Lost and Found, Stories of Christmas

  “Fanny, we’ve got folks in tattered $100 suits standing in line for help,” said John.

  “It’s touching everyone, isn’t it, John. The things of this world can desert you in an awful hurry. But don’t worry, John, God will always provide for our every need if we trust in Him.” She placed a bowl of beans and a plate of bread on the table. John looked at the meager meal and shook his head.

  Frances leaned over. “Are you making fun of my cooking, John Sullivan? Look closely, there’s ham in with those beans.” They both leaned forward to get a better look.

  “Well, it’s in there somewhere,” she said.

  They both began to laugh. John pulled Frances down onto his lap and wrapped his arms around her. “Fanny, you are the greatest.”

  And you’re not so bad yourself,” she replied.

  ***

  Following the Christmas morning worship, John went directly home. Frances stayed back to help prepare food for the needy, who had already begun lining up at the front door.

  “John works until he drops. It’s not like him to leave,” thought Frances as she worked around the kitchen. Taking off her apron, she excused herself and went home.

  When she arrived, she found John in bed with a high fever. John finally admitted that he was not all right and gave in to her insistence that she telephone Doc Potter.

  While Frances was out of the room, John remembered noticing a visitor at worship he had never seen before. When he passed through the line he complimented John on the service and placed an envelope in his hand. “Now, what did I do with that envelope?” John thought, looking around the room. “Ah, yes, I put it in my Bible. Now, where is my Bible? Probably downstairs…no, there it is,” he said in a quivering voice. He reached over to a nearby chair, pushed his clothes aside, and picked it up.

  He was so weak he fell back into bed, his Bible coming to rest on his chest. After a few minutes, he opened it and out fell an envelope. Inside was a card and when he opened it, a brand new $100 bill fell out. Reading the card to himself, he murmured, “Well, I’ll be, ‘Help someone as someone once helped me.’” That was it, no name or return address.

  John smiled and said with all the breath inside him, “Praise God. This will feed a lot of people. Fanny was right.”

  At that moment, Frances and Doc Potter entered the room. “What’s all that praising the Lord about?” Frances asked as they walked towards John.

  “Hi, Doc,” said John. “I am really sorry to bother you on Christmas.”

  “I’ve already delivered a baby, stitched up little Bobby Hood’s lip (a present from his brother, don’t you know), and made my hospital rounds. Besides, Pastor, you’re never a bother,” said Doc Potter, putting his bag down.

  “Fanny, I’ve got great news,” John said, beginning to cough.

  Frances picked up the Bible, snapping it shut around the envelope and its contents, not noticing the $100 bill.

  “I didn’t bring Doc Potter here for you to preach to him,” she kidded. She put the Bible down on a nearby box of books.

  “But Fanny,” coughed John, still trying to tell her about the money, “I want you to see...”

  “No, I want Doc Potter to see you,” she interrupted.

  John didn’t have the strength to pursue his conversation. He settled back in bed, thinking he’d tell Fanny later. “Nice of you to come, Doc. It’s just a bad cold.”

  After Doc Potter examined John and visited a while with his favorite pastor and his wife, he and Frances went into the hall. “Frances, I think this is pneumonia!”

  “Oh, no,” sighed Frances.

  “I think this has been going on for some time. Hasn’t he complained… no, you don’t have to answer. Sometimes courage and stubbornness are hard to tell apart. I’ve been treating this all over town and it’s difficult to cure. It can be nasty.” He reached into his bag and said, “Here, give him these pills every four hours. A lot of fluids, aspirin to keep the fever down and bed rest, Frances. Under no circumstances does he get out of that bed for ten days.”

  “Ten days?” she replied. “John?”

  “Frances, this can be serious. We don’t want anything to happen to him. We need him and you, Frances, now more than ever, the way things are going.”

  “I understand,” said Frances slowly, opening the front door.

  “Good night.”

  “Good night. Remember, bed rest!”

  Frances closed the door and leaned against it. “We don’t ... I don’t want anything to happen to him,” she whispered as she wiped her eyes.

  ***

  Several hours later the doorbell rang. Frances looked out the window. “Oh, it’s Henry,” she said, walking to the front door. “What does he want ... oh, yes.”

  “Come in, Henry. It’s getting colder.” She quickly shut the door.

  “It sure is,” replied Henry, loosening his scarf. “They say there’s gonna be snow tonight.”

  “How’s the food holding up?” she asked.

  “Fine, fine. Frances, how’s Pastor doing?”

  “Oh, he’s doing ...” Frances paused. “He’s not doing very well,” she said, steadying herself against the table.

  “There, there,” said Henry, putting his arm around her.

  “Everybody’s praying for him. God needs men like John. We need him especially now. We love both of you very much.”

  “We know,” said Frances, patting Henry’s arm. “Did you come for the books?” she asked, trying to regain her composure.

  “Yes. I hate to impose, but that book dealer is insisting that he get them today. Frances, it doesn’t seem right for Pastor to sell his collection of books.”

  “You know John. He would say it wasn’t right to have something so valuable when there are people begging in the streets.”

  “I know, I know,” replied Henry. “But those books have been in his family for generations. The dealer said that if they are all we say they are, why, they would be worth one thousand dollars. One thousand dollars, Frances!”

  “Just wait here, Henry. I’ll get them. This is what he wants to do.”

  Frances walked up the stairs and into their darkened bedroom. John was sleeping. Guided by the light in the hall, Frances went over and picked up the box of books. As she did so, John’s Bible slipped down between two of the books.

  “Henry, can you come and help me?” Frances whispered from the top of the stairs. “This is a little heavy for me.”

  Henry ran up the stairs. “Here, Frances, I have it. I have it,” he said, taking the box from her.

  Walking to the front door, Henry kept asking, “Are you sure? Are you sure we’re doing the right thing?”

  Frances opened the door. “Yes, I’m sure. John wants it this way. Good-bye, Henry.”

  “Good-bye, Frances. I’ll bring the money right over.”

  Frances leaned against the closed door. “Please, God, no more talk about doing without John,” she prayed. She walked up the stairs and into the bedroom.

  ***

  Elliot had been walking the streets all day. A few weeks ago, the doormen of all the fancy hotels and restaurants recognized this young man and always said an enthusiastic “thank you” when he tipped them with a new $100 bill. Now they said to him what they said to all the homeless beggars, “Move on!”

  The only child of immigrant parents, Elliot had come to know the children of the privileged class at college. Instead of pursuing medicine as his parents had dreamed and worked for, he went to Wall Street.

  Knowing the right people and being one of the “insiders”, he made a fortune. Life was easy and fast.

  It also became a nightmare. In one day, his paper fortune disintegrated and he was left with only the clothes he was wearing. He had too much pride to beg or ask a favor and too much shame to go home.

  Elliot shivered and turned up his collar. He looked skyward and blinked as the flakes of what would be the first heavy snowfall
of the year began drifting onto his face. Several hours later, the snow now ankle deep, Elliot found himself standing in a line outside First Church. Trying to keep warm, he blew on his hands and shifted his weight as he rocked back and forth.

  Once inside, he turned down his collar, took out his monogrammed handkerchief and wiped the snow from his hair. The room was full of people huddled around tables, eating hot soup and bread. Church folks walked among the people, smiling and pouring coffee.

  Elliot wondered how they could be so cheerful at such a lousy time. He also wondered why they would be willing to share their food when, by the look of their clothes, they weren’t much better off than the people they were serving.

  Elliot took his soup and bread and went out into the hall. He didn’t feel like being social and he surely didn’t want the church folks telling him that God loved him. Sitting on a step, he heard voices. They were coming from the room a few feet away and speaking a language he knew well.

  “I can’t sell you these books for that price,” protested Henry. “That’s not the price you quoted Pastor and these books are everything he told you they were!”

  “I am the only one in any position to buy them,” the book dealer insisted. “My client will only go so high. I can’t go any higher!”

  Elliot walked into the room unnoticed. After examining the books in question, Elliot said, “Twelve hundred dollars.”

  Turning to see who had interrupted them, the book dealer said, “Who is this?”

  “I don’t know,” replied Henry, walking over and taking the book from Elliot’s hand. “Who are you?”

  “Just another ex-millionaire. The streets are full of them,” the dealer scoffed.

  “That may be true,” replied Elliot, staring the dealer in the eye, “but I know something valuable when I see it and I also know when someone is putting up a bluff.”

  Turning to Henry, he asked, “How much is his offer?”

  “Six hundred dollars. He told Pastor he’d give one thousand dollars and now he’s changing his mind,” Henry complained.

  “Take it or leave it,” said the dealer. “Where’s my coat? It’s Christmas day, you know, and I’d like to spend a little of it with my family.”

  Elliot walked over to the phone. After cranking it, he said, “Operator, please connect me with CH985… Hello, this is Elliot Frank. I’d like to speak to Grant and I need to talk with him now… Yes, I’ll hold… Hi, G.R…. Okay. It’s been a little tough but I’ll make it… G.R., I have some books on Lincoln I think you’d like to add to your collection… Yes, first rate. Twelve hundred dollars, I’d say.”

  The dealer hurried over to Henry and counted out $1,200 onto the table. He quickly picked up the books and, spotting John’s Bible among them, took it out and walked over to Elliot. “Here, Mr. Big Shot. People like you need something like this. God’s big with beggars like you,” he said angrily as he stormed out of the office with his books.

  Henry picked up the money and began dancing around the room. “Twelve hundred dollars! Twelve hundred dollars! Wait ‘til Pastor sees all of this money. He’ll be so happy!” Henry stopped. He was getting dizzy. Then he remembered Elliot.

  “Oh, I’m sorry… Elliot? Elliot Frank, is it?” he said, walking over to him. “I apologize. You’ve been so kind, I should have allowed your friend to buy them.”

  “Friend!” responded Elliot. “Friends come and go. Right now, none are coming and all are going.” He handed the receiver to Henry, stuffed the Bible in his pocket and walked from the room. Henry held the receiver up to his ear and there was nothing but silence.

  “I’ll be – he called the bluff with a bluff.” Henry put on his coat and left the church building. He was on his way to tell John and Frances the good news.

  ***

  Elliot had nowhere to go and that was exactly where he was going, nowhere. His feet were soaked, his hands were numb and he was so very tired. He eventually found shelter beneath a bridge. He found a piece of cardboard and put it down for his mattress. He took off his coat and tried to cover himself with it. He laid his head down and looked out at the brightly colored city lights reflected in the river.

  He watched the snow fall, drifting past the streetlight overhead and felt so terribly alone, thinking he would surely die before the night was over. Tears filled his eyes and ran down his cheeks as he prayed. He couldn’t remember the last time he had prayed or cried. “Oh, God, don’t let this be the end. Tell me what I am to do. Don’t let me die a beggar…”

  Elliot saw something in the snow. He sat up. “It’s a book,” he thought as he reached out and picked it up. “It’s a Bible. What in the world… oh yeah... the book dealer. It must have fallen out of my pocket when I took off my coat.”

  Elliot opened it and his eyes fell on these words, “Let not your hearts be troubled, believe in God, believe also in me.” He repeated those words again and again. “John 14:1,” he whispered. Elliot held the Bible up to the light and the envelope fell out. Elliot picked it up and there was the card and the new $100 bill. He read the card, “Help someone as someone helped me.”

  Elliot sat, frozen in disbelief. He stood up and put on his coat. Sticking the money and the card back into the Bible he walked from beneath the bridge saying, “Thank you, Lord. Now, I’ve got someplace to go.”

  ***

  When Henry arrived at the Pastor’s house, he noticed Doc Potter’s car. “What are you doing here?” Henry asked Lucille, a church member who opened the door.

  “Come in, Henry,” she replied. He walked in and saw that the parlor was filled with church folks just standing around. He heard crying and folks praying.

  “What’s happening, Lucille?” asked Henry, sensing that he didn’t want to know.

  “Something terrible, Henry. Pastor John is dead.”

  Henry closed his eyes and stepped back. “Oh, no, sweet Jesus,” he moaned. He took a deep breath and walked up to the bedroom. He quietly went over to Frances, who was sitting next to John. Doc Potter and a few of the elders stood off to the side together in silence.

  “Oh, Frances, oh Frances, I’m so sorry,” Henry said, wiping his eyes.

  “Thank you, Henry,” Frances said as she stroked John’s hair with her hand. “We know he’s with Jesus.”

  “Frances, how can this be? It can’t be. He spoke to us just this morning and... and now... he can’t speak to us... ever again!” Henry said sobbing. Frances rose to comfort him.

  “Oh, how he loved you, Henry,” she said softly.

  “Frances, you know how we all loved him,” replied Henry.

  “Yes, I know... and he knew.” Frances sat down once more beside John. Straightening his clothing, she whispered, “We’ll bury him by the large oak tree. The one he’d often go to when he had a problem to work out or a difficult sermon to prepare.”

  “Yes,” said Henry, “the oak tree. He’d like that. Frances, what shall I do with this?” Frances turned and saw the $1,200 in Henry’s hand.

  “Give it to the poor,” she said. “That’s what he’d want. You know what he said just before he died? He said... he said... ‘Fanny, did we have enough food?” Frances fell across John, weeping uncontrollably.

  ***

  Frances stood motionless beside the flower-covered casket. Mr. Hargrove, the funeral director, said he couldn’t remember any funeral having as many mourners as those that came to John’s. All were gone now except for Frances and Henry and a few men standing to the side, leaning on their shovels.

  “Come on, Frances, we need to go so they can take care of John.” Henry gently took her arm.

  “There, Henry,” Frances said, pointing, “I’m going to put a bench right there so when I come I can sit and visit.”

  “Yes, that will be nice, Frances,” said Henry soothingly.

  “It’s so hard to leave him, Henry,” she whispered.

  “I know, Frances,” responded Henry. “But you’ll never leave him, he’l
l always be in your heart.”

  Frances looked at Henry and smiled. They walked together from the grave and down the hill to a waiting car. Halfway down the hill, the elders from the church stepped forward.

  “Frances, I know this may not be the time or place, but with the way things are going these days, time isn’t something we have much of,” Joseph, one of the Elders said, twisting his hat in his hands. “We’ve had a meeting and... and...”

  “Yes, Joseph,” Frances said encouragingly. “What is it?”

  “Well, we are worried that if we don’t find the right person to lead us, John’s work... well... his work may die with him,” he said. “Oh, forgive me, Frances, for saying it that way,” Joseph said apologetically.

  “That’s all right Joseph,” said Frances. “What do you want of me?”

  “Frances, we want you to carry on John’s work. We want you to be our pastor.”

  “Me? I’m no pastor. I went to seminary with John but he did the studying. Oh no, I’m no pastor. No, God called John to be pastor. I was to be his helpmate.” Frances just shook her head sadly and started down the hill.

  “Wait, Frances,” said Percy, another elder, stepping forward. “We’ve talked this over and the fact remains we’re in need of a pastor and we don’t have one and the work has to go on; we’re in hard times. And you’re the best choice because you’ve worked right along with John and he was the best, Frances, the best. And... and... the Good Lord has called John home... and... Frances, we believe He’s calling you to continue John’s work,” said Percy with conviction in his voice.

  “Please, for John’s sake and for the sake of all the needy people he was helping us to care for,” said another elder.

  “Yes, for their sake, Frances,” the rest said together.

  Frances thought for a moment and then said slowly,

  “All right... God help me, all right. For John’s sake and for the sake of the needy. But I have two conditions: I will serve for only one year at a time - or until you get a real pastor. Each year on Christmas day we’ll meet here next to John’s grave. If you want me to continue, fine, but only one year at a time. If you don’t, that’s fine too.”

  “Okay,” they replied.

  “Second, I will not be called Pastor,” she said.

  “What will we call you?” Joseph asked.