A Mrs. Miracle Christmas(14)

Helen took a moment to mull that over, wondering at the changes she would find in the afterlife. “Is there anything else you can tell me?”

“Oh, much more, but I don’t want to overload you with details. You’ll experience it yourself in due course, and then you’ll be granted full understanding.”

Helen wanted to know more about heaven. Death had never worried her. She knew it was coming, especially for a woman of her age. Dwelling on it was unproductive, and she had looked forward to her reunion with her family and friends when the time came.

“I will tell you that everyone in heaven is able to make use of the talents that God has given them.”

“You mean we will all have jobs?”

She laughed at Helen’s comment. “Not work, as you think of it on earth. We each have certain gifts given us. While on earth, we hold jobs. In heaven, our talents are maximized beyond a traditional workplace, bringing ourselves and others joy.”

    This was an entirely new concept to Helen. Until meeting Mrs. Miracle, Helen had never given heaven much thought. Now she continually thought about all the wonderful possibilities.

They continued back home and had just finished hanging up their coats when the house phone rang.

“Would you like me to answer that? It’s Laurel,” Mrs. Miracle told her, without having to look at the caller ID.

Grateful to know it wasn’t another solicitation call, Helen nodded and picked up her knitting project.

“Hello,” Mrs. Miracle greeted Laurel. She listened, then replied to Laurel’s question.

“Yes, Laurel, Helen and I have had a good heart-to-heart, so you don’t need to worry, dear.”

The home companion spoke for a few minutes longer before she ended the call.

“Laurel is concerned about me, isn’t she?”

“She is,” Mrs. Miracle said. “I assured her you’re doing well, and she’s at ease now.”

“Thank you. Laurel has a right to worry. I do get overly forgetful at times.” She paused her knitting and sighed. “I forgot I’d put a load of laundry in the washer last week and it stayed there for two full days before I remembered.”

“Laurel mentioned that.”

Helen could well imagine all her granddaughter had to say about her shortcomings and her memory issues, but she knew her granddaughter did it out of love. Sometimes Helen was afraid to help around the house for fear she’d do something wrong and cause her granddaughter extra work instead. Feeling useless had a discomfort all on its own.

    Mrs. Miracle gave Helen’s hand a gentle squeeze. “It’s fine, dear. You are surrounded by two people who care—they love you deeply. Neither Zach nor Laurel fault you. After all, if it wasn’t for your forgetfulness, I wouldn’t be here.”

Her words brought a sense of relief and a smile to Helen.

“Are you ready for lunch?”

Helen often skipped meals while her granddaughter was at school. Then she recognized she hadn’t had breakfast that morning. Or had she?

“Yes, let’s make lunch,” Helen said, rather than worry whether she had had breakfast or not. Her body told her she was hungry and that was answer enough.

Mrs. Miracle went about assembling their meal. She paused and a slow smile came over her. “You were asking me about heaven.”

“Yes.”

“Helen, one of the most amazing things about heaven is the food. The chefs are brilliant and there are delicious vegetables and fruits that eyes here on earth have never seen. Every day is a feast.”

    Helen’s eyes widened, imagining what culinary delights awaited her.

“And the best part,” Mrs. Miracle said with a twinkle in her eyes, “is that there isn’t a scale in sight.”





CHAPTER FIVE




Laurel arrived home from work to find her grandmother and Mrs. Miracle busy in the kitchen baking gingerbread cookies. Nana was putting piping on the outline of the cutouts. Seeing how happy she looked made Laurel happy.

“Oh goodness, it smells delicious in here,” she exclaimed. “Are those gingerbread men?”

“They are,” Nana returned cheerfully. “You enjoyed baking them with me as a young girl.”

The first Christmas Laurel had come to live with her grandparents following the loss of her mother, she’d been miserable and cranky. She didn’t want to celebrate Christmas if her mother couldn’t be with her.

After several attempts to engage her in the season, Nana had finally talked Laurel into helping bake cookies. Together, they’d decorated each one and then took them to the senior center to hand out. Laurel never fully understood what it was about the experience that had helped to change her outlook. Perhaps working closely by Nana’s side as she rolled and cut out the dough, or maybe it was the joy she felt giving the cookies away. The tradition of baking gingerbread cutouts and other cookies, and then sharing them with others at Christmas, had continued to this day.

    Zach arrived home. “Look outside,” he called as he walked in the door, removing the moisture from his coat. “It’s starting to snow.”

“Snow?” Laurel hurried to the window. Sure enough, big, fat flakes lazily drifted from the sky, sparkling in the light like diamonds, then landing on the grass and quickly disappearing. Seeing the snowflakes and smelling the gingerbread cookies filled Laurel’s heart with a burst of Christmas spirit, but she couldn’t let go of the conversation from the night before. If she could only focus on Christmas, it would help. Laurel loved her husband and admired his determination and tenacity in most everything. But not in this. Not in his resolve to keep an open mind and believe that—out of the blue—a baby would miraculously appear on their doorstep. Their talk had deeply troubled her. If Zach wanted to keep believing and hold on to the hope of a child, she was afraid it would end badly for them.