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Her hands worked in a strong and confident rhythm despite her sluggish spirit. Gazing out the window she found something strangely comforting about the snow blanketing everything outside. Underneath it was a sleeping world, dormant life, and the quiet heaviness of the snow made it all look clean and fresh. Her heart was latent, and it too was surrounded by a blanket of ice.
The kitchen filled with warmth from the oven as Christmas carols floated through the air. She hummed along, the familiar tunes a part of the season in her family home for the past two decades, just like her baking. Even through the years of raising the twins she had never missed preparing her famous shortbread for neighbours, friends and family. She spent an entire day in her sweats working hard, from early morning organizing the ingredients to late that night with the finishing touches. "At least I won’t be baking for all his clients this year," she thought. "I’m not sure he ever appreciated that anyhow."
There was no one else in the house save the calico cat, but he paid no attention to her tears. "My first Christmas alone. Well, thankfully both the kids will be here." She wondered how they would ring in the season at their father’s. "They’ll definitely want to see him Christmas Day, but where does that leave me?" With another woman at his side, there was no place in his new home for her.
She stopped for a moment to breathe slowly. "Why don’t the memories fade?" Her husband had come home from that business trip convinced that everything they had previously struggled with was unbearable. He said that she wouldn’t change, and with a list of apologies he vowed that he couldn’t either. The truth was that he was impatient with his wife’s imperfections and had found someone else. She had simply become an appendage that needed immediate surgical attention.
It had taken weeks of slammed doors, pregnant silences and gritty concessions before they had agreed to sell the house. The kids were resilient. "Oh Lord, please heal those invisible hurts they carry. Even if they don’t show it, it must be painful." They had kept attending youth group, where as she had only become more creative with the excuses on Sunday morning. The kids would insist she go on Christmas morning, but until then she couldn’t. Would God reject her as well? She had given her life to her family and that had fallen apart before her eyes. What was the guarantee that her entire faith wouldn’t evaporate along with her marriage vows?
Her thoughts rode the same treadmill as the shortbread cooled. As she began to set out plates for decorating, a strong, still voice rang in her mind.
Prepare a plate for him.
Her hands stopped. "Did I imagine that?" That was the last thing she would ever want to do, there were just too many memories tied to this. "It isn’t really about cookies. If I gave him a present it would seem like I was... forgiving him." She shook her head to clear the crazed idea from it, but the voice returned.
Prepare a plate for him.
This all seemed unreal. "I know “...whoever takes away your coat, do not withhold your shirt from him either.” But Lord, he didn’t steal my coat. My security, my confidence, my dreams, those he has stolen." Was she even to lose her dignity in this way? "What if she answers the door? What if he laughs at me? Worse, what if he feels sorry for me?" That would be unbearable.
It took awhile for her to realize that this gesture was really for her. This was a step of obedience she needed to take, a choice she needed to make. Would she trust in God’s instructions?
As she wrapped the plates with silver ribbon, she still felt doubtful and foolish about the whole thing. The thought that she would be obeying the voice that calmed a storm brought her a peace she had never felt. "I’ll need Your help to climb those steps Lord, to ring that doorbell and hand it over. I’m not even sure I can say Merry Christmas to him, so you’ll have to do that too." But this was truly a Christmas miracle that the Lord was presenting to her, and she could trust that He would be faithful.
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