A Wish for Christmas

by Thomas Kinkade

  Maybe he had come here today expecting this new therapist to know something that the doctors didn’t. To look him over, broken parts and all, and say, “Hey, no problem. I can fix that. You’re going to be one hundred percent in no time, pal.”

  Maybe that’s what he had secretly been hoping for. Not this flat-out, in your face, no icing on the cake honesty.

  He took a long breath and shook his head. “Great. Just what I wanted to hear. I’m going to have a limp and need a cane the rest of my life? Is that what you’re saying?”

  She stared back at him, meeting his angry glare with a cool gaze. “That might be the final outcome. A lot depends on you, David, on your attitude and goals. What you’re willing to put into your therapy.” She paused, and closed his folder, neatly lining up the pages inside. “Think about it. Get back to me.”

  “What do you mean, get back to you? I thought I was assigned to you. I don’t know much about VA hospitals, but I know they’re part of the army. Which is not big on choices, last I heard.”

  “There are assignments and rules I have to follow,” Gena conceded. “But if I meet a patient whom I think isn’t going to be a good fit, there are ways to pass that case to another therapist.”

  So, he was reduced now to just a “case”? What was going on here? He had expected some gentle handling and sympathy—lots of sympathy, actually.

  “So you don’t want to work with me, is that it?” he asked.

  “I didn’t say that. I’m being honest with you, giving you the complete picture. I give my all, David. I don’t like to work with patients who aren’t making the same effort.” When he didn’t answer, she added, “Would you rather I didn’t treat you like an adult?”

  “Of course not,” he snapped. Though secretly he wasn’t sure. His father and Julie had been handling him as if he were made of glass. Signing on with this woman was like re-upping.

  “Think about it. This is a partnership. I don’t fix you like a mechanic repairs a car,” she clarified. “Your next appointment is Wednesday. If you want to be assigned to a different therapist, you can ask at that time. No problem.”

  Before David could reply, Gena checked her watch. “I’m due at my next appointment. I’ll see you on Wednesday.”

  “Right. When pigs fly, ma’am,” he wanted to say. But he decided it was best not to say anything.

  Flipping the curtain aside, she was gone. George soon appeared as David sat struggling to get off the table. His arms felt weak and rubbery from all the exercise, and he rested for a moment, before trying to lift himself up and off.

  Without saying a word, George gripped him around the waist and helped him down, then held the walker in place.

  “Thanks,” David mumbled.

  “Don’t mention it. That’s what I’m here for.”

  “Really? You’d never know it from talking to your boss.”

  George laughed. “Gena? She’s got her own style, that’s for sure. But she gets results. Nobody will argue with that.”

  George delivered him to the waiting room door where David immediately spotted Jack, who sat reading a newspaper.

  “So, how did it go?” Jack asked, stepping to David’s side.

  “My new physical therapist reminds me of my drill sergeant in basic training,” David reported. “Except even wor—” He broke off as he noticed Gena on the other side of the waiting area, speaking to a patient in a wheelchair. “That’s her.”

  Jack followed David’s glance and looked back at his son with a surprised smile. “You must have had some good-looking officers in the army, son.”

  David didn’t answer. His father didn’t realize. Once you got past the looks, all you got was cold, mean . . . and meaner.

  REVEREND BEN HAD DECIDED TO LEAVE HIS OFFICE EARLY ON MONDAY. He often took Mondays off, needing at least one day of rest after the weekend. But there were a few things he had to take care of today. Christmas was the busiest time of the year at church, with the Christmas fair, the pageant, and the special services. Ben could already feel the momentum building.

  As he closed the door of his office and checked the lock, he saw Laura Miller, one of his parishioners, in the long hallway, standing by the bulletin board.

  She turned, looking startled when she saw him. “Oh, Reverend Ben . . . can I put this sign up somewhere? I can’t seem to find a space.”

  Almost reluctantly, she handed him an index card. He quickly read the note written in bold block letters:REFRIGERATOR NEEDED. ANY AGE OR CONDITION. IF IT RUNS, WE’LL TAKE IT.

  Her name and phone number were written on the bottom.

  Well, that was clear and to the point, Ben thought. “Having problems with your refrigerator?” he asked kindly.

  “It’s been on its way out for a while. Then it broke down a few days ago. It isn’t worth fixing . . . but we really can’t afford a new one right now,” she explained. “We’re hoping to find something secondhand. Sometimes people are redoing a kitchen and they want everything new. They’ll throw out perfectly good appliances or stick them in the garage, you know?”

  Ben knew that type of person existed. There just weren’t many in his congregation.

  “That’s true. Maybe someone will come forward,” he said encourag ingly. “How are you managing in the meantime?”

  “We’ve got a cold chest in the kitchen and some frozen food stashed at my neighbor’s house, and we’re buying just small amounts of perishable at a time. Luckily, it’s been so cold out, we can leave some things on the porch.”

  Laura’s tone was light, but the improvisation sounded inconvenient and complicated to Ben. He knew the Millers had three children and had to be using more groceries every day than could fit into a picnic ice chest.

  But Paul Miller had been laid off from his factory job in September and hadn’t found any work yet. Laura worked part-time in a clothing store in the mall, but that job surely didn’t pay much.

  She was still searching for a spot to stick the index card. Ben took down a notice for the youth group that was out of date and put the card up in the middle of the board. “People should see it there. I can announce this before the service if you like?”

  Sometimes families preferred to keep their needs private. They felt uncomfortable advertising their financial downturns. He knew it was important to be aware of that.

  Laura thought it over a moment. “We don’t mind. I’d appreciate it if you would say a word. There’s no sense being proud about it. We are in a jam.”

  “Okay, I’ll do that,” Ben agreed.

  He walked to the door with Mrs. Miller and held it open for her. He saw Jack Sawyer coming up the path toward the church. A Christmas tree was balanced on one shoulder, and his arms were full of pine wreaths and roping.

  Ben remembered Jack had promised to deliver decorations for the church today. He told Ben he would be around in the late afternoon, but Ben had forgotten. He was glad now they hadn’t missed each other.

  Jack was donating everything, including trees, for the sanctuary and Fellowship Hall. A very generous gift, Ben thought, and somewhat surprising.

  But then Jack had changed a lot the last year or so. He had been coming to church regularly, too, which he had never done while his first wife, Claire, was alive, even though Claire had been an active member of the congregation and their son, David, had gone all through church school and been confirmed.

  But Ben thought the changes in Jack’s personality owed much more to his marriage to Julie than to sitting through sermons. Either way, it gave Ben hope to see how a person could experience a personal renaissance. If it happened to Jack Sawyer, there’s hope for us all, he thought.

  “Looks like you’re getting a delivery, Reverend,” Laura Miller said with a laugh.

  “Yes, it does,” Ben said. “I’d better help.” He quickly said good-bye to Mrs. Miller, and trotted down the path toward Jack.

  “Jack, let me give you a hand.”

  “That’s okay. I’ve got it.” Jack held the bun
dle up to his chest with little effort. Though he wasn’t a very tall man, he was quite strong. “There’s some more roping in the back of the truck. I couldn’t grab it all on the first trip.”

  “I’ll get it,” Ben offered. “The sanctuary doors are open,” he added. “You can leave all that in the back.”

  The deacons were meeting on Wednesday night to decorate so that the church would be decked out in its holiday finery for the weekend, the second Sunday of Advent.

  While Jack continued toward the church, Ben headed for the truck, which was parked at the end of the path. He noticed there was someone in the passenger seat and soon realized it was Jack’s son, David.

  Ben hadn’t seen David since his return from Iraq. He felt bad that he hadn’t gone to visit the young man at home, but when he offered once or twice, Jack and Julie had put him off. Politely, of course, but Ben got the hint: David wasn’t interested in a visit from his former minister—or maybe just any visitors.

  Which was all the more reason he should have persisted, Ben reminded himself.

  But here he was. Ben didn’t want to miss this chance to say hello and wish him well.

  He walked up to the truck window and waved. “Hello, David. Good to see you.”

  David nodded. Ben could tell the young man wasn’t in the mood to socialize. For a moment, he didn’t think David was even going to roll down the window. But he stood there patiently, and finally David hit a button and the glass rolled down.

  He looked older, Ben thought. Ben had seen him briefly last winter when Jack had brought David to church, before he left for the Middle East. Ben remembered distinctly, because last year a Sunday had fallen between Christmas and New Year’s. He had been surprised to see Jack without Julie; they had looked so comfortable together on Christmas, just days before. And he had been positively shocked to see that David had come home after so many years estranged from his father.

  David’s features had changed in the last year. A certain softness, left over from the teenage years, had hardened. His face looked leaner, his jaw and cheekbones sharper. But it was in his eyes that Ben saw the greatest difference. David’s blue-gray eyes looked shadowed and dull, as if the intensity of what he had seen in the war had robbed them of their light.

  Ben extended his hand through the window, and David shook it automatically. “How are you, David? How does it feel being back home?”

  “Pretty good, Reverend. Pretty good.” David forced a smile.

  “How are you doing physically? Your father told me you’re still recovering from surgery, and it’s not been easy for you.”

  “It has not been easy, no sir,” David agreed. A muscle in his cheek twitched, and Ben realized his innocent comment had hit a nerve. “I’m starting physical therapy. I had the first appointment today, at the VA hospital in Beverly.”

  “Good. I hope it goes well for you.” Ben paused, moved by the expression on David’s face. He could see how David was struggling to act and sound normal. To say what he believed was expected—nothing challenging, or even necessarily true.

  But Ben could see clearly that the young man was hurting inside, his spirit wounded as deeply as his body. Ben wished there was something he could say to cut through the disingenuous script they were both reading from right now. Some meaningful words that would help the boy, if only to give a sign that he, Ben, recognized that everything was not okay, that things were not “coming along” all that smoothly.

  Shouldn’t a minister, of all people, know what to do, what to say? he asked himself. It was moments like this when Ben felt tested, wondering if he was any good at all at his calling.

  “I know a little about going through physical therapy. Secondhand, actually,” Ben said finally. “From what I can see, the first session is the hardest—and the second, not much better. The third one . . . that might be even worse than the first.”

  David stared at him with a confused, bewildered look, as if he thought his old pastor had gone a little soft in the head. “Thanks for the warning.”

  “That’s how it went for my wife, anyway,” Ben explained. “Carolyn had a stroke about six years ago. She lost the ability to speak clearly and lost some feeling in her right hand. She’s a pianist, so that was devastating for her.”

  “I remember. I think I still lived at home then.”

  “You were probably in high school at the time,” Ben calculated.

  “How is she now?” David asked.

  “She’s fully recovered. Her speech returned first. But her hand was the problem. She didn’t regain full use of it until two years ago. Pretty amazing how it happened. She had actually given up on ever playing the piano again with two hands. Then it came back . . . out of the blue.”

  Ben didn’t elaborate. The truth was, the muscle control in Carolyn’s hand had come back through an effort of faith and prayer. Ben still wasn’t sure if he would call it a miracle, though his dear wife did.

  Ben was afraid David would be turned off by the story. Too much spiritual talk quickly shut young people down. You had to go slowly, Ben had learned.

  “—and her speech is perfectly clear now, too. She hasn’t lost her Southern accent though. Carolyn was determined to hang on to that,” he added with a smile. Ben’s expression turned serious again. “I guess what I’m trying to say is, it was a long road. Longer than we thought. But she made it.”

  “I’m glad she’s better,” David replied.

  Ben wondered if the boy thought he was just a rambling windbag. He had said enough, probably more than enough. He reached through the window and briefly patted David’s shoulder.

  “Good luck, son. I hope to see you again soon.”

  “Thanks, Reverend.” David’s voice finally sounded sincere.

  “It was nice talking to you.”

  “Nice talking to you, too.”

  Ben turned and walked to the back of the truck, to take out the rest of the pine roping. He saw Jack approaching on the path, and they reached the truck’s tailgate at just about the same moment.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting, Jack. I was just saying hello to David.”

  “That’s all right.” Jack glanced toward the front of the truck and lowered his voice. “I’m glad you had a minute to talk to him. Coming back and dealing with an injury has been hard. He’s not doing that well.”

  Ben could tell Jack was worried. At least he was aware of David’s state of mind, not in denial or so elated over his son’s survival that he couldn’t see what was going on with the boy.

  “He has a lot to deal with, Jack. It’s a lot for you and Julie, too, I imagine.”

  Jack nodded quickly, looking down at his boots.

  “If you need to talk with me, about anything at all, just give a call, okay?” Ben offered.

  “Yes, I will.” Jack reached into the truck bed, lifted out the big coil of pine garland. “I’ve got it,” he said. “Let me bring this in for you.”

  “Well, thank you, Jack,” Ben said, following him back into the church. “And thank you for this wonderful donation. It’s very generous of you.”

  “No problem. We’re happy to do it.” Jack set down the roping with the rest of the greenery. “Thanks for talking to David. I’ve been trying but . . . I’m not very good at it.”

  “I’m sure you’re better at it than you think. Just stay with it. It can be very frustrating, watching him struggle. Keep believing in his recovery, even when he doesn’t. Especially when he doesn’t,” Ben clarified. “That might be the hardest part.”

  “I’ll do my best,” Jack said quietly.

  “That’s all we can do. And pray. Then, leave the rest to God.”

  “I’ll try to do that, too.”

  Leaving the rest to God was hard, especially when a parent had to stand by and watch his child flounder, even suffer. Ben knew something about that.

  There was no doubt that Jack Sawyer loved his son and would do anything for him. Ben hoped that love would help pull this ex-soldier through.

/>   CHAPTER FIVE

  “DAD, LOOK WHAT I FOUND. IT’S PERFECT.” GRACE HEGMAN practically ran right up the full flight of stairs. She entered the apartment over her shop a bit winded.

  Her father sat in the parlor in his favorite wingback chair, reading the newspaper. It was nearly eleven, time to open the shop, but he could no longer handle that duty on his own.

  Grace wasn’t worried. Wednesday was the slowest day of the week, even during the Christmas season. Besides, they had important business to discuss right here. A treasure had dropped into her hands this morning, and they needed to do something about it.

  “What is it, Grace? You seem so excitable lately.” Digger put down the newspaper, greeting her with a curious stare.

  She tugged loose the silk scarf tied at her neck with one hand, the other hand digging into the pocket of her jacket.

  “Here, read this card, Dad. Just what we’re looking for.” Grace handed down an index card, a message written in neat, block letters.

  Digger wore his glasses but still held the card at arm’s length to read aloud. “Refrigerator wanted. Any age or condition. If it runs, we’ll take it. . . .”

  Grace saw his eyes widen first, then his smile. “Good work, Gracie. Where the devil did you find this?”

  Grace felt pleased by his praise. She slipped off her jacket and sat on the antique couch, a velvet-covered camelback with claw feet. “I was over at church this morning, dropping something off for the Christmas Fair. I was just walking out when I took a look at the bulletin board, and there it was, stuck right in the middle. As if someone had planted it there on purpose, for me to see. I wasn’t sure if I should take it home. But I had no pen or pencil handy to copy the phone number. And I didn’t want anyone else to see it and call and maybe offer that family some old hunk of junk—when we could buy a nice, new fridge for them.”

  “Good thinking.” Digger dipped his white head in agreement. “You did the right thing. We’ve got this covered.”