Nothing can restore hope to us except your mercy, known since you began to transform us.

Saint Augustine

Chapter Fifty-Three

Twila

On Christmas morning, I wake to the sound of rain beating against the house. The wind howls and the windows rattle. I pull the covers up and snuggle down into the bed, where I think about what this day means. As a kid, I woke up thinking about what I wanted and what I’d get. Now, those things don’t matter to me.

I close my eyes and sort of just hang out with God. We don’t talk, or anything—we’re just together, listening to the storm.

When I do get up, I go to my closet to decide what to wear. My clothes are pretty standard—jeans, sweaters, and hoodies. But we’re spending the day at Miles’s house, and I’m meeting his family for the first time. My mom knows them, but I was never around when they were. Plus, it’s Christmas, and I want to wear something special to celebrate Jesus.

There’s not much to choose from.

I slide clothes back and forth on the rod in my closet and come across a long, straight, black skirt that I’d forgotten about. I pull it out and pair it with a long, pewter knit sweater. Perfect. I can wear my Dr. Martens boots with the skirt. They’re my only pair and they cost a lot. Mine are a dark green background covered in a print of tiny flowers. I save them for special occasions.

I lay the clothes on my bed and then go downstairs to make a cup of tea.

“Merry Christmas, love.”

My mom is in the kitchen fixing a dish she’s taking for Christmas dinner.

“Merry Christmas.” I walk over and give her a hug and then set the teapot to boil. “Today will be fun, right?”

“Yes. I think you’ll enjoy Miles’s sons and his daughter-in-law.”

“Yeah, me too.” I don’t say this to my mom, but it will be nice to hang out with a few people closer to my age.

“What’s Ellyn doing today? She isn’t alone, is she?”

I shake my head. “No, she spent last night with Sabina and her husband. This morning she’s driving to San Francisco to spend the day with her mom.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize she had family in the city.”

“Yeah. Maybe you could pray for her today. I think it might be kind of an intense relationship.”

“Oh, thanks for sharing that with me. I will pray.”

I take my tea and go back upstairs to take a shower and get dressed. I don’t usually do much to my hair, but after I pull the sweater over my head, I pull it up in a loose, sort of messy bun. I look at it sideways in the mirror.

Cool. I like it.

Then I put on a little makeup. I look at the effect in the mirror. Not bad.

After I put my boots on, I do something I rarely allow myself to do anymore. I go and stand in front of the full-length mirror. Before looking at my image, I close my eyes and prepare myself to see something other than reality. But when I open my eyes—I’m surprised.

I look . . . okay.

Not too fat.

Even with the bulky sweater.

I turn and view my profile. I pat my tummy and smooth out the sweater. Then I turn and look over my shoulder so I can see the back view. I stand in front of the mirror for a long time, trying to find the fat girl I’ve always seen there.

But this morning, I can’t find her.

“Thank You, Father.”

It’s going to be a good day. I feel it.

When we get to Miles’s house around 11:00, everyone is in the kitchen drinking hot cocoa. Kimberli, Miles’s daughter-in-law, made stir-sticks out of peppermint sticks with marshmallows stuck on the ends. Christmas music plays in the background, and a fire crackles in the fireplace in the family room, off the big kitchen.

It’s like a Christmas card, come to life.

Miles pats me on the back. “Don’t worry, gal. We have herbal tea for you. You can float a marshmallow in it if you like.” His eyes shine with fun.

We’re greeted with warmth and hugs. They’re, like, such a kind family. Then introductions are made.

“Alex and Kimberli, this is Twila—Nerissa’s daughter.”

Alex puts out his hand. “Twila, nice to finally meet you.”

Alex looks a lot like Miles probably looked when he was younger.

Kimberli gives me a hug. “Hi, hey it’s nice to have another female around. I’m so glad you came.”

“Thanks. It’s good to meet you both.”

Then Sabina comes and gives me a hug. “I’m so glad you’re here. I want you to meet Antwone.” She looks around the kitchen until she sees Antwone. “Twon, come meet Twila. This is the special young woman I’ve told you about.”

Antwone towers over me. “Twila, I’m so grateful for your relationship with Sabina. Thank you for befriending her.” His big hand weighs on my shoulder.

I shrug. “No problem. She’s great.”

Then I meet Will.

My mom told me he’s twenty-five—just a year younger than I am—and just graduated with his masters in . . . something. She couldn’t remember his major.

Will looks more like his mother. He has Miles’s dark hair, only Will’s is longer and his complexion is fair and his eyes are hazel, rather than blue. He’s tall, lanky, and, like, really easy on the eyes.

Like Alex, he holds out his hand to shake mine as we’re introduced. As he does, the cuff of the flannel shirt he’s wearing pulls up to reveal a tattoo on the upper part of his right wrist—a fish symbol.

I shake Will’s hand. “Hi, nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, you too. Great tat. What’s it mean?” He nods toward the thorns on my cheek.

“It’s a sign of solidarity with those who suffer.” I shrug. “Every time I look in the mirror it reminds me to pray for those in need.”

“Wow. That’s deep.”

Something inside me, like, quivers. “I noticed you have one too.” I point to his wrist.

“I do.” He pulls back his sleeve and shows me the tattoo. “Pretty basic. But do you know the history behind it?”

“No.”

“You see them everywhere—on the back of cars, hanging from necklaces, whatever—it’s sort of the universal, evangelical symbol of Christianity now, right? But in the early church—around AD 54 through 68, during the reign of Nero, Christians were persecuted and, therefore, hesitant to speak of their faith. So they used the symbol of the fish, or ichthus, as it’s now known, to identify themselves to other believers. They’d draw the symbol in the dirt or on the wall of a cave as a means of letting others know it was safe to talk about their belief in Jesus.”

And he thought my tat was deep? That’s amazing.

“So it reminds me to pray for the persecuted church in other countries. There are so many who suffer for their faith.” Pain or sorrow seems to settle over him.

I look him in the eyes. “Okay, that’s deep too.”

“Yeah. Hey, it’s nice to not be the only one with ink, for once.”

I pull up the right sleeve of my sweater and turn my hand and wrist over so he can see my other tattoo.

He looks at it, and then looks back at me. His stare is intense.

“You’re created in the image of God.”

“Yes! You get it, right?”

He nods. “Not many people, especially in our culture, understand the significance of who we, as humans, really are. I bet it’s especially hard as a woman. Women are oppressed in so many ways, including American women who are oppressed by the over-sexualization of their gender.”

“Exactly.” This is just . . . amazing! “You really get it. So my mom said you just finished your masters. What’s your degree?”

“A Masters of Non-profit Administration. I’m interviewing now. I’d like to work with a non-profit organization that provides micro-loans for individuals, particularly women, in developing countries. What about you?”

“Really, that’s what you want to do? That’s amazing.” I know I’ve thought it a bunch of times already, but it’s the truth.

Just.

Amazing.

He shrugs. “We have so much. It seems natural to want to help others.”

“Cool.” Then I tell him about my schooling and what I do now. “I’ve taken it kind of slow. I’ve had some . . . health problems to deal with too.”

“Really? Wow, you wouldn’t know it. You look great.”

My face gets warm. “Thanks.”

We stand in the kitchen and talk until Will looks around. “Hey, where’d everybody go?”

He’s right. The kitchen is empty except for us. “I didn’t even notice they’d left.”

“Me either. Too bad we didn’t hit it off, right?”

His humor reminds me of Miles. “Yeah, too bad.”

“Hey, I’m here through New Years. Would you want to hang out? Maybe get dinner or something one night?”

“Sure, I’d like that.”

“Great. What are you doing tomorrow night?”

I laugh. “Um . . . having dinner with you?”

“Yes!”