A Christmas Eve Miracle

  Chapter 4

  As Mrs. Bailey was leaving the building she passed Mrs. Bigfitter in the front doorway. Mrs. Bigfitter was the Church Moderator, Sunday School Superintendent, and all around general tyrant. Her nastiness knew no bounds and her meanness didn't go away even in the shadow of Christmas. Mrs. Bailey said hello but Mrs. Bigfitter brushed her aside with her hand and nearly knocked Alexa to the floor. She stormed on heading for the Pastor's office. Mrs. Bailey said a silent prayer for the minister for he would need it.

  Pastor Goodbook was studying in his office for the Christmas Eve message. The afternoon sun was already dipping in the sky. His sermon for his thirtieth Christmas Eve at the little country church should have come easily. Although one would think that he would have run out of sermon ideas after all these years but the aging pastor found the Bible to be so rich that there was never a shortage of topics. His problem after all these years was the energy to deliver the message. This year Pastor Goodbook's energy was at an all time low.

  Most nights he sat in the chair next to his wife's bed listening to her labored breathing. Her illness had come on quick. No one expected it but he planned to be beside her every possible minute. Their sons dropped by often to help take care of her but the Pastor's lack of sleep could not be fixed or helped. It was his love for his wife that continued to push him forward.

  Pastor Goodbook had just buried his face in his hands and rubbed his eyes when his office door busted open with the power of a human tornado. In charged Mrs. Bigfitter, the church moderator and chief church complainer. Her visits were always the worst part of any day, week or month. This one was obviously going to be as unpleasant as they usually were.

  She opened her mouth and out bellowed her less than warm greeting. “This is unacceptable. I will not have it. I will not be embarrassed in this way.”

  “What is the problem, Mrs. Bigfitter?” Pastor Goodbook asked with a kind voice.

  “I have heard, through the grapevine I might add, that your wife does not plan to sing tomorrow night at our Christmas Eve service. My family, my friends, my social club associates all attend the service and your wife's voice is the highlight and drawing card. It is certainly not your message,” she continued with a scowl. “You are about as interesting as cottage cheese. Why wasn’t I informed that she planned to not sing this year? Did I approve that?” she demanded while smashing her big hand down on the Pastor's desk.

  “We've talked about it on Sunday mornings at the service and every Wednesday night we prayed for her at our Prayer Service. Her illness is no secret to those who were in attendance,” the Pastor told her.

  “You can't expect me to be at every service. I give hours to this church every week calling the other women to find out what is going wrong in our church. I don’t have time for worship and prayer. Making sure we stay on the straight and narrow is my job. It should be your job but it seems I am always doing your job,” she snapped. “You only work one hour a week and I don't believe you even do that one hour very well. I want you to know that I have already started a movement to get rid of you and your wife's insubordination will go hard against you.” When Mrs. Bigfitter finished throwing her big fit she spun on her heels and stormed back out the door.

  She stopped on the other side of the doorway and turned with her finger shaking in the air to spout out more mean-spirited comments, “Do not expect me, my family, my daughters' families or any of my important political friends to be at your Christmas Eve service. I will not attend again until you are long gone. At my Christmas dinner we plan to have roast pastor. My family is against you and you will be gone.”

  She left slamming all the doors as she passed through them on her way out. Pastor Goodbook sighed and sank back in his chair. He closed his Bible and slowly rose from his chair to walk towards his coat and hat. The day had started well but had slowly gotten worse. As he turned out the lights in his office, Pastor Goodbook said under his breath, “Lord, I really need that Christmas Eve miracle.”

  He thought no one was there to hear him but listening silently inside the mouse hole was Judachew. In both of his little mouse eyes were tears. He was wondering if the love and charity that usually marked the Christmas season would ever return to the little country church he called home.

  On the other side of the village Alexa had been dropped off at her grandmother's because her mother still had Christmas shopping to do. Alexa and her grandmother planned to sew her a new dress for her special song the following evening.

  “Lexie, I got the prettiest red, Christmas plaid material for your dress. You will just love it. I am sure it will make your eyes pop and highlight your beautiful complexion. Let's go see it,” Grandmother said.

  “Thanks Gramma, I am so excited about tomorrow night. I think the song will go well but I need a few favors from you,” Alexa asked her trusted friend and grandmother.

  “What is it, dear? Gramma will do whatever she can,” she said as they strolled through the door of the sewing room. “What do you think of the material? Isn't it pretty?”

  “It is perfect for my dress. Are you putting green satin along the edge of the collar and lace on the hem?” Alexa asked. She knew Gramma's designs and that is the way her grandmother makes her dresses.

  “Of course, my dear. You have learned a lot since we've been sewing together. Now, tell me what little extras that you have in mind,” Gramma said.

  ‘I need a pocket on the back of the dress,” Alexa said.

  “A pocket on the back of the dress? Why, my dear?” Gramma questioned.

  Alexa had not thought that Gramma would ask her any questions and didn't want to lie. “It's for my friend Judachew. He wants to sing with me,” she told Gramma.

  Gramma thought to herself for a moment. If believing she was singing with her imaginary friend made Alexa more comfortable then a pocket on the back of the dress was not a big request. She said to her granddaughter, “I can see from the look in your eyes that there is more that you want to ask me.”

  “You know me too well, Gramma. I do want you to help me make twenty small vests that match my dress, a white shirt, a bow tie and a tiny tuxedo coat. You know, the kind with tails in the back,” Alexa requested hoping Gramma wouldn't ask her why. She should have known better because Grammas ask questions.

  “Alexa, I know what you want them for and yes I will help,” her grandmother said. Alexa wondered how her grandmother could know that she was planning a mouse choir to accompany her on the song and that Judachew wanted the tux to wear when he sang tenor?

  “You are dressing up your dollies and having a playtime Christmas program, aren't you?” Gramma said.

  Alexa just smiled then changed the topic. “Gramma, when Mom and I were leaving the church today we ran into Mrs. Bigfitter in the doorway. Mom said hello but Mrs. Bigfitter just pushed by us without saying a word. She almost knocked me over. Why is she so mean?”

  “Honey, that is a wonderful question. Some people go to church to worship God and some people go to church so people can worship them. Mrs. Bigfitter likes to lead everything and have people think she is important. If she isn't in control then she is very unhappy,” her grandmother told her.

  “Why? I never did anything to her,” Alexa asked because she was still puzzled.

  “Sometimes it is because they don't like themselves and sometimes it is because they are just born with bad attitudes. Mrs. Bigfitter has both problems,” Gramma said.

  “It just doesn't seem to me that Christians should be like that. Didn't Jesus tell us to love everybody?” Alexa questioned.

  “Here is a big lesson for you to learn but I think it is time for you to understand this simple truth. Not every person who goes to church is a Christian. Being in the church building doesn't make you a Christian. You being in my sewing room doesn't make you a sewing machine, does it?” Gramma asked.

  “That is silly, Gramma. Of course I'm not a sewing machine. I'm a little girl,” Alexa giggled at her grandmother's jok
e and then went silent. After a few minutes of thinking she said, “I get it, Gramma. Being a Christian isn't just going to church. It happens when we ask Jesus into our hearts.”

  “You got it, sweetpea. Now let's get to sewing,” Gramma said.

  “I have one more question. Do you think that mice can become Christians and go to heaven?” Alexa said as she picked up the material for her dress.

  “Honey, you better ask the Pastor that one.”