by Jenn Faulk
~David~
Christmas Eve. The interdenominational service for the entire town.
David hadn’t gotten an invite to be a part of the celebration his first year in Swakopmund. He’d gone, though, as an observer, understanding only snippets of the festivities, as Piet, Ana Marie, and Kait took turns translating for him, sitting in the big middle of the crowd, then holding candles, singing Silent Night in Afrikaans.
It had been his first Christmas away from home. The students were gone to all corners of the nation by that time, with school over, and he’d parted ways with the Botha clan, them never guessing that he was going to go back to an empty cottage all by himself, where he would celebrate Christmas with Jesus and no one else.
The two years in between had been different.
He’d been established enough to be included in the services. So, Christmas Eve was work, just like it had been for his father back in the US, of course. He’d rejoiced at the opportunity to celebrate, to worship, to share from Scripture, and to be who God had called him to be.
But still. At the end of it all, he went home. Alone.
Merry Christmas.
This year was looking to be different already.
It was summer in Swakopmund, and Camille had dressed accordingly in a long sundress, a denim jacket thrown over it, and flip flops.
“Christmas on the beach,” she had grinned when they met up. “How cool is this?”
“Totally cool,” he’d affirmed as they made their way out of the parking lot and into the outdoor amphitheater, talking through the passage he would be sharing and the songs they’d be singing together as they led worship, even as she grinned up at him, telling him how excited she was for this Christmas.
Totally cool. He thought it again as he watched her talking with Tobias, the pastor from the north that she hadn’t spoken so well of just a few months ago.
She’d obviously made things right with him, in the interim, in those few times he’d come to see David and his work in Swakopmund during the school term. She had changed things so that she could be more effective here, and he felt such appreciation for her as he finally caught her eye and she smiled over at him again.
He felt it even more and more, as she led worship alongside him later, as they sang the Afrikaans songs together, the tunes familiar, the words so new. He’d spent more than a few evenings teaching them to her, all out lying on her couch and laughing at her as she’d mangled the language so spectacularly. After she’d demanded that he get back up and stop laughing, telling him that she’d tell everyone that he wet the bed until he was a second grader (she knew that?!) if he didn’t stop, he’d sat up and tried again.
He’d finally had to reach out, hold her face in his hand and show her how to move her mouth to make the sounds.
The Afrikaans was sounding so much better only moments later, but David could hardly hear it over the pounding of his heart as he watched Camille’s lips form the words again and again.
She’d looked over at him at one point during the worship set, and he knew she was thinking the same thing he was thinking. His hand on her face, him watching her lips, her watching his...
It was the best Christmas he’d ever had.
As they were closing up for the night, several of the pastors in town came by to chat with him, even as Camille was talking with the teachers from one of the schools. One by one, the teachers left, leaving Cammie to watch him... then, wave goodbye to him as the pastors continued gabbing on and on.
He made a move to leave them, but she’d waved him on, understanding in her smile.
He felt the disappointment, watching her leave, knowing that she was doing it because she thought he had plans.
This happened every year, after all, with everyone around him just assuming what wasn’t true. That he had plans. That he had someone who wanted to be with him.
But this year? He did have plans.
His plan had been to spend Christmas with her.
“Brother David?”
And his attention turned back to the group of pastors, as his heart followed her.