Unwrapping Christmas (10 page)

She half-rose on her elbow. “You mean you’re no longer in love with me?”

“Of course I am, but it’s different.” He eased her back on the bed. “We know each other now. Like the Bible says, the two of us have become one. Eddy and Charlene are still building their relationship. Young love is great, exciting, and wears you out. Mature love is the best kind. Comfortable, yet the love keeps growing. Eddy and Charlene don’t share what we have, but they will someday.”

Rose snuggled closer to his warmth. “I so love you, Joey.”

“You’d better.” He kissed her. “And now if you’re feeling better, I need to get a couple hours of sleep. Santa comes tonight, you know. Ho, ho, ho.”

“Eric and Anna don’t expect . . . ”

He laid a finger across his lips. “I pray to God that none of us ever stops expecting. Ever stops dreaming. That we all remain childlike and hopeful in our expectations. I believe that pleases God the most.”

“Amen,” she whispered. She needed to pray that on this most sacred of nights, the celebration of the Savior’s birth would be realized.

She eased closer so she could look up at him in the darkness. On impulse, she reached up to hook one arm around his neck, pulling his head down slowly to meet hers. His lips were warm and seeking, and she knew he was hers. Like the Bible said, they were joined together forever. She wanted Anna to experience the same all-consuming love.

“Merry Christmas, Joey.”

Joey’s lips brushed her hair. “Don’t worry so much about Nick and Anna. God has our daughter’s life in hand.”

A moment later he rolled to his side, and shortly afterwards she heard his breathing become slow and even. She muffled a whimper as she carefully shifted to her back.

A thin glow of streetlight filtered through the lacy curtain, throwing deep shadows into the remote corners. This was the only Christmas since she had been married and had children that she hadn’t been in a panicked state, racing around, trying to do a dozen things at once.
Be still,
and know that I am God.
The Bible verse had never held more meaning. Rarely was she still long enough to know that God was God, to
rest in his assurance.

The pain eased enough for Rose to drop off to sleep. At first, she tumbled into deep slumber, almost exhausting in its intensity, but gradually faces and forms took shape. She heard voices. Familiar faces danced through the drug-enhanced sleep, flitting in and out with no obvious purpose, jolting her awake. She tried to orient her thoughts. She was in bed with Joey sleeping beside her. The house had a predawn feel about it. Why was her sleep haunted by barely perceived forms, like something out of her past? Must be the Vicodin.

Her eyelids were so heavy she couldn’t hold them open. Gradually they drifted shut, ushering in more faces. She was running down the highway carrying a paper bag containing a Big Mac and fries covered in horseradish.

She had no idea what that represented.

“Horseradish clears the sinuses,” she heard Joey say.

“Hmm?” She stirred. “Who said that?” Rose mumbled the words, but no one answered. The highway was long and dark, broken by the glow of car lights that approached and flashed by. She had to find a place to stop and eat. Instead she continued running down the highway wearing rubber thongs, carrying the bag with the Big Mac and fries.

Got to gain weight, got to gain weight. Too thin, too thin! The words beat out the cadence like jungle drums.

She woke confused, drenched in sweat. What had that been all about?

Big Mac. She eased the blankets aside. Joey stirred.

Sleep reclaimed her, only to release her thirty minutes later, according to the lighted numbers of her bedside clock. Would this night ever end? The mantel clock chimed the half hour. Three-thirty and no one was stirring. Not even a mouse.

Trapped in a semiconscious solitude, she stared at the ceiling, allowing her mind to drift over Joey’s concerns about her busy life and the past hectic month. When had she gotten on this treadmill? It had started gradually, slipping up on her — busy, busy, busy.

She stirred when images of Jean standing in the church ser vice and sharing her fears about Ken flashed through her mind. Had Rose really been so busy that she couldn’t have stopped, taken the young woman in her arms, and cried with her? Prayed with her — maybe not out loud, but silently, together?

And Sue, the hypochondriac. All she sought was a word of assurance, but Rose had been so busy she hadn’t picked up the phone to learn that Sue had discovered a lump in her breast. That was not manufactured fear —that was every woman’s nightmare.

Recurring flashbacks tripped through her mind as shadowy apparitions. Blyth. Her son was on drugs, a serious problem, but not critical to one whose son never gave her a moment’s problem until the smoking incident.

Joey’s voice.
“Smoking in the bathroom, Rose! Maybe
he knows his parents are too busy to talk when he needs
guidance!”

Rose reached out to lightly touch Joey, sleeping beside her. In the twenty years of their married life, she had never had reason to doubt his love and fidelity. How many women could make that claim?

She held her breath. Smoke? Had she smelled smoke?

No. The fireplace — she smelled the fireplace. Her stomach churned with medication and too much of the Christmas turkey she’d consumed. Should have had Joey bring her an antacid the last time he’d been up to get her medication. She’d wake him now — no, he needed his sleep. Her eyelids fluttered. Need to wake up.

She woke with a start, and then drifted.

Blyth. Hollow-eyed, shaken, Blyth, struggling to deal with her husband’s death and a son who had turned to drugs. She’d given compassion that morning with an eye on the clock. After all, Eric had been exemplary due to what? Her and Joey’s expert parenting skills?

Through God’s grace, Eric had yet to experiment with drugs, but he could. He could. And where and to whom would she turn for solace? God, yes, certainly. Friends? She prayed there would be a few who would rise to the occasion. A child on drugs didn’t always work out for the best. Sometimes it didn’t work out at all.

“Have faith and everything will be fine.” So where was the Scripture reference for that? The disciples had faith and they had become martyrs. Faith was not an insurance policy against pain. Missionaries who had given their life in a foreign land knew that God did not grant promises on demand.

“You just need to trust God more.” She shuddered, rolling to her side. Tears trickled from the corners of her eyes. Who made her an expert on trust?

God, forgive me. Help me to rethink my purpose, to serve
you in a way that will make you proud.

The Advent candles’ light itself becomes an important symbol for the season. The light reminds us that Jesus is the light of the world, which comes into the darkness of our lives to bring newness, life, and hope. It also reminds us that we are called to be a light to the world as we reflect the light of God’s grace to others.

chapter 13

Watery rays of dawn leaked through the curtain. Rose stirred, thankful the long night was over. Christmas Day. The Lord’s birthday. All over the world bright-eyed children clambered out of bed and scampered for the tree, while others knelt in predawn church ser vices to offer humble gratitude.

She watched the pale square of light spread across the carpet, gray dawn gradually illuminating the room. How had she lost sight of such simplicity? God never meant for his Word to be so complicated. Man had added rituals and regulations, often stifling the joy of Christian living. She needed change. She needed to take a close look at Christ’s life and see if she could find one single casserole or bundt cake. Bundt cakes and casseroles were fine when one was physically hungry, but the spiritually needy wanted more, deserved more.

She thought of the woman who had crept through the crowd, and with amazing faith, reached out and brushed the hem of Jesus’s robe. And her faith healed her.

Rose had faith, but for the first time, she realized she did not accurately understand what Christ meant when he commanded, “Love one another.” Truly love one another.

With God’s help she could change. She would change. Starting today, this day of renewed hope.

She nudged Joey, trying to wake him so she could share her newfound knowledge. “Joey? Honey?” He mumbled something indistinguishable. “Joey?” she whispered in his ear, wanting to wake him gently.

“Huh?” He gradually opened his eyes and then sat upright. “What? More Vicodin?” He threw back the sheet and his bare feet hit the floor. Rose reached out a restraining hand. She pulled lightly at his shoulder and he folded back into bed, yanking the sheet over his head. He was back asleep in moments.

Rose sighed, easing closer to his warmth. The medicine was working its magic; nothing hurt. Joey rolled over facing the wall. Rose glanced his way and scooted closer. Wrapping her arms around his waist, she whispered, “The moment I’m back on my feet, I am going to have lunch with Jean. Three hours, maybe longer. I’ll let her talk —that’s all she wants. Someone to listen. I don’t have to have an answer, but I can listen.”

“Umm?”

“Nothing, darling, go back to sleep.”

She began to pray, relishing her time with the Father. It had been too long since they’d talked, one of those Father-daughter talks. She had plenty of time. No hurry.

No rush. For once, Rose Bergmen was in no hurry.

She had all the time he allotted her.

Standing under a hot shower, Rose relished the driving water needles massaging her sore muscles. She was so stiff she thought she might have to call for assistance to get dressed, but a clean robe sufficed. Anna was already in the kitchen looking helpless, but apparently eager to help in a crisis. Rose came in and sat down at the table. “Merry Christmas, honey. If you’ll bring me a pillow, I’ll help you cook breakfast.”

“Merry Christmas, Mom.” Anna smiled. “I know how to do scrambled eggs, but that’s about it. Where’s Dad?”

“Still sleeping.”

Anna brought a pillow, carefully inserting it between Rose’s back and the chair. “What do I do first?”

Rose leaned back, feeling much better than expected. The fog was still there, but lifting. “First of all, make coffee. Your father can’t wake up without it.”

“Coffee.” Anna got the beans and poured them into the grinder. Soon the rich aroma of Colombian roast filled the early morning air.

“Now,” Rose said, “we have croissants from the bakery. Get the heavy skillet. Add butter. Break a dozen eggs into a bowl, and in a second skillet, fry sausage. We’ll have breakfast sandwiches.”

“Gotcha.” Anna got the sausage patties from the freezer and slapped them in the cold cast-iron skillet as if she had been doing it all her life. She adjusted the burner heat, and then took eggs from the refrigerator, breaking them carefully into the blue pottery bowl.

Rose heard the shower running. One of the men in the family was up. Joey joined them shortly, his hair still wet. That left Eric. Like most thirteen-year-olds, he would have to be dragged from bed.

Ten minutes later, her son entered the kitchen, surprising her. She grinned. “You’re up early.”

“Thought I’d better get up and supervise the cooking. After all, if I have to eat it, I want to be sure it’s done right.”

A short time later, the family gathered around the table, holding hands for the blessing. Joey thanked God for the day. Rose blinked back tears when she heard him thank the Father for each family member, expressing how much each person meant to him and asking his special favor on them. He requested healing for Rose and wisdom for Eric and Anna.

After the echoed amens, Anna set the platter of sandwiches on the table, beaming with pride. “Eat hearty. I know they’re good. I made them myself.”

Eric lifted the top half of the croissant, peering suspiciously at the ingredients. “Promise this won’t make me sick?”

“I promise if you don’t eat every bite of it, I’ll tell your friends you used my sweet violet shower gel.”

He glowered at his sister. “That’s blackmail.”

“You got it.” She grinned. “Want seconds?”

Rose met Joey’s eyes and smiled. How long had it been since they had laughed together, prayed as a family? Far, far too long.

Even before they delved into the Christmas stockings, she knew this moment was the best gift of all.

After, Joey and Eric cleaned up the wrappings from the last gifts, they dropped onto the sofa to watch football. Rose remained in the kitchen with Anna.

“We’ll make soup for lunch. Get out the Crock-pot, the big one,” she instructed. “We’re going to make baked potato soup. Use the kitchen shears to cut the bacon into small pieces and put it in the cast-iron skillet. Let it cook while you chop the onions and potatoes, and then add them to the broth.”

Anna started on the bacon. “This is fun. We ought to do it more often. I’ve always wanted to know how to cook. Can you teach me to make lutefisk and lefse and sirupsnipper?”

“You really want to know?”

“I want our traditions to never change.”

“Anna . . . I didn’t know . . . ”

Her daughter frowned. “Well, you were always so busy, I didn’t want to bother you.”

Rose swallowed the lump in her throat.

“You’re never a bother to me. I know I’ve been too busy, but that’s going to change. From now on I’m going to spend more time with my family and less time with busy stuff.” She couldn’t give up all her busywork, but she could prioritize.

“Really?” Anna ceased cutting bacon to look at her.

“You mean that?”

“I mean it. I’m going to be underfoot so much, you’ll be longing for the good old days.”

“Not a chance.” Her daughter dumped the bacon into the skillet and started on the onions. When the bacon was crispy, she stirred it into the broth mixture and poured it into the Crock-pot.

“Now cut up the cheese,” Rose instructed. “Add it to the soup mixture.”

“The whole box? That’s a lot of cheese.”

“The whole two pounds. Add it to the hot soup mixture and let it melt.”

Anna looked up while cutting cheese.