by Lynn Donovan
“Amen,” answered the congregation, and then he sat down in the front row beside his wife.
Barbara nodded to Jeremiah. The house lights went off. Dark silence suspended for a moment, and then drumsticks clicked. Click, click, click, click…
The stage lights flashed on. “The first Noel, the angel did say…” the team sang and Grace signed. A tingling sensation skipped down her skin. She loved signing with the praise team. It truly added so much to the performance. Several people had told her how much they missed her being part of the team. Her heart filled with joy, but there was something else. The music and her illustrations were synchronized as one. She could feel the song in her gestures. She could feel the energy of God’s presence surrounding her, like the floodlight covered her in illumination.
“Oh holy night, the stars are brightly shining…,” they began the second song. Grace scanned the shadowed faces. She wondered about the woman she had seen during rehearsal. Maybe she’d recognize the chin-length bob, but she couldn’t find her. All the spotlights were on the singers, and the house lights were down. Rows and rows of dark silhouettes filled the pews. No one could be seen distinctly. Her own family sat hidden by the darkness. She knew Faith and her mother were out there somewhere. She just didn’t know where they were. She would look once the house lights came up. Her thoughts returned to the performance.
“Fall…on your knees! Oh, hear the angel voices!”
“O night divine, the night when Christ was born…”
The story in the song pierced Grace’s heart. Hot tears streamed down her face, as vivid images of angels singing over the sacred newborn child played in her mind like a memory. How amazing it must have been.
For Mary.
For Joseph.
“O night…divine, Oh, night…when Christ was born.”
The word born was illustrated by placing her right hand on her abdomen and then laying it in her left palm, like you took what was on your tummy and laid it on your left hand. This was the final sign for this song. When she touched her abdomen, a warm sensation radiated from her middle, and when she laid her right hand in her left, the room tilted. She closed her eyes and squatted next to the bottled water on the floor. A sparkling sensation swirled around her like glitter floating in the spot light. She twisted off the top and tipped it up, drawing the cool liquid into her mouth. The glitter continued to fall around her and yet, none of it touched her or the floor. She glanced over at Ron. Did he see it, too?
Ron stepped over and took her elbow to help her stand back up. He whispered, “You okay?”
“Yeah, thanks.” She held the bottle against her neck. “Lights ’re hot.”
She giggled. The coolness helped.
“Joy to the world, the Lord is come...!” As Grace signed the words, strength returned to her limbs. Barbara kept glancing over at her, but, honestly, she was fine. In fact, she felt better since the glitter started swirling around her. How odd. What was this stuff? Did Barbara put something on the ceiling so this sparkling stuff fell during the performance? She nodded toward Barbara. This effect was cool. Grace showed her approval by smiling at her dear friend.
Barbara returned her smile. The song continued to its end. Then the finale—
Excitement washed over Grace. This song, its words, had lingered in her thoughts these past three weeks like a really good movie stays with you long after you leave the theatre. The effect was indescribable, and ever present. She found herself stepping forward one step, as if she was about to sing a solo. This song had that effect on her. It was like she was illustrating directly before the white throne of God.
“Mary did you know…?”
The enormity of Mary’s pregnancy had to be overwhelming for one so young—and yet so faithful.
The song went on to ask Mary, did she know her child would deliver her? That he would give sight to a blind man, calm a storm with his own hands? It asked, did she know he had walked where angels once walked. But the line that gripped her heart the greatest was when she signed the question, did she know that when she kissed her baby, she was kissing the face of God.
How powerful!
Grace fought the tears, but they flowed freely. Overwhelmed with emotions, she thanked God she was not singing. She had no voice. Her throat had tightened up with sentiment for the magnitude of it all. This story was amazing, this question to the virgin teen. Did she know? How could she possibly fathom—
The song ended and the house lights went on. The congregants stood, applauding, and whistling.
A standing ovation.
Grace laughed and glanced around at her fellow praise team. Huge grins donned every face. They felt it too. Barbara nodded—their signal to exit. Everybody rotated to their right and followed the one in front of them to the three steps. Ron stood at the bottom to hold each lady’s hand as she stepped down.
“Thank you, Ron,” Grace whispered.
He nodded.
Grace scanned the pews. The woman with the short-bob hair cut could not be found among the people. Maybe she was in the nursery. Grace stepped toward the exit, but her sister waved a long arm in the air. Finding the mysterious lady would have to wait, if finding her was even a possibility. Grace reluctantly moved toward her family.
Chapter Thirteen
Before Grace reached her mom and sister, Eartha Mills, an elder of the church, approached Grace. She leaned heavily on her quad-foot cane. She wore a red, loose-fitting dress. Chris would have called it a Muumuu. Just the tip of her gold slippers showed from under the hem. The old hymn, Oh Them Golden Slippers, ran through Grace’s mind every time Eartha wore those shoes. Grace couldn’t help but smile. She wished Chris was standing next to her so she could gently nudge him and draw his attention to the shoes.
Eartha’s black and gray hair was pulled straight back, slick against her scalp, into a tiny bun. Could it be she had forgotten to put on her wig? She didn’t usually come to church without a hair-piece, and usually she wore the jaw-length hair. But she hadn’t forgotten her huge, golden ear-bobs, shaped like round-faced angels with wide-spread wings. They clipped onto her earlobe, since her ears were not pierced. They were huge and no one could possibly look as right as Eartha did wearing them.
Her slow, deep-south accent dominated her words. “Child, I was so blessed by your signin’. Did you feel da angel ahind you?”
Grace forced a pleasant smile toward the dear woman. “What?” She glanced at her mother as she stepped up behind Eartha. “An angel?”
An uncertain eyebrow rose on her mom’s forehead. Grace knew the gesture well.
“Oh, Miss Grace, I saw an angel spread her wings far and wide ahind you as you signed. It was glorious!” She clasped her hands over her heart. “You have such a beautiful gift. And da good Lord told me your baby girl will have dis gift, too.”
Eartha’s hand moved toward Grace’s abdomen, but she hesitated, and pulled her dark hand back to her heart. She bit her lip and moist tears filled her eyes. “I know your Chris be so excited, too. He’s wanted dis baby for such a long time, hasn’t he?
Grace bit back the tears. Had Eartha forgotten Chris had died? Was she speaking nonsense? Grace shoved down the desire to let her hopes rise. Could Ms. Eartha be prophesying, or just hallucinating, maybe experiencing dementia? Grace couldn’t rely on this precious old woman’s words. Who knew where they were coming from?
“You’re all a glow, already.” Eartha touched Grace’s cheek. “I’ll be praying for you and your child.”
“But, Ms. Eartha, I’m not—”
Eartha scuttled off and began talking to another couple.
Grace stared at her. She didn’t know what to do. Should she correct the senior woman? She spun to face her mother and sister. Their mother was engrossed in a conversation, so Grace’s eyes landed on Faith.
Faith shrugged, but the smile on her face revealed she had read the woman’s lips and believed the prophecy. Grace tilted her head and gave her sister the look which meant, “Don’t
do that.”
Faith signed, so only the two knew what was said. She is old. She is closer to God. She knows things we don’t.
Grace shook her head and signed. Too early. Nobody knows. I don’t even know!
Faith pursed her lips and shrugged. Mysterious way and all that.
Grace hated it when her sister got stuck on something like this. She was so stubborn. Grace knew, no matter what she said, Faith’s mind was made up. Only time would tell if Eartha was right. Yet, a little part of her hoped, beyond all hope, the woman was right.
Several others approached Grace and praised her for her performance. Heat flooded her face, but she graciously thanked them for their kind words. She was truly happy it had blessed the church people. Ms. Eartha’s words came back to her again, and again. She could be pregnant, but how would Eartha know? It had only been a little over three weeks since the last procedure. Did she honestly see an angel standing behind her? A chill washed over her. Was the angelic presence the glitter she saw cascading around her? This Christmas Program had been amazing, but there was something different about it as well. She had never felt so emotional during a performance and the Praise Team had never received a standing ovation.
Had the program been blessed? Did she plant seeds by performing? Was there a possibility of a baby?
Chapter Fourteen
Almost two years later…
Grace glanced in the rear-view mirror. She’d finally done it. She had cut her hair and got highlights. Chris would have probably hated it. He preferred her hair long, but he had been gone for almost four years. She had so little time for herself these days. She didn’t even have time to get her nails done any more. The least she could do was get her hair cut. A cute chin-length bob was something she’d wanted for several years and it looked really good on her.
She stole another glance in the rear-view mirror. She was a little heavier, even though Christine Joy was thirteen months old; however, the short cut slimmed her face. She liked it very much.
She felt rushed to get home, knowing it was unnecessary. Her mother loved babysitting with her granddaughter. Still, she’d need a break. Christy was a handful these days. Grace couldn’t help but smile as she drove home.
“How’d she do?” Grace asked her mother as she put her purse down and lifted her daughter.
Christy opened and closed her little fist, signing, milk, milk, milk.
“She was fine. But”—Liz gestured toward the baby—“she’s been telling me she wants milk. I told her you’d be home soon. And she did not want her Sippy cup. So, I’m sure she’s happy you’re home.”
“Okay, baby, let mommy sit down.” Grace sat in the rocker and nursed her toddler. “Did she eat any food at all?”
“She had some animal crackers, but mostly we read books.” Liz gathered up her purse and the bag full of Golden Tales books. They had been Grace’s and Faith’s books. She brought them every time she came over to babysit. Grace loved seeing them again. There were such fond memories attached to those books, sitting in her mother’s lap, reading them. How wonderful she still had them and was willing to share them with Christy.
Liz stood in the door frame, leading to the entry. “She especially loved A Home for a Bunny.”
“Just like me,” Grace said at the same time her mother said, “Just like you.”
They both laughed.
“Thanks again, Mom.”
“You’re welcome. Oh, and Grace…”
She lifted her eyes to her mother.
“Love the cut.”
Grace sighed. “Thanks, Mom.”
Her mother blew a kiss and let herself out the front door.
Christy sat up and flapped her chubby hand, bye-bye.
“Bye-bye, Grandma.” Grace repeated her baby’s gesture.
Chubby fingers pointed at her mouth. Eat.
“You want to eat?” Grace asked as she signed eat.
Christy nodded sharply.
“You know, you could have eaten for your grandma.” Grace smirked.
She lifted her child and carried her to the kitchen. She gathered her baby food, her blue plastic bowl, and the orange Sippy cup her mother had tried to give her. Once Christy was in her highchair, Grace pulled a dining chair up close to the highchair. She opened the jar and scooped some sweet potatoes into the bowl.
Christy grabbed the Sippy cup, threw her head back, and laughed. As her head went back, the cup went forward. Grace scrambled to catch it before it fell to the ground. Juice splashed on Grace’s face and her hands. “No, no. Don’t throw—”
She sat stunned for a moment. Something like déjà vu washed over her mind.
Christy signed more, eat and banged her hands on the white plastic tray.
“Hold on. Mommy’s getting it.” Grace giggled. This little girl made her so happy. She had her late husband’s oval-shaped jaw and golden-blonde hair, but Grace’s straight nose and golden-brown eyes. She was a perfect mix of them both. She could identify physical gestures like Chris’s. Even Christy’s impatience filled Grace with so much joy. She was definitely her father’s daughter.
The clock on the buffet chimed. Grace glanced up and froze. “Oh my!”
Tears filled her eyes. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing in the huge antique mirror above the buffet. Grace stared at her image. It was the same woman in the church during the Christmas Program rehearsal almost two years ago. The realization slipped from her lips, “It was me.”
Grace touched her hair. It was her she saw with the new haircut and added baby weight. The golden-blonde toddler was Christy.
It had been God showing her what was to come. It all linked together. It was the sign she had asked for when she prayed in Dr. G’s clinic. No wonder no one had seen the woman. It had been for her eyes only. And then Ms. Eartha’s prophecy; it all came flooding back to her memory.
She pulled her baby from the highchair, despite the child’s protests, and hugged her snuggly. “You are my blessing. You are my gift from God, Christy, and Mommy loves you with all her heart.”
Her daughter wriggled and leaned back toward the highchair. “Ahhhhh!”
She wanted more to eat. She had no idea what a miracle she truly was. But Grace would make sure she knew. She would tell her every day how much her father loved her before she was conceived. She would also tell her every day how much her Heavenly Father loved her even before she was ‘knitted together in her mother’s womb.’
Grace gazed at her precious little girl. She hoped somehow, someway, Chris was looking down from heaven and seeing this beautiful baby they had made. She was named Christine after him. She would have been his joy, therefore, Grace gave it to her as a middle name. Christine Joy.
A song came to Grace’s mind. It began deep in her thoughts, but soon it was a hum on her lips. She put Christy back in her chair and scooped food into her waiting mouth. She was such a little baby bird. Her cheeks bulged as she chewed the infant food. She leaned back in her highchair and waved her arm over her head. She was playing with the Angels, as Ms. Eartha would have said.
The song erupted from Grace’s mouth. “Mary did you know…?”
About the Author
Lynn Donovan spends her days chasing after her muses, trying to get them to settle down and behave long enough to dictate their words and actions. Thank goodness her muses love Christ or she’d be in big trouble. The results have produced The Clockwork Dragon, a collection of nine short stories in which she wrote half (4.5 stories), The Wishing Well Curse, and Thorns of Betrayal, Rocking Horse Shadows, and Christmas Grace, Signing Seeds. A speculative fiction called The Abraham Project is hovering out there somewhere. Lynn enjoys reading and writing Christian fiction, paranormal, and speculative fiction. But you never know what her muses will come up with for a story, so you could see a novel under any given genre. All we can tell you is keep your eyes open, cause these muses are not sitting still for long! Oops, there they go again…
Also by Lynn Donovan
; Chapter One
Late 1860s
ALEKSANDR SANIN collapsed next to the icy stream. His plea escaped with his breath as his knees slammed into the snow-laden ground. Just for this brief moment, he allowed himself to give into the anguish. “Please, God, don’t take Anna from me.”
The stream, the land, the trees, the bushes, even the stones in the creek; this was his sanctuary. He had thanked God for it all, and promised to take care of it, knowing it would take care of him and his wife. But this year, winter came too soon. An early frost ruined the meadow of corn. The potatoes were small, but they rescued all they could harvest from the ice-wounded plants. Now, the storehouse was empty. And this blizzard was destroying any hope for the third planting. Aleksandr had been determined to survive here in Cotopaxi, Colorado. Anything had to be better than mother Russia. For his Jewish relatives, it had become impossible to survive back home.
Cotopaxi seemed like his one chance to make it all better. For his Anna. She was his life. He had married her just before they boarded the ship to come to America. The village Shadkhan, the matchmaker, had made the preparations for the arranged marriage, but he had loved Anna since he was a boy. Colorado beckoned their small clan of sixty-three with colonization benefits and a Homestead Act promising one hundred and sixty acres of land and an already erected house. All they had to do was cross this great land and take up residence.
When they finally arrived in Colorado, there were not as many homes built as promised, but it didn’t stop Aleksandr from setting down roots. The land proportioned to him included a side of a mountain, woods, and a meadow.
It was beautiful.
He could feel God’s presence when he walked his land.
And Anna loved him. He longed for nothing more.