"My Father, Taylor Hanson": Book 5
Chapter 21


        The church was empty, just the way I wanted it to be. The warmth coming from the old radiators sent an almost magical heat through the building. The air outside was so cold and bitter that the church seemed to glow with sentiment. It was dim inside of the church and it took a few minutes for my eyes to adjust. I stood in the back of the building starring at the altar. Outside the air smelled of winter and snow, but inside it smelled of Christmas and burning incense. It was the day after Christmas Day but the church still showed every sign of the new life that had begun the day before. Next to the altar was the nativity scene with the Baby in the manger surrounded by His mother and His father and all the angels, animals, and Shepherds that had visited Him on the day of His birth. As my eyes adjusted to the light I started wandering forward, taking a seat in the last pew. I looked up at the altar, unable to take my eyes away from the structure.
        I was the only one there. There was not even one priest or altar child in sight, yet the church felt alive. The silence felt alive with the spirit of the season. The smells of pine filled my nose and candles burned all around the sides and front of the altars. It was safe.
        “Thank you,” I whispered aloud to the altar. “Thank you for getting me here.” I heard a sound off to my right and noticed a man walking around the baptismal in the back. “I’m sorry,” I said to him. “Am I interrupting your work by being here?”
        The man smiled at me and walked over to the pew. “No, my son,” he said, placing a hand on my shoulder. I took notice that he was a priest. “The church is always open. Please go back to your prayers.”
        “Thank you, Father,” I said with a smile.
        “You’re thankful,” he commented looking into my eyes.
        I nodded and looked towards the altar. “Actually I’m here because I need to tell Him a few notes of thank you.”
        The priest nodded. “He’ll be happy to hear that. Not many people give thanks for what they receive.”
        “I’ve received so much,” I told the man, “and I’ve always felt that He should know I recognize my gifts, but lately I haven’t been honoring His help enough. I hope to make up for lost time.”
        The priest chuckled, “He’ll always listen even if you don’t say your thanks in His home. He’ll hear it in your heart no matter where you are.”
        “Thank you Father.”
        “God bless you, my son.” The priest touched my forehead gently and left me to my thoughts.
        I looked back at the altar and sat for a few minutes, collecting my thoughts in my head. “You’ve given me such a beautiful life,” I began softly. “My wife, my girls, my job- my success. I used to come in so many times but as the years went on I slacked off. Yet, you still continued to help me. I’m sorry for the past few years, not more than three times a year giving you thanks for helping my life. I’m sorry for loosing faith in you this past week. You got me here somehow, You got me home to be with my family for Christmas. I cannot thank you enough for that.”
        I leaned my head down on the back off the cool wood pew in front of me and sat for awhile, thinking about the past year, going over events that had occurred.
        I prayed that everything would go well with the twins when they were born.
        I thanked Him for events long past that I had thanked Him for many times years before and prayed for all of my family members.
        Then finally, I prayed for myself.
        I raised my head up from the pew and looked at the cross that was stationed under the stained glass window at the back of the altar. I thought about my words for a few moments and said in a shaky voice louder than a whisper, “Thank you for letting me be alive for Christmas.”


Next --->

<--- Back

Home