A Christmas Promise (Kansas Crossroads Book 16)

by Amelia C. Adams

  He paused again and swallowed. He’d hoped to touch the hearts of the parishioners in the audience—he hadn’t realized to what extent he himself would be impacted. “My uncle was very much against my becoming a pastor,” he said when he felt his voice would carry beyond the front row. “He spent quite a lot of time lecturing me about my ‘unfortunate’ career path, feeling that the clergy are nothing more than a collection of charlatans who prey on the sensitive beliefs of their congregations. Even with all that, I’ve never been mocked as our Savior was mocked.

  “I’ve experienced great illness. The year before I decided to enter seminary, I came down with a horrendous fever that kept me delirious for days. I thought I saw the darkness of hell as the fever raged, and I wished for death during my lucid moments. But even through that, I’ve never suffered as our Savior has suffered. No man, woman, or child on this earth has ever suffered that greatly, and I have been driven to my knees time and time again filled with gratitude, knowing that He has lifted my burdens and made all things lighter for me to endure.

  “We may not know or understand the reasons for our suffering in this life—it might all remain a great mystery to us. There is one thing I do know, however, one thing I would stake my life on, and that is this—Jesus Christ has borne our griefs and our sorrows. He walks alongside us as we encounter the darkness and the pain of our mortal existence. We are not left alone—no, we most certainly are not. Do I know why one mother’s child dies while another one is healed? No. Do I understand why it seems so difficult to receive the answers to prayer even when we are asking as sincerely as we know how? I do not. But I know as surely as I stand before you today that our Savior does know, and that in time, we will understand, and we will come to recognize His goodness and His mercy to us as His plan is unfolded to our minds.”

  Richard’s knees were becoming weak, and he knew that if he didn’t end soon, his physical strength would be spent. He hadn’t realized how the things of the spirit could exhaust the things of the flesh, but he was certainly nearing the end of his capabilities. “This is the real message of Christmas,” he said. “Not only was there a tiny baby born in a stable to a gentle mother and tender father, but there was a man—indeed, a Man of Holiness—who came to this earth to show us the way, to guide our footsteps so we might experience the eternal joy that comes to those who accept His leadership and trust in His name. Because of Christ, we have hope that will last beyond this life, and for that reason, I must shout hosanna. Amen.”

  The congregation echoed with an “amen” of their own.

  “The choir will now favor us with another selection as we close this Christmas Eve gathering. May you each feel the joy of the season as you make your way home this morning.”

  Richard stepped back from the pulpit and felt around blindly for his seat. He had done it—he had delivered his first sermon without succumbing to a heart attack or fainting at the pulpit. His heart was pounding so rapidly, he wasn’t sure that he was out of danger, but if he did suddenly die, at least he’d know that he died relaying the most vulnerable beliefs of his soul, and that’s really all he could ask for.

  Chapter Seven

  Miranda stood at the end of her pew, fidgeting with the button on her cuff. The others from the Brody had gone on ahead—she’d told them she’d catch up. Now as she watched the congregation file out, she wondered if she should have gone with them after all—she wasn’t sure why she’d stayed behind.

  Richard greeted each member of the congregation as they left the building. He must have been getting cold, standing in the drafty doorway, but he didn’t seem bothered by the temperature. Instead, he seemed warmed by something from inside, and Miranda might even have to concede that it was the strength of his convictions that was keeping him from becoming chilled.

  She didn’t know what she thought about that. Yes, he believed in his words with all his being, and she had to admit that something had stirred inside her as she listened to him. Her mind was still too plagued with sorrow and her heart was still too sore to acknowledge it, though, and it almost felt as though the seedlings of hope she felt were mocking everything she’d been through.

  As she stood there waiting for her chance to greet Richard and then leave without fanfare, she couldn’t help but notice how many of the young ladies of the congregation had also lined up to speak with him. They were quite a collection of fresh and pretty faces, no doubt starry-eyed and pink cheeked, every one of them more delightful and trusting than herself. Her cynicism made her feel older than them even though they were likely close to the same age. He really should choose one of them—he’d be so much happier than he would be if he kept trying to convince her away from her skepticism.

  “He did well,” Pastor Osbourne said, coming up beside her and nodding toward Richard.

  “Yes, he did. Much better than he thought he would.” Miranda turned and looked at Pastor Osbourne. “He’s not going to make this easy on me, is he?”

  “What? Your determination to keep God at arms’ length?” Pastor Osbourne laughed, shaking his head. “You are a stubborn one, Miranda Monroe, but Richard’s stubborn too. And God’s the most stubborn of us all.”

  She tilted her head. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that God never gives up on us, even when we’ve given up on ourselves. He seeks after us until the very end, long after everyone else has dropped out of the fight.” He rocked back on his heels, considering her. “Have you ever read the story of the lost sheep?”

  “That was one of my mother’s favorites.”

  “Tell me what you remember about it.”

  Miranda felt awkward, reciting a Bible story to a pastor in the middle of a church, but she pulled in a breath and began. “There once was a shepherd who had a hundred sheep, and one night, he noticed that one was missing. So he went in search of it and kept searching until he finally found it. It’s supposed to remind us that Jesus cares about each one of us personally.” A sweet story, but one she’d struggled to believe. Wasn’t her pleading just as important as a lamb out in the cold night? Why had Jesus gone after the lamb while ignoring Miranda’s prayers for her mother to be healed?

  “Have you ever thought about just how that sheep came to be missing?” Pastor Osbourne asked.

  “No. I figured it just wandered off.”

  “That’s entirely possible, but sheep tend to stick pretty closely together. I’ve often wondered if perhaps that sheep chose to wander off rather than becoming lost accidentally.”

  “I’m not sure I understand,” Miranda said.

  “What if that sheep—for whatever reason—decided that it was tired of following the shepherd, that it no longer believed the shepherd knew what was best? What if it left the flock willfully and then became lost, unable to find its way back? The shepherd never stopped to ask if the sheep deserved to be saved. He saved the sheep because He loved it just as much as He loved all the rest, no matter why it left.”

  Miranda slowly nodded. “That would take quite a lot of stubbornness,” she said after a moment.

  “Yes, it would. God’s love isn’t the sort that can be extinguished so easily.” He met her gaze, and a smile flickered across his face. “Now, between Pastor Norton and myself, do you think you’ve been properly lectured today? I can go on, you know,” he said with a twinkle in his eye.

  Miranda felt her cheeks become warm. “No, I think you’ve been quite thorough. You’ve given me a lot to think about.”

  “Then I’ll stop talking and leave you to your ruminations.” He gave her a nod, then continued out of the church. He spoke with Richard briefly and shook his hand before stepping outside.

  Richard remained in the doorway for a moment, then turned and saw Miranda still standing there. A smile lit his face. He closed the church door, then made his way over to her.

  “How did I do?” he asked.

  “I think the entire congregation felt that you did remarkably well. Especially the young ladies of the congregation.”
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  Richard looked down at the floor, clearly embarrassed. “Pastor Osbourne warned me about that, but I still don’t think I was prepared for it. I’ve got about a dozen dinner invitations now—and I don’t want to go to any of them.”

  “Aren’t you a fan of home cooking?”

  “I enjoy home cooking quite a bit. I’m just worried about what else will be served with the meal.” He chuckled. “So, let’s go back to the part where you said I did remarkably well.”

  “You did, and I heard many nice things being said about you as people were leaving.” She wouldn’t tell him what she’d overheard before the service began. There was no need.

  “Thankfully, they repeated those nice things directly to me. I’m overwhelmed and relieved by their positive responses.” Richard took a seat in the pew right behind Miranda’s. “I can’t believe how exhausting that was. I feel like I could sleep for three days straight.”

  “You’d miss Christmas,” Miranda replied.

  “I would, and that would be a shame.” He looked up at her, and she noticed how tired he seemed.

  “Could you take a nap, maybe? Would that help?”

  “I’m not usually a nap taker, but there could be an exception this time.” He patted the bench next to him, and she sat beside him willingly. “You told me that the congregation approved of my sermon, but what about you?”

  “Oh, I don’t think they approve of me much at all,” she replied, purposely misunderstanding him.

  He shook his head, hiding a smile. “Miss Monroe, you’re quite infuriating. Once and for all, what did you think of my sermon? Out with it now.”

  She grinned at him, but then grew serious again. “I think you’ve found your rightful calling. You looked at home up there, as though the pulpit was a part of you. It’s actually . . . it’s frightening.”

  “Frightening? How so?”

  “Maybe ‘frightening’ isn’t the right word.” Her thoughts were in such a muddle, she was surprised she was able to find words at all. “We knew each other so well as children that of course I tend to remember the young boy you were when I think about you. But you’re not that boy anymore—you’ve grown and changed, and seeing you up there just now . . . It’s hard for me to reconcile that boy with this man, especially when this man is so filled with passion and purpose that it seems to take him over.” She wasn’t communicating very well, and hoped that he’d be able to sift through her bumbling and understand what she was trying to say.

  “I’m still that boy you knew, Miranda. I’ll go outside with you right now and toss around a few more snowballs, if that would help.”

  She chuckled, shaking her head. “No, that’s all right. I believe you. I just feel that you’ve . . . you’ve transformed into something greater, like a caterpillar becoming a butterfly, and I’m one of the beetles down here on the ground wondering what on earth happened.”

  “You’re comparing yourself to a beetle?”

  She sighed, exasperated. “I’m doing my best to explain, but my brain is spinning right now. You gave me a great deal to think about. I need time to sort it all out, but trust me, the wheels are turning in the back of my head.”

  He smiled, but she could see something else on his face, in his eyes. Almost as if he was hesitant to say whatever would come next. “I’m glad. I confess, I hoped I’d reach you today. The needs of the congregation are important to me, but you’re the only person I could think about as I prepared.”

  “Oh? And why is that?” She was teasing him now, her natural defense when she felt vulnerable.

  He reached over and took her hand in his, and she felt his fingers tremble just the slightest bit. “When we knew each other as children, you carried a spark inside you, something that made me feel glad whenever I saw you. Now I sense a deep sadness where that spark used to be.”

  “And you’re not glad to see me anymore?” Again, she pushed back, trying not to let him in. It hurt too much to love and then lose, and if she allowed him into her heart, the pain when she was forced to send him away would be too much.

  “I’m happier to see you than I’ve ever been to see someone in my entire life,” he replied. His voice became a little gruff with emotion. “Miranda, you’re the part of my heart I’ve been missing this whole time. It’s not a coincidence that we were both brought to this place—we’re here for a reason, and that reason is each other.”

  “But . . . how can you know that? And how can you claim to know God’s plan like you do?”

  He chuckled and stroked the side of her face with the tip of his finger. “If God is made of love, as I believe He is, then I also have to believe that my feelings for you come from Him. Honestly, Miranda, do you have any idea how fast my heart starts to beat when I see you? Just sitting here next to you, I have tingles running up and down my arms because I want to hold you so badly. Every time you look at me, I melt into a puddle, I forget how to talk—I can’t even remember my own name.”

  She blinked. What was he saying? “Are . . . are you telling me that you love me?”

  “As surprising as it might be, yes. It’s one of those miraculous, unexplainable things that sometimes comes along and blesses our lives when we least expect it, but here you are, right in front of me, and I’m in love with you.”

  “But . . . but you just got here. We haven’t seen each other in years.” Attraction, she understood. Daydreaming about the future—she also understood. But love? Right now? So soon? How was that possible?

  “I know it doesn’t make sense, but feelings don’t have to be logical, do they? In fact, I think they’re quite the opposite.”

  Miranda pressed her fingertips to her temples. It was all becoming too much. “Could we possibly finish talking about all this another time? I feel like I’m in the middle of a stampede, and every single one of the cows is you.”

  “I’m a herd of cows?”

  “You’ve come out of nowhere, caught me off guard, and now you want to talk about religion and love and feelings, and I need time. I’m sorry.” She stood up and stepped into the aisle. “Your sermon was excellent. Congratulations.”

  “Miranda, wait.”

  She turned back to face him. “Yes?”

  “When can I see you again?”

  She shook her head. Hadn’t he been listening? “I don’t know, Richard, but I need you to give me some time. Can you do that for me?”

  He studied her eyes, then nodded slowly. “Yes. I can.”

  “Thank you. I don’t know how long, but I’ll come find you, all right?”

  He nodded again without saying anything.

  She turned and walked down the aisle, then closed the door to the church firmly behind her. She hadn’t meant to hurt his feelings, but she meant what she’d said—she felt completely overwhelmed, and she needed to create some distance between them. Her brain and her heart were in turmoil, and if she didn’t have a moment to settle herself, she’d surely lose her mind.

  Chapter Eight

  More than ever before, Richard wanted to kick himself. When he’d first spoken to Miranda about her mother’s passing, he’d done a terrible job of it, and he’d berated himself ever since. This time, he’d not only lectured her from across the pulpit, but he’d proceeded to tell her he was in love with her right afterwards. How could he aspire to be a good pastor when he couldn’t even master the art of basic communication?

  In truth, he didn’t regret anything he’d said. He’d spoken sincerely and shared the feelings of his heart. If he had anything to regret, it was the fact that she wasn’t ready to hear it, and perhaps she never would be. Again, that was something he couldn’t control, and he shouldn’t desire to control it. Just as God gave man a way back to heaven, He gave man free will, and Richard wouldn’t deny Miranda that gift, even if it meant she might choose to walk away from him.

  He entered the parsonage and hung his coat on the hook near the front door, taking care to wipe his feet before stepping off the rug.

  “And there he
is,” Mrs. Little said, greeting him in the hallway. “I understand you gave a marvelous sermon this morning, Pastor Norton. I’m sorry to have missed it, but Celeste was sleeping and I didn’t want to drag her out into the cold.”

  “Of course not. Let her stay snug and warm,” Richard replied. “I believe the sermon went well. We’ll have to see if any of it bears fruit.”

  “And sometimes that takes years,” Pastor Osbourne said as he exited his study and pulled the door closed behind him. “Come into the parlor with me and have some coffee, Richard. I daresay you’re quite worn out.”

  “And you’d be exactly right.” Richard followed his mentor into the cheery room and took a seat near the fireplace. “I had no idea how exhausted I’d be afterwards. Does it get easier?”

  “It does, but you’ll always feel at least somewhat tired. The spirit pulls from the body, and yet somehow rejuvenates both. I haven’t figured out how yet.” Pastor Osbourne leaned forward and poured two cups of coffee from the pot in the center of the table. After handing one to Richard, he settled back with his own. “I’ll have you know, you’ve made my job more difficult. I’ll need to rewrite my sermon for tomorrow if I want any chance of topping yours.”

  “You’re just being polite, but thank you,” Richard said.

  “I’m not just being polite. I’m hardly ever polite—just ask my wife.” Pastor Osbourne took a few sips of his coffee, then set his cup down. “You look troubled.”

  “Oh, it’s just more of the same—wondering how I was received and wishing I’d learn a better balance when it comes to speaking versus keeping my mouth shut. Miranda was already overwhelmed at the end of church, and then I compounded matters by telling her I love her. She left the church in a hurry and all but begged me to leave her alone.”