Prologue

If they were poor, the children certainly didn’t know it. And poor isn’t a word that Faith was willing to use to describe herself or her family. Not that she even had time to think about such things. Most of her weekdays were filled as a substitute teacher at Merrill Elementary School. The days she wasn’t called in, she cleaned houses and did laundry for those who were tired of performing those chores themselves and were willing to pay to have them done. Working was cathartic for Faith, and though she accepted that she would never be wealthy, she always felt rich with friendships and family.

Those rich relationships didn’t pay the electric bill, though, and Faith was constantly juggling second and third notices. She eventually had to cancel the luxury of having the trash men pick up her weekly refuse in order to save ten dollars a month. It was an inconvenience she endured to help keep her tiny house warm.

Faith was the matriarch of a larger-than-most family, though she was bothered that some busybodies felt the need to complain of how she is “a drain on the system,” and “the reason my taxes are so high.” Faith’s husband was presumed killed in a mining accident when their youngest was six and a half months old. The shaft collapsed, and the mining company’s safety expert insisted that there could have been no survivors. No rescue or recovery effort was ever undertaken. “Too risky,” they said, but Faith was sure that the purse strings were the actual decision maker. She became a widowed mother of four, at 31 years old.

The constant worry of raising her children in their less-than-ideal neighborhood, as well as making sure to keep the house heated, lit, and paid for, eroded the once-delicate features of her face.

“C’mon, kids. It’s time for prayer,” she called after a particularly rough autumn day. The middle children, eight-year-old twins, were wrestling on the old green shag carpet in the living room. “Kyle and Kendall, get your sisters so that we can pray before they go to bed.”

Kyle, the older of the two by just sixteen minutes, took charge and called for Kelli and Serenity. Serenity, the youngest, was a natural peacemaker. Faith smiled, pondering how well her name matched her personality.

“Mommy, can I say the prayer tonight,” Serenity begged. She liked praying most nights, and as a young student of spiritual things, her conversations with God were both predictable and heartfelt.

“Dear God.”

Serenity paused longer than normal. Faith began to feel uncomfortable and opened her eyes to check on her four-and-a-half-year-old baby. “Dear God, Please give us a Thanksgiving turkey this year.”

Faith was embarrassed but touched. Serenity must have overheard Faith telling her mother that things were tighter than normal this year—too tight to justify spending a few dollars on a turkey. Those funds were needed to keep the electricity from being shut off and the house warm. Faith hated not being able to provide the little extras for her family, but she also took pride in not relying on charity or welfare. She struggled sometimes, but she was happy.

Serenity’s prayer presented an unfamiliar challenge to Faith. Of course, she trusted that God heard prayers, and He even answered them. But how could God–and why would God–give her a turkey for Thanksgiving? Certainly, there were bigger problems He would be focused on.

Still dwelling on Serenity’s sweet request as she prepared to end her day, Faith wondered aloud. “How can I tell the kids that God probably won’t answer this one?” The twins were finally tucked into bed, and Faith finally took some solace in knowing that a four and a half-year-old’s attention span would likely be much shorter than the time between the prayer and Thanksgiving. She’ll forget all about it by morning, Faith hoped. She started folding the piles of laundry that had accumulated over the past few days.

Faith was awakened at 1:14 AM by pounding on the front door. She stumbled out of bed, bleary-eyed, and looked out the window. The dim moonlight illuminated the tow truck in the driveway, which was already hooked up to her fairly late model dark green Dodge Caravan. Faith felt like she had been hit with a bowling ball. She opened the door to face a tall, burly man with hairy arms and a plaid shirt stuffed under a light blue mechanic shirt.

“Sorry, Ms. Jackson.” The man, whose name patch read Big Eddie, was surprisingly kind. “I have to take the car. The bank asked me to give this to you.” Faith already knew that the paper would show that she was four months behind on her car payment, and the bank didn’t seem to care that she’d get paid on Friday, and she could make a partial payment on her debt.

“Is there anything I can do to keep you from taking the car?”

Big Eddie seemed genuinely sad as he confiscated the minivan and pulled it from the driveway. Faith returned to the cool sheets of her bed, sobbing. The bed shook as Faith cried, and she pleaded with an unseen entity to know if she could ever possibly get back on track.
The night was too short. After what felt like only a few minutes of fitful sleep, Faith arose and cracked a half dozen eggs into a bowl. She dropped her favorite frying pan onto the front stove burner, and she went to the twins’ bedroom and looked at them, enjoying the peace of the morning. She was almost able to forget the embarrassing events of the night. Serenity stumbled into the kitchen and rubbed her eyes.

“Mama, how many more days ‘til Thanksgiving?” Faith instantly realized that last night’s prayer wouldn’t be easily forgotten. Again, she wondered how to drop the bombshell on her innocent child that some prayers don’t get answered the way we want.

“Maybe we should just skip Thanksgiving this year, sweetie,” Faith gently teased.

“Mommy, we can’t skip Thanksgiving. God’s giving us a turkey.”

Faith’s eyes began to moisten. “Serenity, you’re right. Even if all we have is mac and cheese, it’ll be a grand Thanksgiving meal. Thanksgiving is this Thursday, and I’m so grateful that I have you and your brothers.” Faith was still torn between helping her child build a trusting relationship with God and teaching her child that even if God doesn’t answer prayers, He is still there. The uncomfortable conversation was more heart-wrenching than she expected. The smell of the hot frying pan jolted Faith back to reality.