The Christmas Shoes (Christmas Hope)

by VanLiere, Donna

Nathan’s forehead crinkled as he looked at his mother. Maggie looked into her son’s frightened eyes. Maybe what she was telling him was too much for him to understand.

  “You mean in heaven, Mama?” he asked in nearly a whisper.

  It broke Maggie’s heart to hear him say it.

  “Yes, sweetie, in heaven.”

  Nathan paused. Jack listened from the kitchen.

  “God’s going to take you to heaven?” Nathan asked, confused.

  “No,” Maggie assured. “He’s not going to take me, Nathan. He’s going to open His arms and receive me. There’s a big difference, and I always want you to remember that.”

  Nathan fidgeted with the story in his hands and quietly asked, “What will you do there?”

  “I can’t even imagine,” Maggie said, her voice faltering. “I know for the longest time I’ll just be looking at God and thanking Him over and over for sending Jesus at Christmas and for the life He gave me here with you. It’s going to be so beautiful there Nathan that I can’t even begin to think what I’ll be doing, but I know I won’t be sick anymore.” Nathan looked up at his mother. Maggie smiled. “I’ll be completely healthy and I’ll be running and jumping and playing and dancing just like I used to do with you before I got sick.”

  Nathan studied the paper in his hands for a long time. He didn’t like talking to his mother about this. He didn’t like how it made him feel.

  “Will there be animals there?” he finally asked curiously.

  “The most beautiful animals I’ve ever seen,” Maggie answered, to the amazement of her son. “The animals that God created here for us on earth aren’t anything compared to the animals in heaven. The zebra and giraffe? They’ll look like common house cats compared to the animals in heaven.”

  “And none of them will be mean, right?” Nathan inquired anxiously.

  “No. None of them will be mean. They’ll be gentle and beautiful, and you can ride them and play with them all day long.”

  “Will the streets really be gold?”

  Maggie smiled.

  “The streets will be gold, and there will be beautiful rivers and waterfalls and the most beautiful landscaping I’ve ever seen.”

  “The flowers will be prettier than yours?” he asked, surprised.

  “Much prettier than mine,” Maggie laughed. “The flowers and trees will be much more beautiful than anything God ever created on earth.” She stopped and allowed Nathan to process what she was saying.

  “Will you see Grandpa there?” he finally asked, staring at his swinging legs.

  “Yes,” she smiled. “He’ll be at the gate waiting for me.” Her eyes filled with tears, and she turned her head away.

  Nathan thought for a few moments, stopped swinging his legs, and then asked faintly, staring at his feet, “Why do you have to go?”

  In the kitchen, Jack buried his head in his arms.

  “Because Mommy’s sick, and I just can’t get better,” Maggie answered softly.

  “Will I be able to go with you?” he asked, his voice frightened at what his mother was telling him. Maggie clenched the bed sheet and twisted it, tears rimming her eyes.

  “No, sweetie, you can’t go with Mommy.”

  Tears ran down Nathan’s face as he sprang to his mother’s side, holding onto her. “I don’t want you to go there without me,” he sobbed. She wrapped her arms around his small back. In a short time she wouldn’t have the strength to do that anymore. She hugged him tighter to her.

  “I don’t want to go without you either,” she said, tears streaming down her face. “I’d give anything in the world to stay here with you, but I can’t. I have to go.”

  “No, Mama—no!” the little boy implored, his tiny fingers digging into his mother. “I don’t want you to leave me.”

  Maggie wiped her face and pulled Nathan from her, wiping his tears away.

  “Just because I’m leaving doesn’t mean I’m not always going to be with you,” she soothed. Maggie knew Nathan clearly didn’t understand what she was saying, as his bottom lip began to quiver. She cupped his face gently in her hands. “I may not be around but I’m always going to be alive right in here,” she said touching his chest. “That’s where my dad lived after he went to heaven and that’s where I’ll always live in you, right inside your heart.” He laid his head on his mother’s chest, and she softly scratched his back.

  “I want you to always know,” she said, whispering to him, “that the greatest joy in my life is being your mommy.” She turned his face toward hers and kissed his forehead. Looking into his eyes, she prayed that he would remember this night. That one day it would give him peace—that it would give him hope at Christmas.

  She hugged him tightly, kissing every part of his face as the boy squirmed and started giggling in her arms. “You’d better get ready for bed, Little Man.”

  Jack stood in the kitchen, wiping his eyes with a dish-towel before heading into the living room. He didn’t want his son to see him crying, then thought twice about that. Maybe it would be good to let Nathan see him crying, to show him that it was allowed, that everyone did.

  “Go on back to your room, Nathan,” Jack said, “and I’ll be back to tuck you in in a minute.”

  “Love you,” Maggie said, kissing the little boy again.

  “I love you too, Mama,” he replied, kissing her good night.

  Nathan made his way down the hall, unaware of how the conversation would one day affect him. A flood of emotion washed over Maggie’s face. Jack sweetly kissed her eyes and wiped her tears. He would try to explain it all to Nathan, someday when he was older. He would explain it again and again until Nathan understood.

  Six

  Every happening, great or small, is a parable whereby God speaks

  to us, and the art of life is to get the message.

  —Malcolm Muggeridge

  “Gwen!” I shouted out my door. “Did you reschedule the Alberto Diaz conference?” I waited for her to answer before impatiently getting up from my desk to look for her. When I saw her empty chair, I remembered that I’d let her leave three hours ago. It was Christmas Eve, and she had relatives to pick up at the airport. I sighed, looking at my watch.

  “Seven o’clock,” I said aloud to the empty office. I looked at my desk and groaned at the stack of files that had been sitting there since morning. I shoved a couple of the more important ones into my briefcase. I’d meant to knock off at five because I still hadn’t done any Christmas shopping. Sometimes when I worked, I was in the habit of concentrating so hard that I occasionally failed to notice the passage of time.

  After flipping off the office lights, I locked the door and rushed down the hall for the elevators. Aggravated, I pushed the button and wrestled with my coat as I stepped inside the doors. I rode to the ground floor alone, stewing in my thoughts. “This is just great,” I grumbled. “Where can I find a store open so late on Christmas Eve?”

  Just two days earlier I had driven to my mother’s after work. Since Kate had asked me to leave, my life felt as if it was spinning out of control, and I had no idea of how to get it back on track. Mom was always a good sounding board. I pulled up in front of her house, but all the lights were off inside. Of course they were. It was 10:45. How could I ever expect to get my life back on track when I couldn’t even leave the office at a decent hour? I sat in my car and marveled at my mother’s house, twinkling with white lights, the Nativity shining brilliantly. She and my father had made our home a magical place to live. Birthdays were magical. Thanksgiving and Easter and Christmas were all magical. I used to joke with Kate that I believed in the Tooth Fairy till I was twenty-one because I never caught my mother sliding a quarter under my pillow. Mom and Dad wanted our home to be the most exciting place on earth for Hugh and me. Not a place of bickering, bitterness, and strife. They wanted to create magical memories, and they did. I leaned on the steering wheel and stared at the house. What magical memories would my girls remember of me? I shook my head and drove home, w
ondering how I could ever get the magic back.

  Now I jumped into the Mercedes and wound my way through the brightly lit streets, heading downtown. Store windows sparkled with brilliant lights and decorations, but they were all closed. It was, no surprise, snowing again—large fat flakes filled the air. The streets were nearly empty, and I felt like the only person in the world who wasn’t already home with his family. Even the tinkling of bells had stopped, as the Salvation Army ringers had already turned in their bright red pots for the night.

  As I’d hoped, Wilson’s department store was open. I’d tried to make a list at lunch, but I didn’t know what anybody wanted.

  I rushed, shouldering my way past other last-minute shoppers, to the toy department, where I found a large selection of Barbie dolls. Was Lily too young for Barbies? Was Hannah too old? How could you go wrong with a Barbie doll? I threw one in the shopping cart, trusting that Kate would be able to tell me which one of my daughters would like it more. In the electronics department, I picked up a Walkman for Hannah, who, I figured, had to be about the right age to be discovering music, though who knew what kind of music she might like? In women’s apparel I found a red cashmere sweater for my mother, then remembered that she already had a red sweater. I moaned and threw the sweater back on the pile without folding it, then picked it up again, thinking Kate might like it. A year ago I’d bought her a diamond necklace that cost me nearly five thousand dollars, because she’d been complaining that I didn’t make her feel important, and I wanted to show her how much I cared. It hadn’t changed a thing between us. I wasn’t going to make the same mistake this year. I threw the sweater back down. I heard so many voices in my head. One said, “How could she?” One said, “What took her so long?” Another said, “If it’s over, put it behind you as quickly as you can and move on—don’t sit around moping.” Yet another said, “But you love her, and she loves you—why isn’t that enough?” Maybe separating would do us good, give us space to see clearly again. Maybe, I thought, she’d even miss me and come to her senses.

  As I made my way through the store, I observed a little boy running through the aisles, touching every item on racks and shelves, much to the chagrin of the nearby store clerks. He ran straight into me as I was holding up a knit scarf for my mother. “Sorry, sir,” he said breathlessly without looking up. I shook my head. I despised parents who let their children run unsupervised through stores. The little boy continued sifting through racks of clothing, moving around the circular stands, pulling out blouses, shirts, and jackets. I watched him. A rack toppled forward as he brushed it from behind. I looked around again for the kid’s parents.

  “Please watch what you’re doing,” I scolded the child, irritated.

  Feeling aggravated and exhausted, I had thrown a few more items into the basket when I passed the little boy again, now nervously bounding into the women’s-shoes department. I watched as the anxious boy touched or picked up nearly every boot, pump, and loafer in the department. Then a pair of shoes seemed to catch his eye on an overcrowded sales rack. He picked up the pair and, for a moment, he was still. The shoes were shiny silver, aglow with red, blue, and green rhinestones and shimmering sequins. The boy tucked them under his arm and hurried in the direction of the register. “Just my luck,” I thought as I made my way to the checkout line, my shopping done, taking my place behind him. The boy fidgeted, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, as the cashier took forever to ring out the customers ahead of us. Again, I glanced sideways to see if the child’s parents were nearby.

  As the boy swung the glittery shoes, I finally had to smile. The child obviously didn’t want his mother to see him buy the shoes for her. He began to pace.

  I looked down at the items in my basket and wondered when was the last time I had anxiously raced around a department store looking for the perfect gift for someone.

  When my brother and I were young, our arms would ache from shaking every last cent out of our piggy banks. We’d stuff our pockets until they bulged with the heavy coins and walk excitedly to the local five-and-dime. Rummaging through trays of pins, we would earnestly look for the one with the biggest fake diamonds for our mother, and then we’d run to the men’s aisle for the adventure of finding the ideal Christmas tie for our father. One year we skipped getting him a tie and got him a three-foot-long shoehorn instead, one he wouldn’t have to bend over to use. It used to be so exciting, Hugh and myself scurrying, stumbling, and fumbling through the store, nearly bursting from the thought of Mom and Dad opening their presents on Christmas Day.

  The little boy moved forward and placed the shoes down for the cashier to scan the price—$14.25. The child dug into the pockets of his worn jeans and pulled out a small crumpled wad of bills and scattered change. The cashier straightened out the mess of currency.

  “There’s only $4.60 here, son,” he said.

  “How much are the shoes?” the child inquired, concerned.

  “They’re $14.25,” the cashier replied. “You’ll need to get some more money from your mom or dad.”

  Visibly upset, the boy asked, “Can I bring the rest of the money tomorrow?”

  The cashier smiled and shook his head no, scooping up the change.

  Tears pooled in the child’s eyes.

  He turned around and said, “Sir, I need to buy those shoes for my mother,” his voice shaking. I was startled to see that the child was talking to me. I felt the hairs stand up on the back of my neck. “She’s not been feeling very good, and when we were eating dinner my dad said that Mama might leave to see Jesus tonight.”

  I stood unmoving, holding the basket.

  I didn’t know what to say.

  “I want her to look beautiful when she meets Jesus,” he said, his eyes beseeching me.

  Why is he asking me? I thought. Do I look like an easy target—the rich man with money to throw around? I instantly felt annoyed. Was this some sort of con, parents sending their children out to take advantage of people’s emotions at Christmas? Yet, why did the child tell the cashier he’d bring the rest of the money tomorrow?

  I didn’t know what to say or how to react. All I knew was it was suddenly more than I could take. This kid was no scam artist, somehow I knew that. I looked into his wide eyes and something happened to me in that moment. A pair of shoes to meet Jesus in. This child is losing his mother.

  Without thinking or saying a word, I pulled out my wallet and handed the cashier a fifty-dollar bill to pay the remainder of the cost of the shoes.

  The little boy lifted onto his tiptoes and watched as the last of the money was distributed into the drawer. Eagerly, he grabbed the package, then turned and stopped for a moment, looking at me again.

  “Thank you,” was all he said.

  I watched as the child ran out the door and disappeared into the streets.

  “Are you ready, sir?” the cashier asked. I didn’t hear what he was saying. “Sir?” he asked again. “Are you ready to cash out?”

  I looked at the items in my basket and shook my head.

  “No,” I answered. “I think I need to start over.”

  I left the full basket on the cashier’s counter and slowly walked out the front doors. I put the Mercedes into gear and drove through the streets of town to Adams Hill, where, through the heavily falling snow, I could see Kate’s bedroom light on upstairs.

  The whole drive home I didn’t know what I would say or how to say it. I just knew that I had to get there. I had to get the magic back. Suddenly, my life depended on it. Kate was right. My family wasn’t leaving me, I’d left them. When did that happen? How did I get so lost? Home. The word all at once felt new. What had once been a place of emptiness was now one of joy, a place of refuge from life’s unpredictable sorrow. A place of hope. I was going home at last.

  I couldn’t help it. I knew it was late, but the minute I entered the door I shouted, “Kate! Kate!”

  Kate ran down the stairs, heatedly shushing me not to wake the girls, who were already in
bed. Without saying a word, I guided Kate onto the sofa and knelt in front of her.

  “What is wrong with you?” she asked.

  “Listen to me,” I began slowly. “I didn’t get you or the girls anything for Christmas.”

  “I didn’t expect you to get me anything,” she answered hotly, throwing my hands from her shoulders. “But I thought you’d at least want to get your own children something.” She attempted to push herself off the sofa and away from me, but I pressed her firmly back into the cushions.

  “What are you doing, Robert?” she demanded, her cheeks flushed.

  “Kate, I’m begging you. I don’t really know what to say, but I need you to listen to me.” She yanked her arms from me, crossing them in front of her.

  “What?” she snapped.

  I gathered my thoughts and began slowly.

  “I didn’t buy anything because I didn’t know what to buy.” She set her chin and stared at me, but she was listening, and that’s all I wanted. “I didn’t know what to buy because I don’t know any of you,” I continued. “I have let all of you slip away from me, to the point of where you’re actually strangers now.” Kate sat unmoved by my words or emotions.

  “What?” she asked, bewildered.

  I rose and sat square in front of her on the coffee table.

  “Kate,” I pleaded. “I went to the store. I went there to buy things for you and Mom and the girls. I was even in line to cash out when it hit me….” I wasn’t sure how to put any of my feelings into words. Kate arched her eyebrows for me to continue. “You all are the greatest gifts in the world,” I said, selecting my words carefully, “but I don’t treat you like a gift. I don’t treat the girls like gifts.”

  She shifted uncomfortably, not sure how she should react to what I was saying.

  “The greatest possible gift I could give to you or the girls would be myself,” I went on. “I need to give you the respect and love you deserve, and I need to give the girls time and attention and piggyback rides and trips to the zoo and amusement parks and I don’t know what else,” I said, clasping my head in my hands. “I need to give them a dad. They’ve had a provider,” I continued. “They’ve had some guy in the house who they’ve told people was their father, but they’ve never had a dad. I want to be with them, not just in the same room with them. I want to be with them and share in everything that makes them happy. I want to be there when they fail. I want us to be there,” I said, looking at her. I peered into Kate’s eyes, looking for the smallest glint of hope or acceptance. She was understandably skeptical—we’d logged a lot of years of hurt and anger together.