Mary’s Christmas Gift Chapter 3

Story posted by Chris Cade | Short Christmas Stories on Oct 8, 2008 in Inspirational Christmas Stories (If known, the original author is listed below)

The asphalt parking lot of the Stony Road Baptist Church had been well-cleared of snow and ice, a fact that Mary was grateful for as she checked the ground before getting out of her car.

She had learned as a Nebraska teenager that stepping out of a car in the middle of the winter on one foot could be dangerous business. If a person wasn’t careful, they could slip on a patch of ice and go right down. Mary had become oubly cautious in the late months of her pregnancy.

The porch light on the parsonage illuminated the sidewalk and steps. Her wristwatch said seven o’clock. She was right on time for her appointment. As she moved slowly toward the house, Mary looked at the colored lights on the spruce trees near the church and smiled. Jesus is coming, she thought. Tonight the church and the pastor’s stone cottage next to it looked like a scene from a Thomas Kinkade painting. The house even had a round turret, capped by a steep conical roof.

When Mary rang the bell, she heard a muffled voice from inside, then the noisy clicking of the lock as someone opened the heavy front door. The short, elderly woman who greeted her with a radiant smile always made her feel as if she was her special, only child.

“Oh, it’s so good to see you, Mary.” Hilda Duncan said, warmly taking her hands and squeezing them lightly. “Come in and let me take your coat.” She eased the red coat off Mary’s shoulders, put it on a hanger, and hooked it on the oak hall tree in the corner. From down the hall, the luxurious smell of baking cookies filled the air.

Hilda, Pastor Don’s wife, had been born in Sweden. Barely over four feet tall, she had a plain, honest face and hair that had turned from blonde to white decades ago. Mary guessed Hilda to be in her mid seventies.

“Oh, you know Don always insists that I bake cookies for the holidays, even though both of us shouldn’t be eating them,” she explained tilting her head toward the kitchen. “But if that’s our biggest indulgence, I guess God’s not going to fuss over that.”

“If they’d had cookies in his day, I have a feeling Jesus would have eaten more than his share,” Mary replied, smiling too.

“Don told me that same thing! He must be brainwashing you, Mary. Go on into the study. He’s waiting for you. I’ll bring warm cookies and some cocoa in a few minutes.”

Mary gave a sharp rap on the study’s open door before she entered. Don Duncan, seated at his oversized oak desk, stopped writing on a pad and got up to meet her. The pastor of Stony Road Baptist Church was one of the strangest looking men

Mary had ever seen. He was only a few inches taller than his diminutive wife, and was bent at the waist in an odd angle. His head was large, capped by a shock of coarse gray hair. The most riveting thing about him, though, was his eyes. They were deep set under his brow, a light brown color, and betrayed a kindness and gentleness that few human beings ever attain.

Don Duncan had been pastor at the church for more than 30 years. When Mary joined, one of the women told her his story. His father had been an American businessman in Sweden before World War II. Both of Don’s parents were killed by the Nazis, and Don, barely a teenager, was taken prisoner. The Nazi doctors—butchers, really—had performed cruel, unspeakable experiments on him, leaving him bent and misshapen for the rest of his life. After the War, he had been adopted by a Swedish couple, and in the university there, he met Hilda, and they were married.

Mary suspected that this sweet, Christlike man, who had known such pain and misery in his early years, had made it his life’s mission to ease hurt and suffering however he could. Even now, as she shook his warm, gnarled hands, Mary had to hold back tears at the love and respect she felt for him.

“It’s so good to see you,” he said. “Please sit.” He eased back into his desk chair. “We haven’t met for a few weeks. Your baby is due soon, yes?”

“Any time now,” Mary said with a smile.

“What an honor for her if she is a Christmas baby, just like our Lord,” Pastor Don said. The lamp on the desk made his eyes seem to twinkle.

“It’s very possible, Pastor. If it’s not wrong to admit it, I think I’ll be relieved when it’s all over.”

Sadness traced his face for a moment. “I’m afraid it won’t be that easy,” he said softly. “She will be a part of you—somewhere—for as long as you live. You’re still sure, you’re absolutely positive that you don’t want to raise her yourself?”

“I just can’t.” Mary gave a slight shake of her head and looked down at her rounded abdomen. “I don’t feel any different than I did when I decided months ago. In fact, I’m nearly at the point of physical and mental exhaustion. I know that I’ll recover my energy after she’s born, but I just can’t raise her by myself. I believe I’m doing the wise thing.”

“You are,” he said. “I just wanted to make sure. To be certain you didn’t have any doubts.”

“Cookies and cocoa!” Hilda announced from the doorway of the study, letting her husband know that she was entering the room and to stop any confidential conversation. She was every bit as wise as him.

After she set the silver tray on the desk, Hilda disappeared as quickly as she had come. Mary and Don each took a mug of hot cocoa and munched the chocolate chip cookies, still warm from the oven.

“I wish that I could stop thinking about him,” Mary said, putting her hot mug on a coaster.

“Eric?”

“Yes. It’s not that I’m in love with him. I never really was. I realized that, too late. I know, too, that I’m not innocent in all of this. Iwas a willing participant too.”

Pastor Don wiped his mouth with a napkin and did his best to look stern. “I thought we had settled that. You have asked God for forgiveness, he has forgiven you, and he remembers the sin no more. Do I have to get my Bible and show you the verse again, Mary?”

“No. I guess…I guess I’ve still got a lot of anger toward Eric. Hate, really, and I’m ashamed that I feel that way.”

“I would be very surprised if you didn’t. That’s something else that you must hand over to Jesus. Healing of such a wound will take a long, long time.” Then Mary blushed, ashamed. If anyone knew about hate, it was this innocent man who had endured so much. When it came to healing, Pastor Don knew the subject firsthand.

“Something weird has been happening the past few months,” Mary said. “I’ve been thinking about Jeff a lot.”

“Your friend in Nebraska?”

“Yes. We dated for three years. I keep comparing Eric to Jeff, Jeff to Eric. Jeff had so many fine, admirable qualities.”

“Please remind an old man why you and this Jeff split up.”

“I took the job offer in Chicago. I transferred from Midwest Milling’s Omaha office to company headquarters. For a lot more money, I thought, and a better chance of advancement. Jeff was working at an agricultural supplies company.

He didn’t want to move. He didn’t want to live in the city or the suburbs. He said he liked living in Wahoo, in a small town.”

“Ah, yes. I remember now. Why don’t you call this Jeff, Mary? Why don’t you pick up the phone some time and see what’s become of him?” She looked terrified. “It’s been years. Besides, I ran out on him. He wanted to get married and I chose my career instead. He probably has a wife and four kids by now.”

“So you’ve lost touch with your hometown and all your contacts there?”

“I only have a few cousins left in Nebraska, and they don’t live near Wahoo. I lost him, Pastor. I didn’t know what I had.”

Mary looked up and found an odd smile on Pastor Don’s face. He dipped his head a bit then changed the subject.

“You’ve been having all your tests, seeing your OB-GYN on schedule?” he inquired.
“Yes, yes. He says everything looks good. Everything looks normal, the way it’s supposed to. He says I’m his model patient.”

“And in a few months you will again look like a model.”

Mary erupted into laughter. “On my best day—in high school—I never looked like a model. Where’d you ever get that idea?”

“Those models! They wish they were as beautiful as you, Mary Chapman.

The remark was so sincere, so genuine that it hit the overweight, insecure woman right in the heart. She couldn’t help crying.

Later, driving home, Mary reflected on what Pastor Don had said about Jeff. But it was too late. Too much time had passed. She put the memories of him out of her mind.

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] [Chapter 5] [Chapter 6] [Chapter 7] [Chapter 8] [Chapter 9] [Chapter 10]

- Jack Zavada
©2006 by www.inspiration-for-singles.com

This a just a chapter of a free ebook entitled “Mary’s Christmas Gift” which can be downloaded from http://www.inspiration-for-singles.com/mary.html

Jack Zavada’s new ebook, Single and Sure, not only shows single people how to rescue themselves, but how to become a happier, more confident person in the process.