Джей Эшер: What Light

“These are for later,” he says. “The cardboard catches the drips.”

I poke my candle into the circle and then set it in my lap. “Are your mom and sister coming?”

He nods toward the choir. Abby and their mom are both on the center riser, smiling and watching us. His mom looks so happy to be standing next to Abby. Caleb and I wave at the same time. Abby begins to wave, but her mom pulls her hand down as the choir director now stands before them.

“Abby’s always been a natural singer,” Caleb whispers. “She’s only practiced with them twice but Mom says she blends right in.”

The opening carol is “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing.”

After they sing a few more songs, the pastor delivers a sincere and thoughtful talk about the story of Christmas and what the night means to him. The beauty of his words and the gratitude in how he presents them touches me. I hold on to Caleb’s arm, and he looks at me with so much kindness.

The choir begins singing “We Three Kings.” Caleb leans over and whispers, “Come outside with me.” He takes the candle from my lap and I follow him out of the sanctuary. The glass doors close behind us and we’re back in the cool air.

“What are we doing?” I ask.

He leans forward and kisses me softly. I reach up and touch his cold cheeks, which make his lips feel even warmer. I wonder if every kiss with Caleb will feel this new and magical.

He turns his head to the side, listening. “It’s starting.”

We walk around to the side of the church. The walls and the steeple loom over us. The narrow windows above are dark, but I know they’re made of stained glass.

“What’s starting?” I ask.

“It’s dark in there because the ushers went around and snuffed out the candles,” he says. “But listen.”

He closes his eyes. I close mine, too. It’s soft at first, but I hear it. It’s not just the choir singing, it’s the whole congregation.

“Silent night… Holy night.”

“Right now there are two people at the front of the church holding lit candles. Only two. Everyone else has the same ones as us.” He hands me my candle. I hold it near the bottom, and the cardboard circle rests atop my closed fingers. “The two people with the flames, they step into the center aisle; one heads to the pew on the left, and the other goes to the right.”

“Holy infant, so tender and mild.”

Caleb pulls a small booklet of matches from his front pocket, tears out a match, folds back the cover, and strikes it. He lights the wick of his candle and then shakes out the match. “The people in the first two pews, whoever is closest to the aisle, they tilt their candles to the ones with fire. Then they use that flame to light the candle of the person beside them.”

“Glories stream from heaven afar.”

Caleb moves his candle toward mine and I tilt mine sideways, holding the wick to his flame until it begins to burn.

“This goes on, candle by candle. It moves back row by row. The light spreads from one person to the next… slowly… creating this anticipation. You’re waiting for that light to reach you.”

I look at the small flame on my candle burning.

“With the dawn of redeeming grace.”

“One by one, the light is passed and the entire room becomes filled with the glow.”

“Jesus, Lord, at Thy birth.”

His voice is soft. “Look up.”

I look to the stained glass windows. There’s now a warm glow coming from inside. The glass shimmers in reds, yellows, and blues. The song continues and I hold my breath.

“Silent night… Holy night.”

The lyrics are sung all the way through one more time. Eventually, inside the church and out here, there is total silence.

Caleb leans forward. With a soft breath, he blows out his candle. Then I blow out mine.

“I’m glad we came out here,” I say.

He pulls me close and kisses me softly, holding his lips against mine for several seconds.

Still holding each other, I lean back and ask, “But why didn’t you want me to see this from inside?”

“For the past few years, I never felt as calm as the moment my candle got lit on Christmas Eve. For just an instant, everything was okay.” He pulls himself close, his chin on my shoulder, and whispers into my ear, “This year, I wanted to spend that moment only with you.”

“Thank you,” I whisper. “It was perfect.”

The church doors open and the Christmas Eve service is over. It’s after midnight and the people leaving must be tired, but each face looks filled with a peaceful happiness—with joy. Most of them don’t say anything as they walk to their cars, but there are several tender wishes of “Merry Christmas.”

It is Christmas.

My last day.

I see Jeremiah hold the door open for a few people, and then he walks over to us. “I saw you duck out,” he says. “You missed the best part.”

I look at Caleb. “Did we miss the best part?”

“I don’t think we did,” he says.

I smile at Jeremiah. “No, we didn’t miss it.”

Jeremiah shakes Caleb’s hand and then pulls him into a hug. “Merry Christmas, friend.”

Caleb says nothing; he just hugs and closes his eyes.

Jeremiah pats him on the back, and then he wraps me in a hug. “Merry Christmas, Sierra.”

“Merry Christmas, Jeremiah.”

“I’ll see you in the morning,” he tells me, and then he walks back into the church.

“We should start heading back,” Caleb says.

There’s no way to describe how much tonight has meant to me. In this moment, I want to tell Caleb that I love him. This would be the time, right here, because this is when I first know it’s true.

I can’t say it, though. It’s not fair for him to hear those words and then have me leave so soon after. Saying it would also sear them onto my heart. I would think of those words the entire ride home.

“I wish I could stop time,” I say instead. It’s the most I can give either of us.

“Me too.” He takes my hand. “What’s next for us? Do we know?”

I wish he could give me the answer to that question. It feels too insignificant to say we’ll keep in touch. I know we will, but what more?

I shake my head. “I don’t know.”

When we get back to the tree lot, Caleb kisses me and then takes a step back. It feels right for him to start pulling away. There is no Christmas miracle that can keep me here or guarantee us more than we have now.

“Good night, Sierra.”

I can’t say that back. “We’ll see each other tomorrow,” I say.

As he walks to his truck, his head is bowed, and I see him look at the picture of us on his keychain. After he opens his door, he turns to me one more time.

“Good night,” he says.

“I’ll see you in the morning.”

I wake with a mix of clashing emotions. I eat a small breakfast of oatmeal with brown sugar before heading over to Heather’s house. When I get there, she’s sitting on her front stoop waiting for me.

Without getting up, she says, “You’re leaving me again.”

“I know.”

“And this time, we don’t know when you’re coming back,” she says. She finally stands and holds me in a long hug.

Caleb’s truck pulls into the driveway with Devon riding shotgun. The two of them get out, each holding a few small wrapped gifts. Whatever sadness Caleb carried as he drove away last night seems to have disappeared.

“Merry Christmas!” he says.

“Merry Christmas,” Heather and I say.

Both guys give us each pecks on the cheek, and then Heather ushers us into her kitchen, where coffeecake and hot chocolate are waiting. Caleb declines the coffeecake because he had an omelet and French toast with his mom and Abby.