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

by Leah Atwood

  “Trust me, if I could scrub those disgusting things, I can clean anything,” he told me. I begged him to spare me the details. In turn, I showed him how to clean around the sink and faucet and how white vinegar could do wonders for cleansing, deodorizing, and controlling mildew.

  Who knew scrubbing a bathroom together could be such fun? I try to find the humor in life where I can.

  We survived those three Marital Tests and earned our official Certificate of Completion. Only then could I admit they weren’t such a bad idea. Not at all.

  Chapter 12

  ~~♥~~

  Continuing with my Saturday chores, I dusted the furniture and then vacuumed several rooms of the house. When I finished those housekeeping tasks, my “reward” was revisiting the contents of my Dream Box, the cedar chest Cora had given me when I was a child.

  After retrieving the box from the top of the bedroom closet, I sat cross-legged on the bed. Even after all these years, the box made by Cora’s husband, Ronnie, still held the scent of cedar.

  First, I pulled out and unfolded a piece of paper—my sixth grade Ohio History test on Lake Erie facts. Dad helped me study for this particular test. That must be why I’d saved it. I’d missed two questions—there are 24 Lake Erie islands (I’d said 25), and Lake Erie has a surface area of 9,940 square miles (I couldn’t remember and guessed an even thousand).

  I scanned over the test, refreshing my memory.

  Lake Erie was carved by receding glaciers of the Great Ice Age. The area surrounding Lake Erie was originally inhabited by the Erie Native American tribe. Louis Jolliet, a French trader and explorer, was the first European to make a record of Lake Erie in 1669. Finally, Lake Erie played a strategic role during the War of 1812. I’d written “a tragic role” (instead of strategic) on the test. My teacher made a smiley face beside it with her red pen, but she hadn’t marked me down.

  I put the test paper aside and then pulled out a smooth, flat rock. I’d found it at Huntington Beach among all the broken shells and added it to the sand castle that Ryan, Nick, Staci, and I made on our combined families’ annual summer trek to the shore when I was 15 (Kara was 25 and living on our own by that time).

  It was a nondescript, brown rock with nothing remarkable about it. I’d kept it because Ryan had written Ryan & Ellie on it with a magic marker he found on the beach. We hadn’t started dating yet, so he probably assumed I’d tossed this rock years ago. I smiled as I thought about showing it to him.

  My cell phone rang. Leaning across the bed, I retrieved it from the night table.

  Nick fessed up about Maura. Let’s double date and make them incredibly jealous when we go home together.

  I giggled. Don’t be smug, Mr. Competitive.☺ Go pack some more and come home to me.

  I’m working on it. trust me.

  Happy Saturday, Ryan. ♥

  Same to you, ELLIE. Hope you have a fun day.

  Check in with me later?

  Always. Sending you love, Sass. xoxoxo

  Putting aside my cell phone, I pulled out a gold locket from the Dream Box by its chain. This was the first piece of jewelry Ryan ever gave me. I’ll never forget the way he looked at me when I came into the living room, and he saw me in the gown for my senior prom. I’d never owned such a gorgeous dress. The pale coral color complemented my lightly tanned skin (Mom had taken me to Florida for spring break).

  Ryan must have been in cahoots with Mom because he brought me an orchid corsage that coordinated beautifully with my gown. He was so cute when he presented it to me. After two seconds, he gave up trying to help me pin it to my dress. “Sorry, Sass,” he said, throwing his hands in the air. “It’s not like they give guys lessons in how to do this.”

  Mom was more than happy to take over the honors while I blushed furiously.

  I couldn’t stop staring at how handsome Ryan was in his black tux, the first time I’d ever seen him in formal wear. The “live” version, that is. I’d known he’d gone to a few other proms and dances, but I’d refused to even acknowledge—much less look at—the photos. Every time I went to his house, I avoided those photos (proudly displayed on the wall for all who entered the Sullivan home to see) like they’d strike me down blind if I dared to look directly at them.

  Call me jealous…because that’s exactly what I was. I was shameless and didn’t bother to hide my feelings although I never said anything specifically to Ryan. I cried myself to sleep on the nights I knew Ryan was at a prom—dancing with another girl. And who knows what else. He was a Christian boy, but I’d heard from Kara and Staci what even good Christian boys were capable of trying with girls.

  Ryan wouldn’t. He was different. I wish my sisters had never planted the seeds of doubt in my mind.

  By the time of my senior prom, we were a solid couple. Everyone in town knew we were unofficially pledged to one another. I knew how much Ryan loved his truck, and I insisted he drive it to the dance (held at a fancy hotel in downtown Cleveland) and not throw away his hard-earned money for the exorbitant cost of a limousine.

  As soon as we reached the end of our street and turned the corner, Ryan pulled his truck over to the curb. He left the engine idling and shifted in his seat to face me.

  “Is something wrong?” I said. “Did we forget something?”

  Before I could say anything further, Ryan pulled me close and caressed my cheek. “You are the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen, especially tonight, Eleanor Rose Franklin.” He kissed me tenderly and then presented me with the locket. He was adorably inept—again—when he fumbled with the chain, but he managed to fasten it at the back of my neck. Sweet gestures like that seared this boy further into my heart.

  I didn’t have many occasions to dance, but dancing with Ryan at my senior prom was like a dream come true. He wasn’t a great dancer, but neither was I. We had fun, laughed a lot, and stayed until almost ten. Ryan told me we should leave since he’d promised Mom to have me back home by midnight. So, while many of my classmates left the prom to go “party” (another way of saying they’d booked hotel rooms), Ryan took me back to Cade’s Corner to The Soda Shoppe (they stayed open extra late the night of the senior prom).

  I could tell he’d prepared a big speech about how he couldn’t disrespect me, and how he refused to do what everyone else did just to be considered part of the “in” crowd.

  “Ryan, I’m not disappointed,” I remember telling him over my chocolate shake and cheeseburger. “I think you’re very sweet and honorable, and I love you for it. Besides, I’m the only girl in my senior class who showed up with a college man. That’s pretty special in itself. And, by not taking me to the hotel, it shows your maturity.”

  I’ll never forget his smile that night. “I like to believe it shows my faith, Ellie. I just want to make sure you know it’s not because I don’t find you…well, you know…physically attractive.” Oh, so cute, that boy. I fell even more in love with him that night.

  Now, sitting on the bed with the Dream Box beside me, I opened the locket and gazed at the photos of Ryan inside. His high school senior picture was on the left. On the opposite side was a photo of Ryan in his Army dress uniform. He’d grown from such a cute boy into a handsome, honorable man.

  I sorted through the remaining items in the Dream Box: a dried corsage from a Father-Daughter Dance when I was 12, tickets to a Cavaliers game when Ryan and I first started dating, Ryan’s high school graduation program, and a newspaper clipping. I put my hand over my mouth when I realized the clipping was my father’s obituary. I read through it and, surprisingly, I didn’t cry. But then I put it aside before I would be tempted to cry.

  I pulled out a valentine from Ryan from when we were kids. I turned it over. Valentine’s Day, sixth grade. Then I spied the Valentine’s Day card Ryan gave me when I was 18. I opened it in all its gaudy glory and read the sweet poem, short with only four lines, the first he’d ever written. He claimed it was also his last attempt at writing poetry, but I thought it would be great as the words to a
lullaby we’d sing to our children one day.

  Sweet like the sunshine after the rain.

  Precious like the promise of a rainbow.

  You are all these things to me, my baby.

  You’re all these things and more.

  ~~♥~~

  Saturday, Late Morning

  I needed to jump in the shower and then grab a quick bite for lunch. Before meeting Maura at the Perchance office, I wanted to be sure and stop by the nursing facility.

  An hour later, I walked into Cora’s room.

  “Hi, Cora.” I removed my coat and scarf and laid them on the end of the bed. “I hope you’re feeling well today.” I smoothed one hand over her white hair, still wavy and fairly thick and bent to kiss her forehead.

  “I’ve been thinking a lot about my father lately. Missing him,” I said as I sat in my customary chair. “I’m sure you remember him. His name was Curt Franklin, and he died when I was sixteen. It’s hard to believe it’s already been six years since he passed away.”

  I waited as if I somehow expected a response. When none came, I continued. “In some ways, my daddy was my first love. And when he died, my heart was broken.”

  I took Cora’s warm hand in mine. I liked that personal connection, that touch. If she ever awakened, I hoped she’d know that I’d been here. “Don’t you think that’s the way it should be? A little girl should adore her father. He should be the one man who’ll always be there for her. He was the best man I’ve ever known. I realize how blessed I was to have him as my dad, and for as long as I did. Selfishly, I hate like anything that he won’t be here to walk me down the aisle at my wedding. I like to think that somehow he knows.”

  With a sigh, I lowered Cora’s hand to the blanket. “Sometimes I think about Heaven and wonder if our loved ones who’ve gone on before us are watching.”

  The corners of my mouth upturned slightly. “For all I know, they pull up chairs, make popcorn, and enjoy the show. I’m sure they find us very amusing. I can just hear Dad talking to Grandpa Franklin and saying, ‘If only they know what we do.’ And then I wonder if they’re able to see everything we do and if they can ‘hear’ all our thoughts. That’s when it gets a little weird. But I’m thinking, no. God’s the only one who’s omniscient, right?”

  Shaking my head, I laughed under my breath. “Forgive me. My words sometimes ramble just like my mind.”

  I sat for a minute without saying anything, listening to the rhythmic sounds of the machine. How I wish I knew whether or not Cora heard my rambling monologues. I glanced over my shoulder. For a change, none of the staffers stood in the doorway today. Considering my reflective mood, perhaps that was for the best.

  And so, as always, I began my story.

  Chapter 13

  ~~♥~~

  My father’s death when I was 16 was one of those things I’d never thought would happen to our family…until it did. Dad died of an undetected heart problem. He keeled over in his recliner, on a bright day in the early fall, in front of the TV in the family room. Mom got to him first, and then me.

  On either side of him, we held onto both of his hands. We kissed him, hugged him, and held him close. Mom rocked back and forth with him, clinging to him, her tears soaking his shirt. I told him I’d never forget him. I like to believe Dad heard me. Even if he didn’t, he’d known how much I loved him. Small comfort, but it’s all I had at the time. Words meant to comfort the ones left behind, not the one slipping out of our grasp. My heart never hurt so much.

  “I love you, Daddy,” I whispered before kissing his cheek. Then I left Mom with him, so I could go call for help. Neither one of us thought to call earlier. Or maybe we did, but understand his remaining time was precious. In our hearts, it’s as though we both knew Dad was leaving us, and in those last few moments, it was more important to say our final good-byes.

  By the time the paramedics arrived, he was indeed gone.

  Ryan came to check on me as soon as he heard the news. He’d been at football practice and practically burst through our front door in his full Fighting Grenadiers uniform (named after the grenadier that was a soldier, not the bottom-dwelling fish). My mom had the presence of mind to make him remove his cleats. He kept his gaze trained on me as he did, and then he rushed across the room and pulled me into his arms. Then he kissed the top of my head and murmured how sorry he was, how my dad was a great guy, and how much he’d miss him.

  Through my tears, I saw Mom’s eyes widen, but she backed out of the room without saying anything and left us alone.

  He didn’t say much as he sat with me on the sofa, listening to my memories spill out of me. I appreciated how he let me talk and held my hand. I don’t even remember what I said, and half of it was nonsensical stream-of-consciousness rambling.

  “Ryan, you shouldn’t have left football practice to come,” I told him at length. Secretly, I was thrilled in the midst of my overwhelming sense of numbness.

  Grief was slowly beginning to seep into my soul.

  “I had to come, Ellie. You’re my best friend. I’m here for you. Whatever you need.” Warmed and comforted by his words, I squeezed his hand and leaned on his shoulder for a long time.

  What happened in the next few days was a blur until I sat on the hard wooden pew at Cade’s Corner Community Church, staring at my dad in his coffin. Everyone kept saying how “natural” he appeared, but that wasn’t my father. My dad was tall, handsome, and strong. With color in his cheeks, a deep voice, and a twinkle in his eye when he looked at my mother. I determined then and there that I would have a closed coffin when it was my time to go. I want people to remember me as I am in life, not in death.

  I hated to even think about death, but facing it head-on, I couldn’t ignore it like it hadn’t happened. Like it wasn’t a part of our existence. My grandparents were all still alive at the time, and—call me ungrateful—but how could it possibly be that Dad was gone before both his parents? He was only 54 and much too young to pass.

  So not fair.

  Before the funeral service began, my mom, sisters, grandparents, and other family members stood at the front, shaking hands, accepting condolences, hugging everyone. Maybe I should have been up there with them, but I just couldn’t do it. I’d done my part during the calling hours and that had been the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Kara motioned for me to join them, but I saw Mom put her hand on my sister’s arm and shake her head.

  Thank you, Mom.

  “I never want to die,” I said over my shoulder to Ryan, sitting on the pew behind me.

  “We all have to die sometime, Sass.”

  “How come?” I ignored Aunt Sophie’s glare as she moved up the center aisle, leaving behind the overpowering scent of her gardenia fragrance. Didn’t she understand a lot of people had sensitivities and allergies to perfumes these days? It was my daddy’s funeral, and I’d talk with my best friend if I wanted. Following behind Aunt Sophie, her husband—my Uncle Bob—gave me a reassuring nod.

  “God’s plan.”

  I frowned. “That’s too easy of an answer.”

  “Maybe, but it’s all I’ve got to offer right now.” Crossing his arms on the back of my pew, Ryan leaned forward. “If you’re around when I die, don’t let them put me in an open casket, especially if I’m all mangled up or something.”

  “And, if you’re around when I die, don’t let them cremate me,” I whispered. “For the record, I don’t want an open casket either.”

  We were being highly irreverent both to God and my Dad’s memory, but Ryan’s warped sense of humor in that moment—morbid or not—went a long way toward soothing my frazzled nerves. Most people never talk about death, especially at our age, so it was good information to know although I prayed it wouldn’t come into play until we were both old and gray.

  I slumped farther down on that uncomfortable pew and resisted the almost overpowering urge to cross my arms. Sometimes being a teenager didn’t give me the inherent right to act like a pouty kid. Today, I wished it di
d. Maybe I could consider it a self-hug. Surely that was allowed.

  “I don’t understand the mind of God,” I said. “I guess that’s why He’s God, and we’re…not.”

  “True,” Ryan said. “I think it’s up to us to trust that He’s always got our best interests at heart.”

  “That sounds like something my Dad would have said.”

  “Sorry.” He nudged my arm.

  “Don’t be. It gives me comfort.”

  Ryan asked Jesus into his heart when he was seven, and I’d done the same when I was eight. Seemed I was always a year behind Ryan even though it’s certainly not a competitive thing.

  Sitting on that pew the morning of my daddy’s funeral, I’d never felt so alone. What a confused mess I was, spitting mad one second that the most important man in my life was gone, and rejoicing that he was in Heaven the next. At that point, I wasn’t sure if I was mad at Dad or God. Or both. Or mad at myself for feeling that way.

  God had him now, but I wasn’t ready for my father to be gone from my life.

  Oh, Daddy. I miss you already.

  He’d taught me to ride my tricycle and then my first two-wheeler. Dried my tears after our dog, Buster, died when I was ten. Kissed my boo-boos, made me pancakes on Saturdays, played catch with me in the backyard. The only thing he wouldn’t do was play dolls with me. I could understand. Perhaps taking pity on me one particularly cold winter day, he’d once endured a tea party with me, Miss Sassafras and Miss Franny, my two stuffed bears. I’d love him forever for that memory. Did parents know how special those things were for kids?

  One more thing—Dad couldn’t dance worth a lick. Every time he tried, I howled with laughter, which he did not appreciate. He claimed men aren’t supposed to dance, only women. To which my Mom would smile and say, “Sure they are, Curt. Men are made to dance with women.” That shut him up. I didn’t understand the full ramifications of her observation back then, but now it makes perfect sense. And makes me blush every time I think of it.