of this collection (anthology) only once, only for a limited time, and only by permission of the owners. Olivia Kimbrell Press™ makes absolutely no claim on, or to, the property of the owner(s) which exceeds that permission.

  Emma tapped her fingers on the hard surface of the steering wheel. Starting at her pinky fingers, she tapped the corresponding fingers of both hands until they counted up to her thumbs. Then she reversed and counted back down to her pinky fingers, only to repeat the ritual all over again.

  She hated being late. It tied her nerves up in knots worse than those found when unraveling last year’s Christmas lights.

  She breathed in
and out.

  In for the space of five tapping fingers. Out for the space of five.

  And again.

  Years of training should make managing her challenges easier, yet Emma Sheldon couldn’t make it through a day without heavily leaning on the techniques taught to her as a “special” child. Even now, her steadily tapping fingers and slow, practiced breathing were the only things keeping her focused on the angry red light taunting her from above her windshield.

  Emma risked a glance down at the clock before shooting it back up to the light. She told herself she still had plenty of time to drop the ornaments off at church and make it to the post office to mail the other boxes before the 5:00 close. If only Brooke’s uncle, Wayne, hadn’t shown up and ordered a custom ornament right as she was packing up to leave the Out of the Blue Bouquet, then maybe time wouldn’t be so short.

  As soon as the irritable thought crossed her mind, Emma winced, knowing that it wasn’t quite accurate. Brooke was kind enough to let Emma sell ornaments on consignment at her florist shop, and Emma could never be anything but grateful to get a custom order.

  The real fault for her running late belonged long before delivering ornaments to the shop. If she hadn’t wasted so much time obsessively sorting and packing the ornaments, then she could have had time to spare to run all her errands. Unfortunately, facing the consequences due to her obsessive tendencies wasn’t unfamiliar territory either. As always, every task presented the challenge of trying to find a balance between allowing herself to be quirky Emma while fighting against losing herself in the lonely world of her own mind, and this time, she had obviously come out uneven on the balance scales.

  The light finally turned green, and Emma put steady pressure on the gas pedal to drive through the intersection. Even though time was short, she could never allow herself to inch beyond the 35-mph posted speed limit.

  Fortunately, downtown Crossroads boasted a total of only two stoplights, and Emma managed to hit the second one green. Three minutes later, she pulled into the church parking lot and found a space on the end of a row. The lot was empty but for a few cars, and still, Emma stayed true to her natural tendency and parked away from everyone else.

  She hurriedly snatched her purse from the passenger seat and checked that her phone was nestled inside for safekeeping. With movements quick and agitated, she drew the long purse strap over her neck to hang across her body, only to unintentionally pin her long reddish-brown curls beneath the taut strap. Unable to handle the discomfort, she tried to reverse her movements and take the purse strap off, but the limited space in the driver’s seat only succeeded in knocking her elbows and head against the window in her efforts.

  She pushed open the door and unfolded her tall, slender frame out of the car. With a few more contortions, she finally pulled her hair out from under the purse strap only to decide that it still made too much of a hangman’s noose for her comfort. She yanked the strap off her neck, wrapped it around the purse, and stuck the entire thing under her elbow to carry.

  Breathing heavily with the effort of her gyrations, she pulled the lever to release the hatch of her SUV and glanced nervously at the sky. Evening in late November came early, and by the time she finished at the post office, she’d be forced to deal with the glare of headlights on the drive home. She didn’t enjoy driving in the middle of the day with all the sights and sounds threatening to overwhelm her senses, but driving at night, with the added contrast of darkness and bright lights, only made the experience more overwhelming.

  Emma scurried around to the back of her 1997 Honda Civic hatchback, worriedly noting the two other cars parked close to the church entrance. The ladies on the church decorating committee insisted that they needed the ornaments today in order to decorate before Sunday’s church service. If given a choice, Emma would have never ventured out on Black Friday. The thought of braving the crowds sent her anxiety rising. However, some of the ladies insisted that Emma make the delivery today so they could get it done tonight and still keep tomorrow’s shopping plans. Not wanting to draw attention to herself or explain why the day following Thanksgiving was not a good day for her, Emma bravely agreed.

  Setting her purse down, she pulled one of the boxes out of the back and opened it to make sure she selected the correct one. Seeing that it was one of the boxes destined for the post office and not the church, she moved to push it back and pull out the other one, chiding herself that she had switched the box’s positions from their intended positions when loading. However, before the lid folded back on itself, she couldn’t help but notice several of the ornaments shifted from their neat rows.

  Unable to resist fixing the problems, Emma pulled out a glass ornament and carefully repaired its nest in the box. She picked up the delicate bauble to replace it in safety and couldn’t help but see the imperfections that, to her, seemed glaringly obvious. She wavered, wondering whether or not she should even include the flawed ornament in the shipment to the gift shop. Glass blowing was one of her more recent art mediums, and she wasn’t yet confident in her artistic expertise.

  No, she chided herself, forcing her fingers to replace the ornament. Everyone does not share my standards for perfection. I’ve already prayed for the recipient of that ornament, and I won’t grab that prayer back from God’s capable hands.

  However, despite her pep talk, she couldn’t resist repeating that prayer, just in case God didn’t hear the first time or she hadn’t remembered to pray the right words. Even as she thought it, she knew her reasoning was silly, but she couldn’t help trying for a redo, just in case.

  Lord, please help this ornament, and all of my ornaments be a blessing to the people who give them homes. Help the owner of this glass ornament see past the imperfections to recognize its beauty, and somehow let that be a reminder that you love them, no matter their own mistakes.

  Her finger found a slight irregularity in the glass, and she studied how the fading light created a soft prism effect out of what was technically a mistake. This was the ornament she had dubbed “starry night.” The blues and streaks of yellow blurred in such a way to remind her of Van Gough’s famous painting. Even though she didn’t always care for the style, she’d always been rather partial to that painting because it, in turn, reminded her of what the sky must have looked like when the angels appeared to the shepherds to announce Jesus’s birth.

  Yet, in spite of her observations about the beauty of the light through the glass and the fact that she loved the ornament, Emma still found herself wishing she could have a redo on more than just the prayer. Her heart’s desire was that this ornament would hang on the tree of someone who didn’t have a relationship with Christ and that, in seeing it, the person would somehow see what Emma saw. Oh, that someone could have a starry night experience that Emma’s ornament inspired!

  Ridiculous. Emma knew it was ridiculous. There’s no way someone could see Christmas through her flawed ornament. After all, no one saw the world the same way as Emma in any other facet of life. Though she felt assured that God’s purpose could cover her work’s inadequacies, she really wished it didn’t have to. How much more could God use better quality handiwork?

  Promising herself she would do better next time, Emma replaced the ornament and rearranged a few more. Her movements paused as she held a glass ball ornament with an exquisite purple and green strand of flowers inside and couldn’t remember which row it belonged in. Had she previously sorted it into the row with the clear and white ornaments or in the row with the other purple ones?

  Her gaze studied the box and she felt a familiar sensation of nausea. She had done it wrong. She shouldn’t have sorted the ornaments based on color. Maybe she should have sorted based on shape, or media, or even theme. She could put all the nativity ornaments in one row, or maybe she should separate the glass and ceramic ones.

  She shut her eyes against the swirling colors of ornaments. Reaching out her fingers to the edge of the car, she found the hard surface and began tapping her fingers do
wn to 1 and back up to 5. If only her mom was here. Just hearing words to bring the rest of reality into Emma’s small sphere would help. She knew the organization didn’t matter to everyone else, but it mattered to her. And in her mind, it really should matter to everyone else as well.

  Of course, none of this would be a problem if Emma’s parents had been in town. Emma’s mom could have chauffeured Emma around for her errands, greatly diminishing Emma’s anxiety level from the beginning. However, Emma’s parents had left early that morning to visit her brother, and because of Emma’s business commitments, she’d needed to stay home.

  Managing for a few days by herself really shouldn’t be an issue. After all, Emma was twenty-seven years old and a successful business owner. She should be able to handle her own affairs and run her own errands. She needed to do it herself, and perhaps more importantly, she wanted to do it herself. She was a smart, capable adult. She could do this.

  With a deep fortifying breath, Emma opened her eyes and resolutely nestled the disputed ornament in between the red and blue rows and forced herself to shut the box lid.

  She pulled the box on the right with determination, eagerly muzzling the wayward thoughts challenging her competency. Everything was under control now.

  If only the daylight didn’t disappear so very quickly. Nervousness lapped at the edges of the dwindling light, disputing that she held control as captive as she wanted to believe.