Page 41 of A Very Merry Matchup
Ocome let us adore him,
Christ the Lord
Ivy
Despite several differences, this church reminds me so much of my grandma’s church.
A bell choir is playing a Christmas medley in the foyer as we walk past to the sanctuary where each wooden pew is garnished with ivy and a mounted candle vase on the end. The front has a giant Christmas tree lit up in white, and off to the left of the stage is a manger scene.
Between his height and broad shoulders, Beau’s easy to spot near the front. Looks like he’s saving seats for us. Good thing since the pews are filling quickly. Beau’s mom places a soft hand on the back of my sweater as we head toward him.
Other than the little taste I had with my grandma, I’ve never really known what it’s like to be part of a church family. My attendance has always been sporadic at best. Hard to find a church home when I travel all the time, and the few times I do attend, I prefer the duck in and duck out method.
So sitting now in between Beau and his mom, seeing all the people who give them a wave or come over to shake Beau’s hand or slap him on the shoulder, brings out a strange longing inside of me. Especially when they direct their friendly smiles and glances toward me like I already belong.
“Hey, Beau,” a man whispers from the pew behind us. “I heard you’ve got a real shot at making the roster for the Chicago Cubs this season. That’s great, man. I know how much you’ve always dreamed of playing in the Majors. Real proud of you, buddy.”
“Thanks,” Beau says, angling his head toward the man and dodging my gaze. “We’ll see how it goes.” The man claps him on the shoulder and leans back.
Before I can question Beau, Janey wedges herself onto the end of our pew with her giant beautiful belly, making me squeeze closer to Beau just as the service starts. When Beau drapes his arm behind my shoulders, I’m snuggled against his side even more and... I don’t hate it. At all.
I also don’t hate how we start singing “O Come All Ye Faithful” and I discover I still know most of the words sincethis was another one of my grandma’s favorites. As Beau’s low voice sings close to my ear, I try not to think about how much I don’t hate the sound of that either. I focus instead on the song. Maybe I focus too much.
Because my nose starts to burn. My eyes start to water. Soon I can’t get any words past the tightness in my throat. I miss my grandma so much. But even more, I missthis. The peace, the hope, the wonder I used to feel whenever she brought my brother and me to church every Christmas Eve and we’d hear about the baby born in Bethlehem who changed the world.
Because of God’s tender mercy, the morning light from heaven is about to break upon us, to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, and to guide us to the path of peace.My grandma always loved those verses from the Gospel of Luke that pointed toward Jesus, and hearing them recited again now, I’m reminded how much I love them too.
I don’t want this evening to end. I don’t want this feeling to end.
But it will. It has to. I’ve got a plan, and Beau’s got a big dream that doesn’t fit into that plan. How can it not end?
Unless, maybe, God has a different plan?
For the first time in a long time, something warm and familiar cracks open inside me. Begins to sprout. I’m pretty sure it’s faith. I just wish it didn’t feel so fragile right now.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
O Holy—good night, what’s that?
Beau
If Ivy presses any closer, she’ll be sitting on my lap. Not that I mind. What I mind is that she’s only leaning into me like this because she has nowhere else to go. My mom and I have created an Ivy sandwich.
A little bit ago my mom tried making more room by reaching an arm around Ivy the same time I did, which meant my mom and I were holding hands for a moment. That was a weird moment.
But all these other moments where I’ve been able to sit here pretending Ivy’s squished against my side because that’s where she wants to be are wonderful moments.
Janey ruins the wonder when she stands and slides out of the pew, giving Ivy ample room to scooch away from me. Probably for the best. It is Christmas Eve. Pretty sure I’m supposed to be focusing on the birth of our Lord and Savior, not how close to me Ivy West is sitting.
Janey joins Crystal up front on the stage. Crystal’s known for having a great voice and Janey knows sign language, so I’m not surprised Dad corralled them into performing “O Holy Night.” Beautiful song. Between Crystal’s powerful voice and Janey’s motions in the dim candlelit church, the night really does feel holy.
Until something swoops past their heads.
Janey doesn’t flinch, but Crystal’s shoulders hunch for a split second. She continues singing and Janey continues signing the words, but whispers have started. Heads are tilting upward. When another shadowed swoop passes over our heads, we all realize what it is.
A bat. Song must have woken him up wherever he was hanging out in the rafters.
He continues dive-bombing our heads, flying from one end of the sanctuary to the other, while Crystal keeps singing and flinching, and Janey makes even more sweeping hand motions that I’m pretty sure aren’t sign language anymore.
