Come Before Winter – Chapter 1 – One Below
December 1st, 2021
2 Timothy 4:21, “Do your utmost to come before winter.”
CHAPTER ONE – ONE BELOW
Snow swirled in the glare from the streetlamp and cold ringed it like a wreath. Tendrils of her breath wove a mystic illusion as if ribbons were hanging from the night sky. Reminded her of smoke rings in the dark her grampa had once made for her when he inhaled from the bowl of his tobacci pipe, he liked to call it. A single tear slid down her cheek but stopped on its way like it ran out of energy. Truly it was from the frigid cold, but it caused her to almost smile. Or maybe that was from the memory. She huddled tighter, wondering if she’d make it tonight. She had been fortunate to acquire the boots and coat with the built-in hood at the annual coat drive she had chanced upon, but it might not be any match for the forecasted windchill factor she saw through the window on the big screen at the bar earlier today, nor were her mittens as she clenched her fists tight. She choked on a cry she was wishing to silence as another helpless tear traveled to the tip of her nose and simply clung there, frozen now in place like an icicle from a drainpipe. Too many nights, she sighed, waiting for something or someone who never came.
It hadn’t always been this way, Mercy sighed again, this time from deep within. Life hadn’t been great, but it sure had been a lot better than this. She tried not to be bitter but on a bitter night it was difficult not to be the same. The holidays were always more of a struggle too. What was it about Thanksgiving and Christmas, she pondered, that made the heart emptier, the soul lonelier, the air colder, life more futile? The girl thumbed through her mental memory book at the different homes she had been in and the variety of families and random people she had spent holidays with over the years. There were almost too many to recall—some she couldn’t bring herself to recall—and in fact, she had transferred so frequently, at least every year, that she had only spent the holidays with the same family two years in a row just once.
It had been a horrible heart wrenching, a gigantic strangle to her soul, when she had been removed from their home. When she turned eighteen, Mercy had been forced to leave due to her age as she was no longer a ward of the state. The Masons were the closest thing Mercy had ever known as family, well since hers had evaporated, and she’d never forget as long as she lived, standing in the middle of their family kitchen in a group hug while tears streamed down each of their faces as they said good-bye. She would long for the rest of her life for what she’d experienced with Michael and Patsy, and even with their own children, who had never treated her any differently just because she wasn’t one of ‘theirs’. That’s because they made it very clear she and any other kid living in their home could feel as if they were ‘one of them’. Unique, they had been. Eccentric. One-of-a-kind. From almost the day Mercy moved in, they shared with her about this personal relationship they each had with a person named Jesus. Mercy had heard about Jesus before, but the circles she traveled in, He hadn’t always been talked about too favorably, and He sure seemed to be blamed for a lot of issues other people faced, although Mercy was pretty certain even at a young age, that most people brought on themselves their own heartache. The Masons had not only told her about Jesus, they’d lived Jesus, and she finally decided for herself not long before she had to leave their home, that He was the difference maker in their family. She’d wanted that for herself but never had the guts to admit that aloud so that desire had since died like all the rest.
They had invited her the following year for holiday get-togethers, and again the next, but she had politely declined the invitation. It wouldn’t have been the same, Mercy realized sadly, and they needed to get on with their own family and making room for new foster kids who would undoubtedly fall in love with them and wish too they could live there forever. They were just that type of people, and then Mercy chuckled; the sound of her laugh disrupting even the chill. What was ‘that type of people’ they were? She shrugged as if in deep conversation with another. They were simply good, kind, caring, sharing people who imbued family, home, friendship, comfort. Before Mercy had been placed with them, she had lost hope that there were good people in this world, but because of them, she now knew there were still a few good ones left.
Mercy removed one of her mittens and the cold instantly held her hand like an angry boyfriend. She could barely waggle her fingers. Very carefully she reached deep in her pocket, trying to will her knuckles to cooperate. She wrapped her hand around the lone paper envelope, cautiously tugging it from the depth of her pocket. She couldn’t afford to lose this. It was the one treasure she held dear. Burrowing even deeper in the alley doorway so the wind couldn’t snatch her like a kidnapper, she carefully pulled the paper from its confines. She didn’t need to read it—she had it memorized—but somehow each word scrawled across the page resembled hope to Mercy, a lifeline, the steady staccato of a heartbeat. Her eyes fell all the way down the page, noting the fading of the pen due to her frequent perusal and even the poor spelling written in sloppy handwriting, to the very last sentence. “Do your best, Mercy, to come before winter; I fear there isn’t much time.”
Psalm 68:5-6a, “A father to the fatherless, a defender of widows, is God in His holy dwelling. God sets the lonely in families, He leads out the prisoner with singing.”
To be Continued…
