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The nurse pops in. It’s funny how kind everyone acts on Christmas Eve. Honestly, if it were me, I think I’d be ticked if I had to work through the holiday, but I’ve noticed the hospital staff today are in really good moods. Compassionate, I guess is a better way of putting it. Like they feel sorry we’re here over Christmas and are going out of their way to be extra nice to us. I don’t really appreciate the sympathy part, but I do like the added effort.
Today’s nurse is wearing candy cane scrubs and matching earrings. Kind of festive, even though she’s a little too old to pull off the cute Christmas elf theme. “Guess who got a package?” she asks, and I take the large box, wondering who in the world would be sending me something. I just hope it’s not Patricia. I may have read that woman wrong the whole time she lived with us — either that or she’s such a master manipulator I don’t even know what to think of her anymore. All I know is I don’t want to be indebted to someone like her.
But the package isn’t from Patricia, thank God, and I don’t even have to read the return address label to recognize the flowing cursive handwriting. Man, how many years has it been, and I still know Sandy’s handwriting like I’ve been living with her up until last week.
Tiffany Franklin. She’s one of the only people I was close to who never called me Tiff. It didn’t bother me, either, like it would with most people.
It takes me a minute to work my way through all the tape, but with the help of some scissors I borrow from another nurse (this one in snowflake scrubs), I get the box open.
It’s a typical care package, the kind Sandy used to send me before I changed addresses and the two of us lost touch. There’s some girly things, hair brushes, lip gloss. Does she think I’m ten years old? The nail polish is a deep magenta color. I might try it if I get bored.
She’s included a few other things too, things that are so Sandy. A Ziploc bag full of cookies and brownies, a snowman picture colored as sparsely as possible with a note that it’s from her adopted son, and a mug stuffed with at least a dozen different types of tea bags.
I miss her so much, especially around Christmastime. I can picture all the crafts up on her mantle, things her kids made decades ago that she’s kept throughout the years. So many colors. There’s no coordination. Not at Sandy’s house. Not at Christmas. But the chaos is a theme in and of itself, and it’s a happier-looking sort of décor than what you’d find in any fancy home magazine or upscale department store.
There’s a letter, and I nearly give myself eye strain until I get used to reading her cursive again. She’s so encouraging. There’s Bible verses all over it, as well as some references she probably wants me to look up on my own. Who knows? Maybe I will.
Everything she writes, I can hear each single word in her motherly, doting voice with that Southern drawl. Man, I miss home. Remind me again why I ever left?
Dear Tiffany, I’m praying that you’re out of the hospital by now with that precious daughter of yours, but if not, I want you to know that God’s still on the throne and he still has a fabulous plan, both for you and your sweet little Natalie. I won’t presume to know what the good Lord’s doing right now, but I want to encourage you to trust him even through the heartache and stress and sadness that’s come your way.
You’re stronger than you know, sweetie, and that’s not just because you’re a smart, capable, and bright young woman (which of course we both know you are). You’re powerful because the Holy Spirit lives in you. Maybe you think he’s gone. Maybe you think you’ve wandered too far for him to ever pay much attention to you, but those are the lies the enemy wants you to believe, darling. The truth is God has never left you. He lives in you, and his love for you is just as strong as it was so many years ago when you accepted him into your heart and made a commitment to live your life for him.
I know it hasn’t been easy since then, sweetheart, but I do know that there hasn’t been a day that’s gone by when Carl and I haven’t gotten down on our knees and asked God to bless you. To show you how deeply he loves you, no matter how far you may have strayed, no matter what mistakes you may have made in your past.
The Bible says that God is gracious and compassionate, slow to anger and abounding in love. Do you know what that means, darling? It means there’s absolutely nothing — and when I say nothing, I truly mean nothing — that will separate you from his love. It’s right there in Romans 8, and if you’re in need of some extra encouragement today, I think you’ll find it in that passage. No matter what happens, precious, no matter how many trials you and your sweet baby girl Natalie have to go through, they’re only meant to draw you closer to God. The choice is up to you. You can get angry. You can shake your fist at heaven and ask God why he’s making you both suffer like this. Or you can curl up in his lap, rest your weary cheek against his breast, and soak in the love and comfort he has for you today.
I don’t know everything that’s happened since the day you professed your faith in Christ and Carl baptized you. But I do know that whatever you’ve done, you can’t pluck yourself out of God’s hand. He is the Good Shepherd, who knows the voice of his sheep and calls them by name. That means he’s calling you. Tiffany. Calling you to trust him. Calling you to shake off the pain and shame of the past. To forget whatever regrets or fears or anxieties are holding you down. To cast your cares upon him because he cares so much — so much — for you. You are precious and honored in his sight. He takes great delight in you, just like you delight in your sweet little baby.
And now, my dear, I have a special prayer for that beautiful daughter of yours. My grandbaby Natalie. I don’t pretend to know if God will heal her now or in heaven, but I know for a fact that her healing will come. And my prayer for her is that for however long she has on this earth, whether a few days or weeks or a hundred full, rich, healthy years, my prayer for your precious Natalie is that she will always know deep in the core of her soul how much she’s loved. By you, by her daddy, by Carl and me, but most of all by her heavenly Father, who’s had his hand on her sweet little life from the moment she was conceived.
Nothing is an accident, darling. Nothing is out of God’s control. And nothing is too painful or too tarnished that he can’t redeem it. Any mistakes, any guilt, any fear — he’s bigger than all of those. So trust in him, honey. He promises to never leave you or forsake you. You’re his beloved daughter. Think how much you love your baby. Tired and exhausted as you are, you love that precious darling. Now imagine how much more God, your perfect heavenly Father, loves her. No matter what happens, know that he’s holding her in the palm of his hand.
I love you so much, sweetie. I hope you never forget that. Carl does too, and so does your brother Woong. In fact, he’s the one who helped make those gingerbread cookies and the brownies too. But be careful because the brownies have nuts, and I don’t know if you’re going to share with Jake or any of your friends at the hospital or anything, but I forgot to write a note to warn people with allergies.
The next several paragraphs are filled with family news. Who would be coming over for Christmas. What foods she’ll prepare. I can almost smell that maple syrup glaze on the ham. The yeasty bread rolls she makes every holiday. My nose tickles with the feel of sparkling apple cider.
I don’t think I’ve had a taste of that stuff since I left home.
Home. Not anymore. But it’s the closest thing I’ve got right now.
There’s a PS at the bottom of the page. I don’t know if this plug’s the right size or anything, but we had an extra one lying around, and I thought maybe you could use it.
I throw aside another bag of Christmas baked goods and find a charger for my phone. I can tell it’s the right style before I even test it out. It’s like that missionary story of the little girl who prays for a baby doll and finds one in the boxes of food aid. Who told those do-gooders to add something like that at the last minute?
I know Sandy would say it’s the Holy Spirit. Right now, I’m too grateful to finally connect again with the real world that I don’t think to wonder. I plug in my phone, wait an impatient ten seconds for it to get enough charge to turn back on.
I don’t see any texts or missed calls from Jake. None that pop up at least. I’ll look through all that later. Right now, I jump onto the Safe Anchorage website. I’ve got to learn what happened to Grandma Lucy. It’s so slow loading up I think I might scream. I get to the main homepage with its pictures of cute baby goats and images of the lotions and soaps they make there to sell. Nothing about Grandma Lucy. Come on.
I go to the news tab. There it is.
No, it can’t be.
There’s a video right there on top of the page. Yesterday’s celebration of life service for our beloved Grandma Lucy.