“Cool,” Clark said and kept reading.
“Oh, scratch that one off, Hannah said she would record the interview for me.”
“Good,” Clark said. “I think I’m busy then anyway. I was hoping someone would—”
“You’re not watching it?” Hope whacked him with a throw pillow.
“On second thought—”
Hope looked at her watch and jumped to her feet. “Yow! Let’s go.”
Clark picked up her bags—one carry-on and one to check—and walked out of the apartment and down to his truck.
Back upstairs Hope took one more look at a photo of her and Louise. “I wish you were here, Mother. You would have loved all this.” Hope kissed her hand and touched her mother’s face. “Wish me luck.”
For the first few miles, Hope mumbled things she hoped she remembered and Clark listened to current country singers sing Christmas classics on the radio. Hope also practiced a few answers to questions she expected she’d be asked during her interview the next morning.
“Why the big goal?” Hope asked her reflection in the window. “Why not?” she answered.
Clark shook his head. “You’re a mess.”
“Huh?”
“You’re nervous. I wouldn’t have expected it from you.”
“Maybe a little. But not about the interview. About the number.”
“It is a big number, Hope. Maybe too big?”
“No. It’s a huge number. That’s why we picked it. It’s nothing anyone has ever done before. It’s a milestone that means next year we could organize even better, get our marketing going earlier—”
“Marketing?”
“You know what I mean—PR, getting the word out. Maybe partner up with a bank. Al actually thought about it for this year but it was too late.”
Clark turned off the radio and took Hope’s hand.
“Hey, I know I’m the novice here, but isn’t Uncle Adam’s tradition more about giving one jar at a time and not necessarily about corporate sponsorship?” It only took a glance at Hope’s silhouette for Clark to regret the words.
“How many jars have you given away?” Hope asked with surprising edge.
“Hold on, I’m not—”
“How many?” Hope pulled her hand away, and Clark pulled off to the side of the road.
“I’ve been out with my parents a few times. What’s the point?”
“The point is, that over the last few years I’ve personally given away dozens and orchestrated hundreds—”
“Orchestrated?” Clark broke in.
“Come on, you know what I mean. Lauren, Gayle, Hannah, the others. This is what we do. We gather jars from people who don’t want to give them away themselves, or who need help doing it right—”
“Doing it right?”
“There’s a way, yeah, and I like to think we’ve got it down pretty well.”
Clark took her hand again and considered asking whether the tradition had outgrown her, or if she had outgrown it. Instead he said, “Hope, maybe we don’t know each other really well yet. But I hope—sorry—I sincerely think we are headed in the right direction. So can I make an observation?”
“May I,” Hope corrected.
“Always a writer.” Clark tried to ease the tension with a smile and a squeeze of her fingers.
Hope stared straight ahead out the truck’s windshield.
“I’m a rookie with the, what do you call it, the ministry. I’m no expert, I admit that, but as an observer, just knowing what I’ve seen over the years and heard from Uncle Adam and Aunt Lauren, it’s not really some organized thing so much, is it? Isn’t it more of a there’s-no-wrong-way-to-do-it kind of thing? In the big picture, whether you give it away through the diner, or on a big TV show, or whatever—maybe someone just gives it away on a porch on Christmas Eve—it’s all the same effect. Right? It’s about doing one little piece of good.”
Hope spun words through her mind before giving them life. Then she rearranged the thoughts again and said, “Clark, if you live in a small world, yes, you’re a thousand and one percent right. But we don’t live in a small world. We live in a big one, don’t we? With big responsibilities and big expectations and incredibly big opportunities. Al and I know this is one of those opportunities. I can do this.”
Clark took a deep breath. He gripped the wheel with both hands, looked over his left shoulder, and then pulled back onto the highway and drove on. Half an hour later they arrived at the airport.
Hope hadn’t even noticed the tension. She hopped out, kissed him on the cheek, and said, “Wish me luck!”
“You don’t need luck, Hope.”
Walking backward, she blew him a kiss and said “Good-bye” a final time.
“Good-bye,” he whispered as he watched her walk boldly through the automatic doors.
~~~
It wasn’t what I had planned for the jar, but we know it made this young soldier’s Christmas Eve as he tried to get home.
—Kerri
Twenty-Four
~~~
December 24th
Al hadn’t slept well for the first time since checking in to the Best Western. He’d not gotten an answer the night before at Queen and Laura’s apartment, and he’d called every hour or so until finally leaving a message that he hoped hadn’t sounded desperate, but knew it probably had.
Also for the first time since beginning his adventure he woke up missing home. He wondered what he’d be doing in his small Idaho Falls apartment on Christmas Eve. He didn’t have many friends there, but certainly an invitation would have come for dinner. Or, he imagined, maybe even to spend the entire day with Laura and Queen.
He turned on the television. It was still too early for America Live, but the local news was teasing the big Christmas Eve festivities planned for later that morning.
He muted the TV and imagined how quiet Chuck’s must be in the early morning, and how later the excitement would build to a full roar. The gang planned on meeting early for donuts and milk and to finalize the maps and routes. All the jars coming in to the diner had to go somewhere by that evening, and Joel and Mike had been working on a detailed map and routes for the twenty-five-plus drivers who had volunteered to deliver Christmas Jars.
Al wondered what the Board would read that evening at the magic hour. When he’d left the night before, the number was a staggering 805. Jars were everywhere. On shelves in the kitchen. Cluttering the counters. In the same large cartons the original jars had come in. Some, the ones with the most cash or the largest in size, were locked away in Chuck’s old office. Al couldn’t even imagine how much money was sitting inside the diner.
He knew it was early in Idaho, but he picked up the phone anyway. Nothing. He counted to sixty and tried again. Nothing. He offered an awkward prayer and tried again. Nothing.
Al imagined the options and wished he’d accepted Queen’s jar the first time she’d offered it. Or the second. Or the third and final time at the train station.
He bathed, dressed, and hobbled downstairs for breakfast. The television in the lobby was on and America Live began. They were already teasing the segment even though Hope’s interview was still an hour away. Just before a commercial break, the hosts, Ben and Connie, challenged viewers to start hunting the cabinets for an empty jar.
“Later in this hour we are going to introduce you to a tradition that has changed so many lives, it just might change yours. But first, when we come back, world-renowned trapeze team Mayer and Hoffmann will demonstrate some of their most jaw-dropping daredevil moves, live from Vegas. Stay with us.”
Al remembered his jar on the desk upstairs in his hotel room and wished it were full. He sat for the trapeze segment and then rushed upstairs during the commercials.
At the diner, Gayle, Lauren, and the Christmas Jars family gathered around a television Randall had set up on the lunch counter. When he realized it was too low for everyone to see it clearly, Randall sat on the counter and rested the small television on
his broad left shoulder.
Clark watched America Live alone from the Maxwell’s living room. He sat in Adam’s old chair, the very place his late-uncle had shared and trusted their Christmas Jars secret with Hope—the eager young college student.
When the last commercial ended and blended into the show’s catchy theme song, Hannah said, “It’s time! I’m calling Marianne.” She dialed the diner’s cordless phone and, after a quick hello, held the phone up to the tiny speaker on the side of the television.
“We’ve been teasing them all morning, haven’t we, Ben?” Bubbly and telegenic Connie said to her co-host.
“Indeed we have. And the wait is over.” The camera closed in on Ben’s serious face. “A few days ago we sent a crew to a little greasy spoon with a big heart. The chicken, they say, is fantastic, but their story is even more amazing. Watch.”
Ben’s emotional face faded to an exterior shot of Chuck’s Chicken ’n’ Biscuits.
“Woooooooooo!” They shouted inside Chuck’s.
Al sat on the edge of his bed, eighteen inches from the huge television, and shook his head.
Clark smiled from Adam’s old recliner.
A baritone-voiced announcer began to tell the story of a diner and a woman on a mission. They cut to short clips of Lauren, Hannah, Preacher Longhurst, and others. Gayle got in a few quotes too, mostly of how supportive her late-husband had been of the Christmas Jars movement.
They showed a picture of Gayle and Chuck holding a Christmas Jar and standing by the register. Tears filled Gayle’s eyes almost instantly and Lauren pulled her close.
While the announcer explained the tradition, viewers watched more footage of inside the diner. Close-ups on letters, jars, and newspaper clippings. The announcer even referenced Hope’s unusual entry into the world.
“There was a letter,” the announcer said. “It read, ‘She is yours now. I’ll miss her more than you know. But I love her too much to raise her with a daddy that hits. Truth is, he didn’t even want me to have her anyways.’”
Gayle’s eyes weren’t the only ones filled with tears.
The taped story ended and one of the four in-studio cameras went live with a tight shot of Ben and Connie.
“How have we not heard of this before today?” Connie asked her co-host.
“I have no idea. Because this is something that could literally change a life. And in fact, it’s changed at least one life—the life of our very special guest.” The camera pulled back to reveal Hope smiling in a chair to the right of Ben.
“Woooooooooo!” They shouted again at Chuck’s. “That’s our girl!” someone yelled over the noise.
Al smiled and felt the strangest sense of pride for a young woman he hardly knew.
Clark sat forward in his chair. Hope was certainly beautiful in person, but somehow the television made her even more stunning. Clark admired her red dress and matching shoes, but it was her smile the camera loved most.
“Hope Jensen, welcome to America Live.”
“Ahhhhhhhhhh!” Marianne screamed into the phone. But no one except Nick and half of Jerusalem’s residents heard.
Hope sat straight with her hands folded daintily in her lap. “Thanks for having me, Ben. It’s an honor.”
“The honor is ours, Hope,” Connie said. “Now tell us, how did all this happen?”
Hope began her story, repeating some of the details from the taped piece, but revealing new snippets as she wove the tale she’d rehearsed, one she felt confident would inspire a universe of jars. She referenced their goal three different times and explained how much work she’d put into reaching it.
The crowd at Chuck’s watched quietly, soaking in every second of Hope’s breakthrough moment and not quibbling a bit with the occasional exaggeration or minor omission.
After a few more questions, Ben tossed the show to commercial. “When we come back, a surprise for Hope and a challenge for you, friends, to make this a Christmas to remember.”
The busy chatter resumed at Chuck’s.
Al sat staring at the television and wondering how he’d been so blessed to have landed, even for just a few weeks, in the family of Chuck’s. He also wondered if Queen was watching and quickly tried her number. Nothing. He decided after the interview to start calling hospitals.
The America Live logo filled the screen and faded to a shot of Ben, Connie, and Hope. “We’re back with Hope Jensen, unofficial president and founder of the Christmas Jars Ministry,” Connie said.
“Alright, folks, look at the bottom of your screen and jot down this address. This is where you can personally deliver your jars, if you’re fortunate enough to live close, or if not, you can mail your jars to the same address.” Ben turned to Hope. “Because you’d give them away even after Christmas, right?”
“Absolutely,” Hope beamed.
“But here we are, the morning of Christmas Eve, and you’ll be delivering the jars tonight, right, Hope?” Ben said.
“That’s right. I fly home immediately after we’re done here. There is a family of volunteers—thirty, maybe more—all waiting to hit the streets tonight and deliver jars to those in need.”
“That’s us!” someone yelled at Chuck’s.
“Friends”—Connie looked straight at the camera—“if you have a jar, it’s time to get on a plane, train, bus, donkey, whatever. Get yourself and your jar to Chuck’s today.”
“Do you remember how many you needed to reach your goal of a thousand and one jars?” Ben asked.
“When I left, the Board—that’s what we call the giant white board on the wall at Chuck’s—said eight hundred and five.”
“Eight hundred and five. We can do better that that, can’t we America?” It was Ben’s turn to make his plea as he looked into the camera and repeated Connie’s challenge. “Why not a thousand and one? Better yet, why not ten thousand and one? Or a million!” Even Connie thought Ben was beginning to sound more like a televangelist than a morning-show host.
“Hope,” Connie said, returning to the script, “before you go, we have a little surprise for you. We didn’t have time to fill our own jar here at America Live, but we couldn’t let you leave empty-handed.”
Ben watched Connie earnestly. “She’s right.” Ben looked back at the camera. “If you were watching a few days ago, you know we asked for people who’d received a jar, or even given one away, to contact us with their stories. We had so many calls, Hope. More than we expected.”
Connie rolled with the rhythm of the well-choreographed moment. “But one call stood out, didn’t it, Ben?”
The camera pulled back and a little girl and her mother walked onstage.
Hope, Ben, and Connie stood.
Al stood, too, and inched even closer to the television.
Clark also rose to his feet in the Maxwell’s living room and took a step closer to the television.
“Meet Lara and Laura Ross.” Lara carried a familiar-looking jar and wore a tiny lapel mic.
A stagehand put two stools next to Hope. “Hi, there,” Hope said and put her hand on Lara’s knee as they sat.
“You can call me Queen,” she whispered loud enough that viewers could hear.
Ben stood up and walked behind Queen’s stool to put his hands dramatically on her shoulders. “That’s right, my mistake, dear, your mother told us backstage you prefer Queen.”
“I love it,” Connie gushed, now standing at Ben’s side.
“Queen, your mother here says you want to do the talking, is that right?”
“Yes, sir. Mom says I like to talk a lot.”
The adults onstage laughed.
Ben continued, “You have a very special story, Queen. Would you like to tell it?”
“Yes, sir.” The camera slowly tightened in on Queen.
Al thought that at that very moment, she actually looked like a queen.
Ten million viewers around the country thought the exact same thing.
“My name is Lara. L-a-r-a. There’s no u sound. But
my mother calls me Queen Lara. Or Queen. Or sometimes Lara Q.”
Queen’s mother was fighting tears already. She clutched a white handkerchief.
“I’ve gotten a lot of jars. This year I’ve already gotten five. One at school. Two at my mom’s job—she has two jobs, that’s why—and two at home by our door.”
“My, my. That’s just wonderful. Lots of people love you, don’t they?” Ben didn’t wait for an answer. “Tell us about this jar and why it’s so special.”
“It’s special because it’s our jar.” Queen looked at her mother. “This is the jar we’ve been putting all our money in ever since last Christmas.” She gave it a shake. “It’s pretty full!”
“So cute.” Connie noticed Ben’s hands were no longer on Queen’s shoulders, so she made claim to one and gave her a gentle pat.
“Not that long ago I saw a man break his leg. He fell down some stairs where we live and his leg was broken into so many pieces they had to screw them all back together. I saw the whole thing. And I felt really bad.”
“Why did you feel bad, sweetie?” Connie asked.
“Probably because I saw the whole thing. It hurt. He was hurt really bad . . . By the way, his name is Al—he told me I didn’t have to call him Mr. Allred. And he’s a super good friend now.”
Chuck’s Chicken ’n’ Biscuits became as quiet as it had ever been.
Hope’s mouth hung open and the camera noticed.
“And?” Ben asked.
“Al wouldn’t take it. He said he didn’t need our jar. But I think he does. Even if he doesn’t need all the coins inside.”
Hope finally closed her mouth. She couldn’t believe how dry her lips suddenly were.
“What Queen didn’t really want us to talk about, but it’s a crucial part of her inspirational story, is that she needs all the jars she can get because you need a new heart, don’t you, dear?”
Queen gave Connie a squinty-eyed glare. “Yes,” she sneered and her mother snickered.
Christmas Jars Reunion Page 13