As shrieks of laughter drifted down the stairs, I shook my head, smiling as I heard my husband attempting to "help" our sons get dressed for Christmas Eve services at our church. It was hard to imagine life without my "three" boys. However, sometimes the tragedies we suffer can be blessings in disguise. It was ten years , I reflected, since the off-world injury that changed the course of my life. I don't remember the actual moment when my arm was crushed by huge chunks of falling rock. I do remember pushing Daniel out of the way and attempting to follow him out of the temple. I didn't regain consciousness until two weeks later, lying in the Air Force Academy Hospital with Jack pacing anxiously at my bedside.
Although my arm had been amputated to save my life, it seemed to me at that time as if that surgery would, in fact, end my life as I knew it. Instead, it sent me down another path; one that gave me both a career that I loved and the family I craved. It was a long, hard recovery, though, even with the support of my friends and family. Nevertheless, eventually I adjusted to my disability and found that I could still do research and development as a civilian consultant to the SGC. Jack, my never ending source of irritation, understanding and love, stood rock- solid by me through the whole ordeal. A year after I was released from the hospital, we were married in a small church in Colorado Springs. I continue to attend church services regularly, finding that I loved the sense of community they provided. Even with all the discoveries I'd made in traveling the Universe, I still wanted to believe in a God - a true, higher being who loves and cares for His people. Jack, on the other hand, wanted nothing to do with the church. If I want to attend, that was fine with him, he'd be at home waiting for me. However, my sons went to services with me on a regular basis. We pray for the soldiers that I know are out there, fighting to keep us safe. Often, their dad is among those brave men, leading soldiers forward into the battle. I shook myself out of my reflections, and headed upstairs to gather my family together. We drove through the city towards a small white-sided church where a beautiful bell tower reached up to the darkening sky. Snow drifted down, silent and clean as icicles hung from the rooftops, reflecting the streetlights. The small parking lot was already half full. It looked like it would be a full house tonight. Many of the folks who showed up were much like Jack only likely to appear for the "high holy days".
We gathered together in the sanctuary, singing old, familiar hymns and carols. Everyone was so bright and lively, dressed in their Christmas finery. The service began, and to Jack's surprise the Pastor called me to the alter. Taking the microphone, I began to sing a solo, my sweet clear voice flowing out over the congregation. As my song came to an end, my eyes sought my husband's expecting to see, and finding, a look of wonder and love.
The kids were sent downstairs to get ready for their part in the celebration, so I sat beside Jack, studying his profile in the subdued lighting. He gone completely gray now with a few more lines on his face and a look of weariness that had settled heavily upon his shoulders. He was still, staring towards the altar. I wondered what he was thinking about -was he seeing the past and it's lost opportunities, or the future with all its possibilities just waiting for him? I know he thought, and continues to think, he deserves to suffer - that each failure in his life is his responsibility alone, an irreparable black mark upon his soul. I can only hope that he knows that for each failure he's experienced, an equal number of successes have been noted on the balance sheet he thinks is being kept for his soul. I have no doubt that, in the end, he will take his place in Heaven with friends and family that have passed away before him.
A rustle passed through the assembled crowd as eight young children appeared at the altar. Each carried a small colored bell in his hand, held carefully so it remained silent. Each little face looked eagerly into the crowd, searching for the reassuring gaze from a mother or father. Our two sons looked out into the gathering of friends and family, their eyes locked onto ours to bestow dazzling smiles to their proud parents . . . until Jake gave his brother the smallest of nudges, causing a chain reaction of trips and pushes among the children. The parishioners laughed with them; the mood considerable lighted by my sons' antics.
When the pastor stood, the children focused on him, and the room became silent with anticipation. The clear, crisp ring of each note spread throughout the sanctuary until the last tone was played. The room was silent. The children looked out into the crowd with high hopes and - after a painfully expectant moment - thunderous, joyous applause broke out. As the service drew to a close, the lights were dimmed and the ushers moved quietly among those gathered together in worship of the one true God, passing out a candle for each parishioner to hold. Our sons joined us as we lit our candle from the flames of our neighbors', each tiny light when combined with another, proving more than enough to hold back the dark.
Story Notes: Season: none this is AU
Content Warnings: Mention of Family, God, Church and Religion in general as positive influences.
Authors Notes: Merry Christmas to All! All feedback and suggestions welcome and will be answered. Thank you to Su Freund, the best beta I could ask for, this story is so much better for her efforts and suggestions. All remaining errors are mine and mine alone.
Content Warnings: Mention of Family, God, Church and Religion in general as positive influences.
Authors Notes: Merry Christmas to All! All feedback and suggestions welcome and will be answered. Thank you to Su Freund, the best beta I could ask for, this story is so much better for her efforts and suggestions. All remaining errors are mine and mine alone.
DISCLAIMER: All publicly recognisable characters, settings, etc, are the property of their respective owners. Any original characters and plots are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended. ... [ read more ]