Hopefully, he would like her candles, and not go to the church meeting later this week and tell them that he wanted to cancel the tradition. She was depending on that order since she made almost fifty percent of her income in December, and a good chunk of that was the church orders she fulfilled.
Looking back, maybe Pastor Johnson had ordered more candles than strictly necessary just to support her and enable her to work.
She hated accepting help from anyone, and while she didn't think that she was proud of the fact that she was able to do things on her own, she definitely did like that she had been able to support herself. Without depending on the government, or anyone else, to take care of her.
That was especially true considering that she didn't have a college education, and almost everyone had assumed that she was going to go crawling back to her parents once her husband died.
She supposed she'd proved those people wrong.
But even as she thought that, she knew that it wasn't just her. God had been good to her. She really couldn't take credit for any of it.
"This is the last one?" Aidan piped up from beside her.
He slid the last box that she had out on the table and started filling it.
"It sure is. The work just flew by with you helping me."
He beamed. Both of her boys loved helping, and she was glad they did, since so much of their time was spent in the shop, trying to make enough candles that she could keep food on the table and the lights on.
So far, so good.
Chapter 3
Mark stood at the door of the vestibule, greeting the folks of Mistletoe Meadows as they filed in.
Pastor Johnson had gone to Mexico for Christmas, visiting his son who was a missionary in Guadalajara and ran an orphanage there.
It was the first Christmas he was going to get to spend with his son in twenty years. And it was the first Christmas in forty that he wouldn't be here with the folks at Mistletoe Meadows.
"Welcome. I'm so glad you could come today," he said as he shook an older fellow's hand. He couldn't remember the man's name. There was no way that he could possibly remember all the people's names that he had met the two times that he had preached sermons here earlier this year. He must've met a hundred people and he wasn't that great with names to begin with.
"I'm here every Sunday," the man said, like he should know that.
"It's always good to be in the house of the Lord," he said, hoping that was a sufficiently innocent response.
That was another thing. Some people had gone to church especially because they knew that a new person would be preaching.He didn't know who were regulars, there every time the doors opened, and who were people who had just shown up out of curiosity.
He supposed those were things that he would learn, and not that it mattered. God was not a respecter of persons, and he shouldn't be either.
"I'm so excited to hear your sermon today. I've been looking forward to this day, and I've been praying for you since we knew you were being hired. And even before that, I just prayed that God would allow his plan to unfold, and we wouldn't get in the way."
Marjorie McBride, a lady who had definitely made an impression on him when he was here before, stood in the doorway, beaming at him like she was his mother and he was her only son.
Her warm handshake made him feel relaxed and like someone was in his corner.
"You're looking better," he said simply. He'd known for a while that Marjorie McBride had not been well. His church was just forty-five minutes away, and Marjorie McBride's influence had spread all over the mountain. He doubted that there were too many people who didn't know who she was, or that she had been fighting leukemia for years.
"I think my body is finally starting to get victory over the cancer. I'm not sure if it's the natural remedies I'm taking, or if it's prayer. I'd say a little of both," she said, truly looking happy and content. Peaceful. Like she would've been okay with dying, but she was happy to live too.
"I've gotta say I'm happy that they're working, because from what Pastor Johnson has told me, this church and community really need you."
"I'm here to do God's will for as long as he'll have me here."
She filed in, and he continued to greet people, including Marjorie's children, until the piano started playing and it was time for him to go to the front.
They were blessed to have Noah, who owned the music shop intown, and his wife, providing such good music to encourage the congregation to look to the Lord before the service even started.
At his old church they had sung a cappella, because they hadn't had anyone to play an instrument for them. He could draw out a few chords on the guitar, and sometimes he tried to do that, but sometimes he was so bad that he wasn't sure whether his playing made the singing worse or better. Over the years, he'd become more proficient, but they eventually had someone who could play the piano come in.
