Come Before Winter – Chapter Thirteen – Nope, Not Today
December 13th, 2021
2 Timothy 4:21, “Do your utmost to come before winter.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN – Nope, Not Today
As if marching toward a Grand Opening to announce its arrival, the sun broke through thick storm clouds and sprayed itself on the city below. Perhaps it was the calm before the storm or maybe the forecaster got it wrong. A blizzard was expected just in time for Christmas, but right now, the sunshine felt like an early Christmas gift. Everywhere shoppers scurried and store owners turned CLOSED signs to OPEN and flipped on decorative lighting, welcoming the season in the door for another day.
Mercy let herself in the back door of her friend’s shop, announcing, ‘It’s just me.’ The blast of heat burned her cheeks, immediately chapping her lips and causing her to sneeze. Within moments, as she hung her coat on a square peg, she began to feel her fingers and toes. Gwen, whom she’d met in an uncertain way, and really, her only acquaintance in this vast city, would never know how much of a godsend she was. When Gwen offered her a short-term job throughout the holidays, Mercy had to fight herself not to jump up and down like an idiot. It came at Mercy’s all-time low, and she’d never know for sure, those hours she was scheduled to work maybe had become the deal breaker between life and death; she had been that down. Gwen hadn’t a clue.
‘Good morning, Just Me,’ Gwen’s voice sung out from behind her massive wooden counter. ‘Mercy! but you look frozen! It was a bitter night and not much warmer yet today!’ A bright red stain spoiled Mercy’s cheeks. Did Gwen know something? Mercy touched her hair, wishing she’d had a chance to check herself in a mirror instead of a store window before arriving, after her harrowing night bedded down on icicles. ‘You feel like manning the gift-wrap department today?’ Gwen asked in her sing-song way, letting Mercy’s worry off the hook.
For eight hours, each shift Mercy was given, no matter what job Gwen assigned her, felt like the present each Christmas she and other foster children awaited. In those moments, Mercy was reminded of growing up in each of those homes where she was placed, the anticipation as well as the dread of Christmas morning running its own neck-n-neck Kentucky Derby race. It didn’t matter what was beneath the wrapping paper—well, it did, but one learned early on, the dynamics of being a foster kid compared to being someone’s child was brutal—just the fact that a gift had your name on it; you weren’t completely forgotten. That’s how Mercy felt being given this opportunity with Gwen. Each shift was an unexpected gift.
She had her boundaries though. Whatever it took for Mercy to cover her tracks. She didn’t need anyone in this foreign place—where she had come to find closure, reconcile her past, honor a request—to have a rabbit hole to chase. She didn’t want or need anyone’s pity, especially Gwen’s, although the friendship was timely. Even though the small change she made from her shifts wasn’t enough to amount to her needs, it at least bought hope for another day, and maybe would be enough to get her a ticket home. Soon.
Home. That thought sought out a hidden tear. ‘You okay, dear?’ Gwen rounded the corner and rested against the gift-wrap counter where Mercy was making sure she was ready for customers. Mercy forced downcast eyes, veiling any emotion toying with her. She admitted silently she was discouraged. She felt strongly she was to come—come, before winter—here, to this city, to find her father, to set her grampa free, and she had believed the reward would come. Because of her following this what seemed like a scavenger hunt set before her.
‘I never asked you, dear,’ Gwen’s words cut through her thoughts like warm butter, ‘do you have family here? In fact, I don’t know one thing about you, Mercy! Do you have plans for Christmas? Will you be with family or are you going home, and where is home, dear? Will you return?’
Mercy swallowed, swallowed again, hard, trying not to cry, needing to shut herself down like a switch. The ache of the night just past, and the frigid bitterness clawing its way through her memory…sheltered in a doorway, surrounded by a cardboard box and her humility, the cold of the unknown reminding Mercy of weakness and her humanity. She smiled, the sting of familiar tears, at the back of her throat. ‘Nope, no plans. Not this year anyway,’ she added, brightly. Fake it til you make it, she kept repeating in her head.
‘Well, then, you have plans now,’ Gwen said, her words a grin. ‘I like projects,’ she smiled for real. ‘Your first engagement will be Christmas Eve at our church’s Candlelight Night. I wouldn’t miss it for the world. So now, neither will you.’
Psalm 138:8a, ‘The Lord will perfect that which concerns me.’ (NKJV)
To Be Continued…
