Lost and Found, Stories of Christmas

  Henry stepped forward and said, “We’ll call her Sister Frances.” They all agreed.

  ***

  For forty-five years they met each year by John’s grave and asked Sister Frances to stay on one more year. And for forty-five years she said yes - but only after arriving early, sitting on her bench, and talking it over with John. During those years, Frances went to seminary, became ordained, and gave herself completely to the ministry begun and first given life by her beloved John. She never remarried - the church and all the people who came in need were her family.

  She distinguished herself as one of the most dedicated and effective ministers in the area and yet she’d never allow folks to call her pastor. She’d always say, “Pastor’s away; I’m just filling in.” She was simply Sister Frances. And while only a few of the elders who met her that first winter’s day were present at the forty-fifth meeting, they always extended her a unanimous call.

  She led First Church through a great Depression and a World War; through the calm of the Fifties and the unrest of the Sixties; and now, in her fifth decade of ministry, she faced her biggest challenge. Unless there was a large Christmas offering for the church that Sunday, the community center and adjoining home for unwanted children would be lost. The property had become too valuable for such a use, claimed the city planners. If the church was not able to do massive renovation to the building, it would be condemned and razed. New, deluxe condominiums overlooking the river would take its place.

  Those dedicated to what Sister Frances was doing were dying off and it seemed the people of the Seventies were like the people of the Twenties; self-indulgent and not concerned with the plight of the less fortunate.

  Henry, now in his late seventies, came slowly into Sister Frances’ office. “Frances, it’s time to begin the Christmas service. There’s a good crowd today.”

  Frances closed her Bible and stood next to her desk. “Henry, I’ve searched and searched all these years and I just can’t seem to find John’s Bible,” she said.

  “You say that every Christmas, Frances.”

  “I guess that’s when I miss him the most,” she sighed.

  “We’ve been doing this for a long time, haven’t we?”

  “Yes, we have,” smiled Henry.

  “Do you think it’s all over? Will it be there this year?”

  “Yes. The envelope will be there. It has been for forty-five years,” answered Henry. “Let’s pray it will be there today.”

  “Henry,” said Frances, putting her arms around him, “you’ve been so faithful. John loved you so much.”

  ***

  Each Christmas since the Christmas John died, there was always a card placed in the Christmas offering. And always the same note, “Help someone as someone helped me.” With it was a sum of money, each year more than the year before, until it was a sizable amount. It made a big difference in the ministry; this year it would determine if the ministry continued.

  All through the service, Frances scanned the congregation from the pulpit and Henry searched the narthex as they did each year, trying to pick out the anonymous giver. There were too many people. After the service Frances, Henry, and a few Elders waited in her office for the offering to be counted. Soon the door opened. A Trustee came in and gave Frances a slip of paper and a hug. Frances looked at it. She looked up, “Was there a card in it this year?” she asked. The young Trustee shook his head no.

  “I was afraid of this,” she said. “The handwriting was becoming so feeble these last years. I am sorry I never had a chance to meet this dear soul and thank him personally before he died.”

  Just then the door opened and Marshall, one of the older children from the home, came in. “Sister Frances, there are two men here to see you. They look important.”

  “Thank you, Marshall. Please have Rachel take the children back to the house. I’ll be over to see them shortly.”

  “I can’t believe they’d come on Christmas to serve us with the papers,” said Henry angrily.

  “It’s business. That’s all it’s ever been for them,” Frances said as she led the Elders out of her office. There in the back of the sanctuary sat two men.

  “Sister Frances,” said one of the men as they rose to their feet.

  “Yes, I’m Sister Frances and these men and women are the Elders of the church,” replied Frances.

  “Is there some place we can go?” said one of the men quietly.

  “Just serve the papers,” said Henry.

  “Papers?” questioned the men.

  “Yes, papers,” repeated Henry angrily. “You’re from the city, aren’t you?”

  “City? No, you have us confused with someone else,” said one of the men. “Could we go somewhere we can talk?”

  Frances led them back to her office. Two chairs were pulled up to the desk. The men sat down; the Elders gathered around the desk protectively. Sister Frances sat down across from the men.

  “Sister Frances, my name is Howard Tipton and this is Austin Andress. You don’t know us, but we know you. And we must say what a privilege it is to meet Sister Frances.”

  “Me? Privilege?” said Frances.

  “Yes, you are something of a celebrity about town and you have been of special interest to our employer for almost forty-five years,” stated Mr. Andress.

  “Our employer was quite a wealthy man. Upon his death, we were to meet with you and give you these items.” Mr. Tipton pulled a leather satchel from his briefcase. “First, this Bible.” He placed it on the table.

  “That’s John’s Bible,” Frances said picking it up. “I’ve looked and looked for it.”

  Next he laid a card on the table. Yellowed with age, upon it was written these words: “Help someone as someone helped me.”

  And next, a new $100 bill, mounted in a cheap picture frame. Frances and the Elders looked puzzled.

  “We also have been instructed to read you these words:

  “Sister Frances, you don’t know me but I know you and have followed closely all that you have done over these years. The night your husband died, I thought I would also. I was so low, death would have been welcome. Then, in God’s wonderful Providence and Mercy, your husband’s Bible and this card and $100 bill came into my possession.”

  “I remember,” said Henry in an excited voice, interrupting Mr. Tipton. “Frances, it was the man who bluffed the book dealer. Yes, I remember - the dealer took a Bible out of the box and gave it to him. The man was Elliot something… Elliot Frank! That’s it! And he... he... he put it into his pocket!” In his excitement he jumped up and stood in front of Frances.

  Mr. Tipton smiled and shook his head. “You have an unbelievable memory,” he said. At this, Henry looked at the younger Elders, smiled and sat back down. “Let me continue,” said Mr. Tipton, lifting the paper to read:

  “That night I decided to go home to my parents. I received a welcome such as was given the prodigal son. I went back into the business community but for different reasons. I lived my life helping people with the profits of my labor. I placed the Bible on my desk, always open to John 14:1. I framed the $100 bill so I’d see it every day. Each year I sent someone to your Christmas service and had him put a card and my gift in the offering basket. Now I am at the point of dying. Having no family, after I take care of my employees who have been with me these many years, I am leaving all I have to help others. To you, Sister Frances, I give these shares of stock I purchased for $100 in 1935 as well as the bulk of my fortune. Sister Frances, may the ministry your husband began, which you and your people have maintained over these years, continue to help people like me, Elliot Frank, who only need a little encouragement, ‘Let not your heart be troubled, believe in God. Believe also in me.’ And I have.

  Elliot Frank

  Frances, Henry, and the Elders were speechless. The letter had taken Frances and Henry back many years. Memories came flooding into their minds.

  “Sister Frances, here is
the stock,” said Mr. Tipton, handing her the envelope.

  Frances just slipped it in the Bible. “Thank you, gentlemen. You are very kind. But all things must come to an end. Elders, I’m afraid we do not have the money to keep…”

  Mr. Andress interrupted. “Sister, I don’t think you understand.” He took the stock from the Bible and showed it to her. “This stock is worth...” he looked around and smiled at those in the room. “This stock is worth five million dollars.”

  “Oh my stars,” said Henry as he fell back into a chair.

  “Five million... dollars?” said Frances.

  “Yes,” said Mr. Andress, “five million! It’s all yours. Quite a nice return for $100. And don’t forget, Mr. Frank is also leaving you the remainder of his vast estate, asking only that you use it on his behalf to help others.” A loud cheer went up from those in the room.

  “Sister Frances! Sister Frances!” Joan, one of the church members, called from the doorway. “There are two people here from the city. They said you are expecting them!”

  Frances stood up. Holding John’s Bible in one hand and the stock in the other she said, “Yes, but are they expecting us?!”

  ***

  For the fiftieth time, the Elders gathered near John’s grave to ask Frances to serve one more year. The ministry was now flourishing beyond belief. Buildings had been added, programs expanded, lives changed, children cared for, and countless people received hope and encouragement in the name of Jesus Christ. There was now a large staff of salaried pastors and lay leadership and a dedicated congregation. Frances could not participate as she once had. Her age and a persistent illness slowed her down. And yet, she was still needed because she was the heart and soul of everything First Church stood for.

  The Elders began looking at their watches as they waited for her to conclude her time with Pastor John. This year, she was taking longer than usual.

  Concerned that she might be sitting too long in the cold air, they walked up the hill to meet her. Maybe this would be the year she said no to their call.

  As they approached the bench where she sat, a young Elder, disturbed by her unusual stillness, ran ahead. “Sister Frances,” he cried, shaking her shoulder, attempting to rouse her. “Sister Frances, wake up!”

  “Oh, no,” said another Elder, drawing near. “Oh, no... Sister Frances.”

  One by one they knelt on the snow-covered ground and offered up to God prayers of thanksgiving for her life.

  Sister Frances passed from this world while sitting and visiting with Pastor, who for her, was “away” no longer.

  In the year of our Lord 1979, fifty years after her beloved John died, Sister Frances was buried beside him. A large crowd gathered around her casket. There were only a few now who remembered her as Pastor’s wife. To most she was simply Sister Frances; the person who loved others and her Lord Jesus Christ.

  Upon her headstone this was engraved:

  Sister Frances Sullivan 1902 – 1979 “Help someone as someone helped you”

  The Greeting

  Mildred believed in God, but didn’t believe the things people said about Him. She didn’t like church nor the people who did. Things were far more complicated, the universe too great a mystery, and life too complex for any person or book to explain. And yet each morning, she said this prayer (although she wouldn’t call it such), “God, if you are there, good morning, and if you aren’t, so be it.”

  Mildred was honorable in her dealings with people. She followed the Golden Rule; she just didn’t acknowledge the Rule Giver. Many thought she believed because of the way she treated others. When they would speak to her of such things as hope and faith, she’d just smile and nod her head. She saw no purpose in discussing things that had no rational conclusions. Single, driven, demanding, shrewd, Mildred was one of the most successful business women Plainville had ever known.

  ***

  One Christmas Eve night, Mildred sat alone in her library. She was getting older and there were few challenges left for her in life. She found herself thinking about her business and who would carry on for her. She had no family. This night, Mildred also thought about what she believed and the consequences of her beliefs. If this is all there is then she could not even hope to live on in the memories of others when she died since she had no family. All that was hers would be divided up by the courts or fought over by relatives she didn’t know she had. All that she had given her entire life for, all she had believed in…Mildred sat up. This was all she had believed in, the things of this world.

  Oh yes, Mildred did greet God every morning, but she had never really tried to find Him. And now, more than ever, she wanted to know if God really existed. In all these years, He had never returned her greeting. Soon she would leave this life and if there was a God, how would she find Him - and if, by chance, she found God, would He receive her?

  Mildred put on her coat and hat and walked out of her house alone to find God.

  Her logical mind, which had always been her guide, kept saying, “This is ridiculous. Go home.” But her heart, so long restrained and pounding with the excitement of doing something that couldn’t be explained in rational terms, shouted, “Keep going. Life is more than what is seen.” For once, Mildred listened to her heart.

  Hours later, exhausted, cold and lost, her mind was saying smugly, “I told you so.” But her heart, feeling the exhilaration of its first great faith adventure, urged her to continue.

  Mildred stopped. She took a deep breath and said, “This is crazy. I surely have the courage to die the way I have lived and believed.” She looked up at the sky. It was morning. She said sarcastically, “God, if you are there, good morning, and …”

  “Miss Mildred, is that you?”

  “God, is that you?” she gasped in a startled voice.

  “Miss Mildred, is it you?” said the voice again. Mildred turned around and there was Clarence, her gardener.

  “Clarence, it’s you!” she said with a sigh of relief, yet somewhat disappointed.

  “Miss Mildred, what are you doing out here this early in the morning?” Clarence continued.

  “Oh, I was just out for a little walk,” Mildred said, gaining her composure. “Clarence, please call William to come and get me.”

  “Miss Mildred, today is Christmas. You gave all the servants the day off, remember?” replied Clarence.

  “Oh, so I did. Well, I’ll just have to walk home then.” Mildred thought for a moment and asked, “Clarence, why are you here?”

  “This is where I live.” Clarence pointed to a nearby apartment building. “The missus and I have lived up in that apartment for 35 years. We’ve raised four children there and they are all coming home today for Christmas.”

  “That’s nice, Clarence. Well, if you’ll point me in the right direction, I’ll be going,” said Mildred.

  “Oh, Miss Mildred, I can’t let you go alone. I’ll walk you home…”

  “Or until we find a taxi,” finished Mildred.

  Clarence just smiled and said, “Yes Ma’am.”

  As they walked, they talked about many things. Clarence had worked for Mildred for 25 years. She paid him well and treated him fairly, but had never had time for the important things like getting to know him.

  “Clarence, do you know who I thought you were back there?” asked Mildred. Clarence shook his head no. “I thought you were God, or at least His voice.”

  Clarence laughed, “God? No, not me, Miss Mildred. Maybe I sometimes wish I was an angel,” continued Clarence, “so I could ask God to answer you. I’ve prayed all these years that one day He’d return your greeting.”

  Mildred stopped, looking surprised. “You know about that? Who told you?” Mildred said with some anger in her voice.

  “Nobody, Ma’am. You see, you’ve been coming to the garden each morning and saying your greeting and, Miss Mildred, I’m always there ‘cause I’m your gardener,” Clarence said gently.

  M
ildred smiled and then they both laughed. They continued their walk.

  “Clarence, do you greet God?” Mildred asked.

  “Yes, Ma’am,” Clarence nodded.

  “Does He ever greet you back?” Mildred asked again.

  “Yes, Ma’am, every time,” Clarence nodded again.

  “How do you know? How does He greet you?”

  “Well, He greets me each time a flower blooms in my garden, each morning when the sun comes up. He greets me each time I see someone being kind to someone. He greets me when my children hug my neck and my wife says ‘I love you, Clarence, you’re the best husband in the world.’ He greets me when I read in the Good Book about Jesus and how He died for poor old Clarence. He’s greeted me these past many years through you, Miss Mildred.”

  “Through me?” Mildred asked with a puzzled look on her face and tears in her eyes.

  “Yes, Ma’am,” replied Clarence. “Each day when you greet God, God greets me. He’s saying, “Good morning, Clarence. Mildred needs me, so go to her and tell her how to find me.”

  “Yes, that’s why I’m out here today. I’m trying to find Him. How do I find Him? How do I find Him, Clarence?”

  Clarence looked Miss Mildred right in the eyes, his face glowing radiantly. “You find God within you, and in the lives and faces of others you reach out to.” Clarence stepped back. “I must be going, Miss Mildred. You’re all right now?”

  Mildred cried out, “Wait, Clarence, tell me more. Take me home.”

  “You are home now. You know where to find Him,” Clarence’s voice faded away.

  “Clarence, Clarence,” shouted Miss Mildred.

  ***

  “Miss Mildred, Miss Mildred, wake up…wake up.”

  Mildred opened her eyes and looked around. She was back in her library. “Where is Clarence? Where is Clarence?” she shouted.

  “Miss Mildred,” said Katherine, one of her maids, “you’ve had a dream.”

  “Where’s Clarence?” she said frantically.

  “Why, Miss Mildred, you know Clarence died over five years ago.”

  Later, she and her chauffer, William, were driving the streets of Plainville, with Mildred giving William directions. “Miss Mildred, how do you know these streets? I’ve never taken you here before,” William asked.

  “There,” said Mildred. “There’s Clarence’s house. Pull over. Pull over.”