Paige Woodward sat in the Christmas Eve service, staring at the giant cross that hung above the pulpit of her parents’ church and silently pleading with God. We’ve been praying our hearts out, this whole church has been praying their hearts out. She turned to survey the packed house. Look at all of them. Mom has been a faithful servant to You all her life. Why are You letting this happen again?
Her eyes began to sting, and she knew she needed to stay in control—by appearances at least. She needed to pretend to be strong, and in control, and full of faith, even if she was none of those things.
The congregation stood to sing “O Holy Night.” Paige could hear the words coming from her mouth, so she knew she must be singing, but the beauty of the melody, the magnitude of the words, were completely lost on her. Each member held the candle they’d been given, and as the flame passed from person to person, the dark sanctuary filled with warm light. It had always been the most meaningful part of the service to Paige. Tonight, she merely went through the motions.
She looked again at the cross. You know, if You heal her, it will show everyone Your power. The Bible says “ask and you shall receive.” If she doesn’t deserve Your anointing, who does?
The cross hung silent and dark on the wall. As she’d expected, no answer came. The service ended; the candles were extinguished, leaving nothing behind but a wisp of smoke and the smell of what had once been.
Her family filed out of the sanctuary, speaking subdued greetings to friends, murmuring the ever cheerful “Merry Christmas,” knowing that this year, it simply didn’t apply to them. As soon as they walked out the door, nothing more was spoken. The three of them linked hands and walked through the parking lot in quiet solidarity.
Back at her parents’ home, they seated themselves in front of the Christmas tree and turned on Christmas carols—it was what they always did on Christmas Eve, what they were supposed to do, even if no one felt like it this year. Her mother poured them each a cup of her traditional spiced tea. “Nice service.”
Paige’s father nodded. “Sure was.”
“Beautiful.” Paige tried to work some enthusiasm into her voice, but didn’t really think it came through.
The room fell into silence as they sipped their warm drinks and stared at the tree. Paige couldn’t help but wonder if they were all having the same thought. The same nagging, ugly question. Would this be their last Christmas together?
Paige stood and walked over to the tree. She put her hand on an ornament made out of plastic beads and pipe cleaner. “I can’t believe you’ve still got this ugly thing.”
“That is not ugly. It’s beautiful. You made that for me when you were in kindergarten.”
“Oh yes. Miss Charlton’s class. Best teacher I ever had. She must be getting pretty old, I wonder how she’s doing these days.”
“The question is, how are you doing these days?”
Paige turned to look at her mother. “I’m doing just fine.”
“We all know that’s not true. It’s time you told us what’s going on.”
Paige shrugged. “It hardly matters compared to your news.”
“It matters plenty to me. To both of us.”
Paige looked at her father, noticed the grim set of his jaw. He was prepared to meet this new crisis and do everything in his power to fix it, just like always. Only this time he couldn’t fix it. None of them could.
“I’ve been fired.”
His head snapped back. “Do what? I thought you were up for that promotion.”
“Yeah, well, so did I.”
“What happened?”
Paige had practiced all the ways that she would explain the whole process to her parents. Break it in a gentle way, explain the story slowly and logically, without any emotion. Somehow, sitting before the twinkling tree on Christmas Eve next to her mother, whose body had once again betrayed her, she forgot every word.
She looked at her father, unable to bear the shock in her mother’s eyes. “They fired me because I killed a man.”