Christmas Blessings: Seven Inspirational Romances of Faith, Hope, and Love

by Leah Atwood

  “Yes, but not all of them.” Her comment resonated with me. “I called it my Dream Box.” At first, I’d called it my Dream Chest until my sisters set me straight. I knew exactly where the box was in the new house, but I hadn’t opened it in years. I should take a peek at my collection of items in the box to see just how many things in that chest were connected in some way—no matter how large or small—to Ryan.

  Krista motioned to the other chair in the room. “Do you mind if I sit a bit and listen? I’m on my break, and I’m fascinated by your story. I don’t want to intrude, but I’d love to hear the rest.”

  “Ryan and I are just two regular, ordinary kids.” I watched as Krista removed my coat and scarf from the other chair and laid them across the foot of Cora’s bed.

  “Yes, in some ways. But your story is also incredibly special,” Krista said as she settled in the chair beside me. “I hear the love in your voice when you mention his name. Do you even realize how your eyes light up like the Christmas lights when you’re telling your stories? You’ve known each other since you were kids and started out as friends first. I think that’s significant to the bond you share. And, if you don’t mind my saying, I think the foundation of deep friendship you’ve built together over the years is helping to carry you through now while Ryan’s on deployment.”

  “I hadn’t thought of it that way, but I’m sure you’re right.” Hearing the perspective of someone who hasn’t known Ryan and me as a couple is refreshing.

  “There’s something to be said for whirlwind romances, but a romance that’s grown over time? That’s a beautiful thing, Ellie. True love like you and Ryan share is rare. That’s not ordinary at all, sweetie. It’s really quite extraordinary. And it’s a true gift from God.”

  “I count my blessings every day. My story with Ryan is simple, really. A small-town girl who loves a small-town boy. And he loves her back. But you know what?”

  “What?” She watched me with an air of quiet expectation.

  “I wouldn’t trade what we have for anything else in the world. Not riches, not fame…nothing.” I twisted my hands together in my lap and watched the light snow falling outside the window. “The only thing I wish is for Ryan’s safe return. Then I can breathe again and finally get my life back to normal.”

  Krista squeezed my hand. “You’re a model of strength. Ryan would be proud.”

  “Thanks. The hardest part of waiting is my own impatience. The closer the time comes, the more anxious I’m becoming. I keep repeating the be anxious for nothing verse.” I laughed under my breath. “If you hear me talking to myself in the hallways, it’s only Crazy Ellie Franklin giving herself a pep talk.”

  “We understand, sweetie. Most of us around here do the same thing. Ryan will be home again before you know it.”

  My gaze moved to dear Cora lying in the bed beside me, the rhythmic sounds of the machine connected to her loud in the quiet room. I squeezed her warm, delicate hand. The blue veins appeared more prominent than ever as I ran my thumb lightly over her diamond ring. Such a unique design in an intricate platinum setting.

  “Cora used to invite me to share a glass of homemade peach iced tea on her back porch,” I told Krista. “She liked the company, and I found her stories fascinating. Cora’s husband, Ronnie, was in the military, and they’d lived all over the world.”

  I glanced down at Cora’s ring again. “She told me this ring once belonged to her mother-in-law. Cora married Ronnie when she was eighteen, and she’s never had to replace the diamond. I remember she said, ‘Quality craftsmanship stands the test of time. Like a good man. My Ronnie stood the test of time until the good Lord called him home.’ She talked about Ronnie a lot, about how much she missed him.”

  I heaved a heavy sigh. “And now, here I sit beside Cora, telling her about my love for Ryan, and how much I miss him.”

  Two women in love. Each longing to be reunited with her beloved. Different in many ways and yet the same.

  “Do you think that somehow Cora…knew…about you and Ryan?” Krista’s voice was quiet. “I mean, that you’d eventually end up together?”

  My smile held sadness as well as hope. “Hard to say. Maybe? I’ll say one thing. She demonstrated her love in many tangible ways to the community, and especially to the kids.”

  “Then I guess you could say Cora helped to inspire the idea for Perchance to Dream?” Kristi said. “That’s the name of the charity I’ve heard about, right?”

  “Yes, that’s the one. I think you might be right. Cora, as well as other members of Cade’s Corner…they all helped to inspire our project.”

  “Sounds like a story for another day.” Krista rose from her chair. “Thank you for sharing your stories, Ellie. I’ve enjoyed hearing more about your memories with Ryan.”

  I met Krista’s gaze. “I’m the one who should be thanking you.”

  “I have one more completely random question,” Krista said. “Did Tony ever meet your sisters?”

  That made me laugh. “Funny you should ask. He married one of them.”

  Krista’s eyes widened and she shook her head with a smile. “Seriously? I was only kidding.”

  I shrugged. “What can I say? It’s a small town. Tony still calls me kiddo, too. He and my oldest sister, Kara, have two daughters. And my sister Staci married an accountant who apprenticed as a teenager in our dad’s accounting firm. They have one son.”

  “Sounds like you have a special family.”

  “We have our moments, like everyone does, but family is everything.”

  “You can say that again.” I could tell my sentiment touched Krista in a special way when she moved her hand over her heart in a seemingly unconscious move.

  I lowered Cora’s hand to the covers. Bending close, I planted a soft kiss on her lined forehead. “Sleep well, Cora. I’ll see you again soon.”

  I retrieved my coat and then pulled my purse over one shoulder. As I headed out of the room, I pressed my hand on Krista’s arm and gave her a light squeeze. “I’ll be back to see her again tomorrow.”

  ~~♥~~

  I enjoyed the brisk air as I walked home. Large snowflakes fell around me, and I lifted my head to catch them on my tongue. I’ve loved doing this since I was a little girl. A fresh snowflake was straight from Heaven. Pure. Beautiful and unique.

  I loved taking walks with my father in any season of the year, but especially when it was cold outside. He’d hold me by the hand. Sometimes he’d put one arm around me and snuggle me tight against him. Sometimes he’d unbutton his long overcoat and pull it around me, making me feel warm and loved.

  Dad wasn’t a man to speak of trivial things. He was an accountant with a methodical, analytical mind. Even so, he seemed very in-tune with me in terms of being able to express his love. From what I understand, his father had never been openly demonstrative. In some ways, I’m sure that influenced how my father treated my mother and “his girls” as he called my sisters and me. We never lacked for his affection.

  Dad’s every word seemed measured and weighted with purpose. He knew how to make others feel important, and without fail, he made me feel special—not just to him, but also to God.

  “Each snowflake is unique and perfect. Just like you,” Dad observed as we walked home from church together one snowy night in late February when I was ten.

  I looked up into the sky and marveled at His awesome handiwork in the bright stars.

  “You think I’m perfect?”

  “In some ways, yes,” Dad said. I could hear the smile in his deep voice. “When you were born, I counted every little finger and toe. You were pink and had a very healthy cry. But none of us are perfect, Ellie. We’re made in the image of God, and we need to strive to be perfect, but only Jesus was perfect in every way. But you’re an extraordinary person.”

  “You mean to you and Mom?”

  He nodded as we walked. “Yes, but to many others, as well.”

  “Daddy, what makes me extraordinary? To you, I mean.” Extra
ordinary was such a big word, and it sounded impressive. I loved that he’d used it to describe me.

  Taking my hand in his, Dad swung my mitten-covered hand between us as we walked. “You ask a lot of questions,” he said. “That’s good, and it shows your inquisitive, compassionate nature. You want to know why God made some of us tall and some of us short. You want to know why some people get cancer, and some don’t. You’re not the type of person to sit on the sidelines. You jump right in there, take charge, and get things done. You’re smart and, if you don’t know how to do something, you ask your questions and then keep trying. You never give up.”

  As I absorbed his words, Dad squeezed my hand. “You’re going to do important things in your lifetime, Eleanor Rose Franklin.”

  “You really think so?”

  “Without a doubt.” The firm conviction in his voice was unmistakable.

  After opening his coat, Dad wrapped me in it for the last block we walked to the house. I shuffled beside him, protected in a warm cocoon-of-sorts, and he slowed his much longer strides to keep pace with me. It became a game of sorts, a special closeness shared only between my daddy and me. The church bells rang for the final time of the evening. I took great comfort in the sound, and I’d always associated the sound with the walks with my father.

  “Dad,” I said after a few seconds of companionable silence, “what important things do you think I might do when I grow up?”

  “That’s easy.” His smile was tender, reflected in the lights from the lampposts lining our street.

  I grinned. “Are you going to tell me? Or are you going to make me wait to grow up first?”

  With a chuckle, Dad opened the side door and ushered me inside our warm house. The scent of Mom’s pot roast we’d enjoyed for Wednesday night supper lingered in the kitchen. From the front of the house, I heard Mom coming in with Staci (they didn’t share our love for walking in the snow and had driven the few blocks home from the church).

  Planting both big hands on my shoulders, Dad turned me around to face him and looked me straight in the eye. “You are an encourager, Ellie. That’s a special gift God gave to you. You’re the kind of person other people will come to when everything else is falling down around them. You’re strong, and you understand that God is always in control. And that, my girl”—he tapped my nose—“makes you the best kind of friend, sister, and daughter—anyone could be blessed to have.”

  After another hug, he released me. “One day you’ll make a fine young man an excellent wife.”

  “Eww.” I scrunched my nose. “That’s not going to happen for a long time. Maybe when I’m really old.” Laughing and teasing, we took turns peeling each other’s gloves off our cold fingers. I love my memories of the little moments in life such as that one which—long term—are actually quite significant. The memories, both large and small, that have enriched my life and shaped my future.

  I miss you, Dad. I’m blessed for having loved you.

  I breathed in deeply of the fresh, clean air, a reminder of why I’ve always loved small town living, free from the exhaust fumes, the busyness, and the noise.

  My boots crunched lightly on the newest layer of snow as I walked. I glanced at the winter wonderland surrounding me. How I wish that for one last time, I could see my father’s big footprints next to my much smaller ones.

  I’ll love him always, miss him forever. But tonight, no tears come as a quiet joy swells my heart, bringing with it my smile. I’m a better person for the man God gave me for a father. If only every kid could be so blessed. His legacy has also fueled my desire to help as many children as possible through Perchance to Dream.

  Reaching the front walkway to the house, I raised my face to the sky, still smiling. On a whim, I stretched out my arms and twirled in a slow circle. And then I caught a few more snowflakes on my tongue. My father’s faith in my abilities and talents meant the world to me when I was ten, and it means even more now. I attribute a lot of who I am as an adult to the confidence he instilled in me all those years ago.

  He was extraordinary.

  I paused outside the front door as I heard the church bells ringing at Cade’s Corner Community Church a short distance away. As always, the sound makes me smile.

  “I hope you’re having a good night, Daddy,” I whispered as I unlocked the front door and stepped inside my warm little house.

  “Thank you for teaching me how to love.”

  Chapter 7

  ~~♥~~

  Friday, December 15

  The next morning, I sat at my kitchen table, thinking about Ryan. What else is new?

  “Just bring him home safely, Lord.” Ryan loved to play the hero. I wanted him to play it safe. Only five more days and he’d come home to me. Maybe that’s selfish to think that way, but I couldn’t help it. The Army could no longer claim him. He’d be a veteran and no longer on active duty.

  As I took a bite of my hot, maple pecan oatmeal, my thoughts wandered to the time immediately following Ryan’s bicycle accident. He’d apparently thought he was invincible. In some ways, I think Ryan still believes in that idea.

  I’d nicknamed him the “Impatient Patient.” After his release from the hospital, Ryan’s right leg was in a full cast. He moped around his house for weeks, and “Cranky” became his new middle name.

  “I can’t do anything with this dumb thing on my leg,” he complained one day in the first week. He slapped his cast with the back of one hand. “It’s like a stupid straitjacket.”

  “You probably don’t even know what a straitjacket is,” I teased.

  “Sure I do. From the movies. It restrains a person so they can’t do anything.”

  I smirked. “A straitjacket’s for crazy people so they can’t hurt themselves. And you’re not crazy. You’re just bored out of your mind.”

  Ryan’s blue eyes bore into mine. Sometimes he left me to wonder what he was thinking since—unlike me—he didn’t always blurt out his thoughts. “Just say it, Sass.”

  “Say what?” I shook my head, confused.

  “I’ve been waiting for you to say, ‘I told you so.’ You warned me to be careful.” He ran his hand through his hair. Plopping back on the sofa, he crossed his arms behind his head. “Might as well get it out of your system. Have at it.”

  “At least you’re okay. I’m definitely glad about that. Besides, I don’t think anything I can say will change the way you are, Ryan. Not that I’d ever want you to change.”

  A slight grin creased his lips. “Yeah? Thanks. Have to say, I wasn’t expecting that.”

  “It won’t stop me from telling you to be careful in the future.”

  He laughed. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

  I got in the habit of grabbing a book and walking down to Ryan’s house every afternoon. He never asked me to come, and I never said anything—I’d just show up, and he didn’t send me away. If he ever said anything ornery about my visits, I was armed with his mother’s invitation the day of his accident. He’d never admit it, but Ryan secretly liked my company. I know he did.

  I read mystery stories to him—his favorite—and we’d play Monopoly. That ended the time I bought the high-end properties and bankrupted him. After that humiliation, he swore never to play Monopoly with me again. I called him a sore loser, and we compromised by playing Battleship. He usually skunked me, but unlike Ryan, I didn’t mind losing to keep the peace.

  “Don’t you have anything better to do with your time than babysit me?” he said one miserably hot and humid afternoon.

  “Nope. I’d rather spend my time listening to you bellyache.”

  Ryan balked. “Ah, come on, Ellie. I’m not that bad a patient, am I?”

  “No, you’re the worst patient ever. You’ve now entered the red zone of the Grump-O-Meter. That’s the zone that screams danger is imminent.”

  We talked about all kinds of things—school, sports (he was surprised I knew so much about the Cavaliers, and I could tell it pleased him), movies, and boo
ks. We both liked action movies and detested mushy romantic comedies. Ryan’s mom would float in and out of the room now and then with a little smile. She’d dust, check on us, or bring us something cold to drink. At first, she brought us snacks, but then Ryan told her he was getting fat from all the sitting around.

  Sometimes his friends would come over to the house. When I saw their bikes out front, I’d turn around and head back home. I figured they’d tease Ryan if they saw me coming.

  “I’m tired of this,” he complained one rainy afternoon. For some unknown reason, he seemed particularly sensitive to the changes in the weather.

  I elbowed him as we sat together on the sofa watching a movie about a talking dog that went into outer space. Or something like that. “Who are you kidding? You’re just sorry your accident didn’t happen during the school year so you could milk your injury with all the girls.” For the first time that I could remember, I was more focused on Ryan than the silly movie.

  He grinned, but we both knew I was right. The girls noticed Ryan, and he noticed them. Sitting there with him that day, it smacked me in the face: I liked Ryan Joseph Sullivan. As a friend, yes, but I’d also developed a massive crush on him. My first, honest-to-goodness crush on a boy. I was determined Ryan would never know.

  It became clear early on in his recuperation period that Ryan desperately needed to get out of the house. I’d caught him trying to scratch his itchy leg beneath the cast with a wire coat hanger and was afraid he’d hurt himself. All the kids in the youth group had signed his cast, but he’d played connect the dots on it to the point where the names were blurred and illegible.

  Maybe it wasn’t the best motivation, but I persuaded our youth pastor to take a group of the teenagers to a recreation center in Cleveland for underprivileged kids.

  “I don’t want to go,” Ryan announced the day of the event. “If I can’t play basketball, what good am I?”

  I stared at him, surprised by his whining. I’m sure he could tell by my expression that his question was one of the dumbest things I’d ever heard him say. “Well, you can play board games or astound them with your amazing conversational skills and scintillating personality.”