creases. Then he tucked it carefully into his pocket and reached inside the bag for the gift.
The moment his fingers made contact with the soft material of whatever lay inside, Earl knew it wasn’t a scarf or a hat. The feeling was almost familiar. And it wasn’t one thing; it was two. He peered inside again and this time pulled out the contents.
As he did, as he stared at the matching items, the ground beneath him gave way. His head felt disconnected from his body, and he dropped to his knees.
I’m dreaming.
He blinked hard several times, but still the gift was there. How could it be? It was completely out of the question.
Impossible.
The child had never met him before that first mission dinner. She couldn’t possibly have known. Besides, how had she found them? They’d been stolen seven weeks ago. He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. Nothing made sense.
But still there was no disputing the evidence in his hands. The child had given him a pair of handmade red gloves. Gloves that looked exactly the same as those he’d lost.
They … they couldn’t be. Could they? How could she have found them? Earl leaned back on his heels, his body trembling. He peeled back the cuff of one of the gloves … and his heart sank. Anne’s initials weren’t there. Instead, stitched inside was this message:
Believe.
He blinked three times, but still the words remained. What was this? These gloves were exactly like his gloves. His red gloves. There couldn’t have been two pairs like this. They were Anne’s very own creation, the work of her hands. And yet, where were her initials?
He reminded himself to breathe. And then he brought the gloves to his face and breathed them in. They were his; they had to be. They hadn’t changed since the last time he’d worn them.
A sudden downpour of memories overtook him as he buried his face into the red wool. What was it Anne had prayed for him? That God would blow the roof off his safe little box and leave him no choice but to believe? Yes, that was it. That’s exactly what Anne had prayed all those years ago.
He peeked at the inside of the glove once more.
Believe.
It was still there. With a sudden thought, he pulled back the cuff on the other glove. It was the same as the last. Anne’s initials were gone, but the single word was there—in clean, new white thread.
Believe.
A chill worked its way down his spine.
Oh, Anne.
No wonder he could hear her voice as plain as the hum of nearby traffic. God had blown the roof off. Somehow this God he hadn’t wanted to believe in had done the one thing that left him no choice but to believe.
“God?”
He opened his eyes and stared toward heaven. No matter that the sky above Portland was flat and utterly dark. In that moment he could see beyond it to a place that wasn’t a figment of other people’s imagination. It was real. As real as God and miracles and life itself.
As real as Christmas.
Tears spilled from his eyes and he covered his face with the gloves once more. Suddenly he remembered the little girl. Gideon. He pictured her face, her piercing, innocent eyes. She’d spoken to him when most people would have avoided the idea, cared for him even after he’d shouted at her. And bought him the greatest gift of all, without receiving either a thank-you or even a smile.
What had he told her? That he didn’t like people and he didn’t like her. His insides tightened at the memory. What a wretched man he’d become. Anne wouldn’t even recognize him. Neither would Molly.
He clutched the red gloves in his fists and slipped them onto his hands, one finger at a time. Next he carefully folded the brown bag and found a pocket where it would stay dry. Poor little girl. She’d worked so hard on the gift. How could he have been so mean hearted?
His tears became sobs and he looked up once more. He had been terrible to the child, his behavior unconscionable. He’d told her to get lost. And when she’d wished him a Merry
The moment his fingers made contact with the soft material of whatever lay inside, Earl knew it wasn’t a scarf or a hat. The feeling was almost familiar. And it wasn’t one thing; it was two. He peered inside again and this time pulled out the contents.
As he did, as he stared at the matching items, the ground beneath him gave way. His head felt disconnected from his body, and he dropped to his knees.
I’m dreaming.
He blinked hard several times, but still the gift was there. How could it be? It was completely out of the question.
Impossible.
The child had never met him before that first mission dinner. She couldn’t possibly have known. Besides, how had she found them? They’d been stolen seven weeks ago. He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. Nothing made sense.
But still there was no disputing the evidence in his hands. The child had given him a pair of handmade red gloves. Gloves that looked exactly the same as those he’d lost.
They … they couldn’t be. Could they? How could she have found them? Earl leaned back on his heels, his body trembling. He peeled back the cuff of one of the gloves … and his heart sank. Anne’s initials weren’t there. Instead, stitched inside was this message:
Believe.
He blinked three times, but still the words remained. What was this? These gloves were exactly like his gloves. His red gloves. There couldn’t have been two pairs like this. They were Anne’s very own creation, the work of her hands. And yet, where were her initials?
He reminded himself to breathe. And then he brought the gloves to his face and breathed them in. They were his; they had to be. They hadn’t changed since the last time he’d worn them.
A sudden downpour of memories overtook him as he buried his face into the red wool. What was it Anne had prayed for him? That God would blow the roof off his safe little box and leave him no choice but to believe? Yes, that was it. That’s exactly what Anne had prayed all those years ago.
He peeked at the inside of the glove once more.
Believe.
It was still there. With a sudden thought, he pulled back the cuff on the other glove. It was the same as the last. Anne’s initials were gone, but the single word was there—in clean, new white thread.
Believe.
A chill worked its way down his spine.
Oh, Anne.
No wonder he could hear her voice as plain as the hum of nearby traffic. God had blown the roof off. Somehow this God he hadn’t wanted to believe in had done the one thing that left him no choice but to believe.
“God?”
He opened his eyes and stared toward heaven. No matter that the sky above Portland was flat and utterly dark. In that moment he could see beyond it to a place that wasn’t a figment of other people’s imagination. It was real. As real as God and miracles and life itself.
As real as Christmas.
Tears spilled from his eyes and he covered his face with the gloves once more. Suddenly he remembered the little girl. Gideon. He pictured her face, her piercing, innocent eyes. She’d spoken to him when most people would have avoided the idea, cared for him even after he’d shouted at her. And bought him the greatest gift of all, without receiving either a thank-you or even a smile.
What had he told her? That he didn’t like people and he didn’t like her. His insides tightened at the memory. What a wretched man he’d become. Anne wouldn’t even recognize him. Neither would Molly.
He clutched the red gloves in his fists and slipped them onto his hands, one finger at a time. Next he carefully folded the brown bag and found a pocket where it would stay dry. Poor little girl. She’d worked so hard on the gift. How could he have been so mean hearted?
His tears became sobs and he looked up once more. He had been terrible to the child, his behavior unconscionable. He’d told her to get lost. And when she’d wished him a Merry
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