That Christmas Feeling by Catherine Palmer, Gail Gaymer Martin Page A

with their owner’s words. Rob didn’t just talk—he hammered, pointed, jabbed, pounded and thumped his way through a conversation. Sitting beside him, Claire was poked and prodded, her hand regularly tapped, her wrist touched, her elbow bumped.
    Under any circumstances, no one could ignore Rob West, and on this night Claire could hardly focus. Along with his big shoulder and constantly signaling hands, she had to contend with the fact that the long plane of his thigh pushed against hers, demanding her attention. His darkhair gleamed in the lamplight, and his perfect profile sent tiny butterflies circling around in her stomach. She felt as though neon lights flashed around him, blinking the word Male . Tall, dark, handsome male. Brave, fascinating, intelligent male. Wonderful, amazing, desirable male.
    Forcing the willful word and its accompanying distress from her mind, Claire listened closely enough to manage several fairly sensible questions. Rob answered with infinite detail and more diagrams. Lots more diagrams. As the waiters began shutting down the restaurant for the night, Claire realized her place mat was covered front and back, and Rob’s was looking a little like a Jackson Pollock painting.
    “So a field goal is worth three points?” she asked. “Why is that?”
    “Why? Who cares why?”
    “There ought to be a reason.”
    He studied her face for a moment. “There’s not a reason for everything, Claire. Sometimes things are just the way they are. Like you and me. Neither of us planned a lot of what happened in our lives.”
    “Random acts of circumstance and fate?” She pointed to the place mat. “Or do you believe some heavenly head coach is up there moving things around like players on a football field—planning events, maneuvering us into position, causing things to happen to us?”
    “I believe the same as you. God is in control of everything, and He knows everything. But He gives us choices, too. Look at your great-aunt. Florence Ross didn’t have to become a crotchety old bat, but she made decisions thatmolded her character. I’m sure God knew how she was going to turn out.”
    “I don’t know, Rob. Maybe Aunt Flossie didn’t choose to become so angry and bitter.”
    “She chose it. Babies aren’t born bitter. Things happen to us, and we decide how we’re going to react to them. God gave us the freedom to do what we want, and the ability to respond to whatever happens. I didn’t have to get Sherry pregnant. I could have listened to my friend Claire and behaved like a gentleman. I didn’t have to marry Sherry, either, but this time I was thinking about what my friend Claire would have said. She’d have told me to do the right thing and accept my responsibilities. Sherry losing our baby was one of those sorrows in life that happen—whether by God’s design or the enemy’s or just a confluence of events, I’m not sure. But I’m the one who chose how to respond. I imagined what my friend Claire would say—”
    “You really thought of me as a friend?”
    “Didn’t you?” Consternation furrowed his brow. “Didn’t you see me as your friend?”
    Claire lowered her head, thinking. During most of high school she had been so lonely. Her few companions had been in the French club or the chess club or her church youth group. They had done some fun things together—silly teenage stuff. But the one person she had always been able to count on was Rob West.
    He showed up for their meetings. He did his part on the project even though he clearly considered it a boring assignment. Most important, though, Rob talked to her. Theyrambled on and on for hours while combing through history books or painting posters or designing charts. Claire had told him everything about her family, her hopes, her dreams, her faith in Jesus Christ. And he had shared his goals and beliefs, too.
    He had never been to church or had a family who deeply cared about him, and it was as if he drank in Claire’s words