by Jenn Faulk
“A big adventure… maybe that’s what you’ll be saying in twenty years about this church,” Lucy said thoughtfully.
“Maybe.”
“And Mom…” She swallowed. “Mom would definitely be proud of you. And she would understand better than most what it is that you’re going through, what you give to be faithful in ministry. You know, after all the years she’d been up close and personal in ministry. You’re just carrying on a legacy.”
“A legacy,” he nodded. “I like to think of it like that.”
She felt a sob escape. “Her father, her husband, and now her son, all shepherds. What a gift.”
Tate smiled at this. “But you’d be her favorite, you know?”
She watched him in confusion, knowing that her mother had never had a favorite.
“But… what?”
“Because you’re going to take care of Dad,” Tate said, grimacing. “You’ll be right there alongside him in Namibia as he starts falling apart and going all senile. Have fun with that.”
She pushed him a little, laughing at this. And then, with even more seriousness, “So, it’s okay? That I’m going?”
“It’s right,” Tate said. “Maybe staying here, out of a sense to stay close to me… maybe that makes you stuck here, Lucy. And I don’t want that for you.”
“Really?” she asked.
“Be you,” he said softly. “Go and do what it is that you’re meant to do.”
And that was enough for Lucy, who hugged him tighter as he kissed her forehead again.
~Hannah~
All is calm, all is bright…
It certainly seemed that way. Hannah looked around the dinner table as night fell, marveling at the way the tension from earlier, from the entire Christmas Day, had all but vanished.
There was Edie, eating off of two plates and joking with Jude, casting glances over at Tate, who was talking with Lucy about past Christmases, about the holiday season in Swakopmund, and about what the year ahead would look like.
“Merry Christmas, Hannah.”
This was from Bethany, who had said merry Christmas at least thirty times today in all the time they’d spent with one another, with Hannah trying her best to shield the little girl from everyone else’s drama.
“Merry Christmas, Bethany,” she responded, tapping her glass against the young girl’s and taking a tired breath as she did so.
This Christmas was certainly merry now for everyone else. And honestly, it would be for Hannah, too.
She’d gotten a Flexa after all.
She closed her eyes at the thought, chiding herself to be kinder, not bitter. Sure, things were a little off with Owen, who still hadn’t called her back, who she couldn’t even reach now because he wasn’t answering his phone.
But that was okay. Bad gift or not, she trusted that they were committed to one another even without a ring and a proposal.
And she loved him. They’d work through all of this together, just like the couples in front of her had, the couples who were still chatting when they heard a loud commotion outside.
All of the adults looked up in alarm, their glances darting to the door then back to one another in confusion.
“It’s Santa!” Bethany shouted. “He’s outside!”
“No, he came last night, darling,” Jude said.
“Oh, no!” Edie gasped, standing to her feet. “Tate, do you think that’s Elvis out there?!”
“Elvis?” Jude asked, looking at her large bump.
“My inflatable Elvis!” she exclaimed. “Do you think it blew up?!”
An exploding Elvis on the front lawn. That would certainly get some notice from the church members Edie was always talking about.
“We should probably go check,” Tate said. “Maybe someone from the church drove by and –”
“Shot my Elvis off the front lawn?!” Edie said. Then, with great effort, “I mean, God bless their Grinchy hearts if so.”
Well, that was progress. Kinda.
“Come on,” Tate said, grinning now.
And when Hannah saw that Jude and Lucy were going out as well, she stood to her feet, too.
“Come on, Hannah!” Bethany said, holding her hand out.
Hannah took it and followed the whole group into the cold, night air, stopping just beyond the door and gasping out loud.
There was Owen.
Hannah closed her eyes, sure she was imagining things, but when she opened them again, it was all the same.
There was Owen, standing there, smiling, alongside a large number of students that Hannah recognized from his high school band. Hannah counted them off quickly, just like she’d done for countless trips to competitions, football games, and festivals over the fall, always the band director’s right hand woman. Twenty-eight. Just a small portion of his band but still more than should be gathered on Christmas Day in her sister’s front lawn.
Twenty-eight band students. And one of them was picking a tuba off the ground with a grimace, the bell of the instrument bent straight in half.
That explained the loud thump.
But it didn’t explain why Owen was here, why he was in Tate and Edie’s front yard, why there was a school bus parked right on the street, half up in the yard –
“Wow,” Edie said, just as one of the flute players poked that inflatable Elvis with her finger, grinning at the friend standing next to her as the Elvis popped back up and into place, nearly knocking her down with his swiveling hips. “Well, at least my Elvis is still standing. And fighting back.”
Hannah wasn’t paying attention, though. Not to the flute player who was regaining her balance or to the tuba player bemoaning the state of his instrument. Not even to her sister, who was grinning at her maniacally or Bethany who was jumping up and down.
Her entire focus was on Owen, who was smiling at her, making his way to her side, even as he gestured frantically to his musicians.
What was he doing?
“Hannah,” he said, running up to kiss her quickly just as all the students had gotten lined up. “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas,” she said, thinking that it finally was as she put her hands to his face and leaned in to kiss him again. “What are you doing here? And your students…”
“Just a great Christmas surprise,” Owen said, grinning widely now.
A surprise he’d been planning. A surprise that made sense of all of the earlier, disjointed, loud phone calls.
He hadn’t been avoiding her. He’d been making his way to her.
“How did you get them all up here?” she asked, keenly aware that all of his students’ eyes were on them as they stood hand in hand.
“Promised them all As for the spring term if they’d make the drive with me in the big, yellow dog,” Owen said. “Totally unethical, but what’s done is done.”
He turned and walked back towards a set of quad drums, a pair of drumsticks already beside them. As he slipped the drums on, he smiled at her again.
“Oh, and forget that earlier Christmas gift. The totally epic one I gave to Edie and told her to have you open. That Flexa was a decoy. Something to distract you from your real gift.”
Hannah shot a look at her sister, only to find Edie laughing and shaking her head.
“Did you know he was coming here?” Hannah asked, wondering if they’d all been in on this.
“No,” Edie said. “I was just supposed to give you that gift. I didn’t know that any of this was going to happen.”
“That wasn’t your real gift, Hannah,” Owen said, glancing over at his students, a silent cue for them all to raise up their instruments, to get ready. “This is for you.”
And with that, he started counting them off, tapping his drumsticks over his head, then jumping in and playing right along with them.
All I Want for Christmas is You. Hannah realized what the song was after only a few measures.
Wow. Wow, wow, wow.
The band continued on with the music, likely waking up half th
e neighborhood, most of the people in the houses around them church members. Edie and Tate would have a lot to answer for come Sunday.
But at the moment, Hannah didn’t care. She didn’t care about anything but Owen as he played with his students, smiling over at her as he did so.
How was this her life? How had she ever gotten to be so blessed?
Owen was dancing now, laughing out loud as lights came on in the houses in the neighborhood, as all those church people were likely staring out their windows, wondering what that preacher was up to…
“Oh, yeah, I’m totally getting fired for this,” Hannah could hear Tate say.
But he was smiling, his arms wrapped around Edie’s waist. Well, what was once Edie’s waist, his hands resting on the underside of her bump, where Hannah was sure little Elvis was jumping around. And Edie was smiling as she danced along with Owen’s music, pointing to him and grinning up at Tate.
“Kooky, eccentric, fine arts high school teachers,” she said. “Gotta love them.”
Love. Oh, Hannah loved the one in front of her who even now was playing the last few measures with plenty of gusto, laughing out loud as he sang along.
And then as the song concluded, he slipped the drums off, walked back up to Hannah, and dropped to one knee.
Oh, blessings over and over again…
“Hannah,” he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a little velvet box, his grin even wider now. “All I want for Christmas is you. Will you marry me?”
Owen. A ring. The proposal she’d been praying for, thinking that it was selfish to want this…
Not selfish. Just right. So very, very right.
“Yes,” she whispered, holding out her hand, so elated as he slipped the ring onto her finger, then as he stood and held her close again, as they both forgot all about the cheering people around them.
“Hey, Mr. Robinson!” one of the trumpet players yelled a moment later, breaking Hannah and Owen from their trance. “What’s that about a Flexa?”
The gift of the year. For boys of all ages, apparently.
“Yeah,” Owen said, grinning more broadly now, “that Flexa was a decoy, of course, but what a decoy!”
Hannah smiled up at him, still clutching her hand to her chest, so besotted that she didn’t care what the rationalization behind the decoy gift had been.
“You know how helpful that thing is going to be in our new home together?” he asked her. “Helping us to keep track of our schedules, making us more organized… I mean, I know you’ve been talking about how hectic everything gets with band, with the church, with your work at the visa office and the university.”
It did get hectic. And how thoughtful of him to try and figure out a way to make scheduling their lives just a little easier for her.
“The Flexa is a great gift,” she conceded.
“It is!” Owen agreed. “And best of all, it’s going to help me with my Mandarin.”
She looked up at him, tilting her head to the side. “Your Mandarin?” she said. “You don’t speak Mandarin.”
“Not yet,” he said, grinning again. “But I’d like to. And I figured I can ask Flexa for words. Hey, Flexa, what’s the word for wife in Mandarin?”
Hannah smiled at this.
“And it won’t stop there,” he said. “I’ll be able to learn complete sentences. Flexa is going to make me as bilingual as you!”
He was going to speak some chopped up, barely discernable Mandarin if he learned it that way.
But the very fact that he wanted to learn it, that his strange gift to her would be… well, would end up being a gift in its own way, as he used it to try and be an even bigger part of her past, present, and future, left her feeling so, so much.
“Merry Christmas, Owen,” she said, leaning in to kiss him again.
~Several Months Later~
Another Sunday morning, another day at the church.
But this one is even happier than the last one, given the smile he’s shooting my direction.
“Look at you,” I coo at Elvis, leaning in and kissing him under those glorious fat rolls that he’s grown under his chin. Tate’s a thin guy, and though I’m curvy, I can’t see my own physique in this perfect little butterball that we’ve made. I’m holding him in my lap, marveling at all of his squishy goodness, blowing raspberries on his neck as he squeals.
“He’s got the best laugh,” Tate says.
I look up from our son and grin at the pastor, sitting at his desk, his Bible and his sermon notes in front of him, a look of determination in his eyes.
Church is still church, full of challenges and opportunities for greater faith, as we navigate what it looks like to seek God and to please Him, to share Him and extend grace, even to those who hurt us.
Day by day, trusting Him with all of it, and rejoicing to see our naivete replaced by greater trust in Him.
And joy, because we – Tate and I – are better than we’ve ever been. Together in all of this, of one mind and heart, and stronger, each and every day.
Joy because of that… and because of him.
“He does have the best laugh,” I say, sitting him up and wiping the drool that’s running down his chin. “And he’s going to be in a great mood to be passed around the church just as soon as –”
There’s a ding on Tate’s phone, and I hardly wince at the sound, not dreading the worst anymore, consciously choosing to trust God and His sufficiency to handle whatever we face.
Tate looks over at it.
“What is it?” I can’t help but ask.
“It’s a text from Lucy,” he says, a confused smile on his face as he reads it. “Drama with Dad. He has lost his mind. Call me after church.”
“Drama with Dad?” I ask, placing a kiss on Elvis’s head. “What kind of drama could your dad be mixed up in?”
“Well, he’s pastoring a church there in Swakopmund now, so it could be anything,” Tate says. “But maybe the greater takeaway is that Lucy has only been on the African continent for two days, and already, she’s texted me twenty times. I think she’s going to be in better touch half a world away than she was when she was just a state away.”
I smile at this.
“Well, that’s a blessing,” I say. “Or not. Depending on how you want to look at it.”
“Don’t need to look at it now,” he says, putting his phone on his desk and deftly turning it to silent, his arms held out. “Let me hold him for a while.”
“People are going to start showing up in about ten minutes,” I say, carefully placing the baby in his arms. “And you know how antsy they get when you’re –”
But I stop what I’m saying, holding back the negative words that could so easily come out, surrendering the thoughts over to God even as I have them, and saying what is infinitely better.
“God bless them,” I manage, shaking my head even as the words trip out.
I’ll get there. My mouth and my heart will always be at varying stages of redemption, it seems, but this is all part of the sanctification of Christ working in my life.
I’m a work in progress, just like so many of the people in the church who make life difficult at times.
“God bless us everyone,” Tate says in his squishy baby voice now, his attention entirely on Elvis, his expression mimicking our son’s.
“Is he pooping?” I can’t keep from asking as Tate’s expression grows strained.
“Probably,” Tate manages, laughing out loud as he puts the baby on his shoulder, his facial features relaxing as he reaches out a hand for me. “We’ll give him his privacy, huh? Not stare him in the face as he’s doing so.”
“Great,” I say, holding back a yawn with my hand.
“Still worn out from the road trip?” he asks, pulling me close.
“Absolutely,” I say. “Work all day, five days a week, work on lesson plans and grades every night, then that drive back to Houston for Hannah and Owen’s housewarming party, and turning right back around to come to church�
��”
“Exhausting,” Tate says, even though he should be just as exhausted since he had class this week, work, and was right there by my side at Hannah and Owen’s party.
“Worth it, though,” I say. “If only for the opportunity to watch Owen try to speak Mandarin in front of all of Hannah’s Chinese friends.”
Tate laughs at this, full and rich.
“Flexa, you were supposed to be better,” I say.
“But Hannah is happy,” he says. “Bad Mandarin and all. She seems really happy with him.”
And she is. And so am I, thinking that right here in this place, I have all that I ever wanted.
“Ready to head on out and start welcoming people to church?” Tate asks, smiling at me, even as he presses a kiss to Elvis’s head.
And I nod.
“As long as I’m with you.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jenn Faulk is a native Texan who enjoys reading and writing chick lit. She's a pastor's wife, a stay-at-home mom, and a marathon enthusiast who loves talking about Jesus and what a difference He's made in her life. She has a BA in Creative Writing from the University of Houston and a MA in Missiology from Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary.
For a complete list of all of Jenn’s books, visit her website…
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