I took the package and tore off the paper. A red-lidded box appeared, and inside was a silver Celtic knot cross on a delicate chain. “Oh Jack, my goodness, it’s beautiful … ” I pulled it from the black velvet board and opened the clasp before handing it to him to put on me. It dangled down my blue sweater, the perfect length. “It’s gorgeous, Jack, it really is. Thank you.” We hugged—our first physical contact in six months. It was harder to let go than I thought it would be, but I pulled away and looked down to admire the cross again. “Missy will be jealous; she loves Celtic knots.”

“Eh, I’ll get her one next time,” Jack said with a dismissive wave.

I sat back and fingered the cross as I spoke. “Well, the first service isn’t until six, so we still have about five hours to kill. What do you want to do?”

Jack reclined into his corner of the couch, thinking. “Well, let’s see … a movie?”

“I could do that. What’s playing?”

“Um, Jolly Roger, Dream State, Countdown to College—”

I rolled my eyes. “How festive.” Then I remembered an ad I’d seen in the paper. “Oh—there’s an art theatre down in Dana Point that’s showing It’s a Wonderful Life all day today. Let’s go see that!”

Jack grinned. “I’m game.”

We filled three hours altogether, then came back to my house to eat. A little before six we left for the church. The plan was to get there late so we could sneak into the back and not be spotted. Missy and Joy promised to save us seats, so after watching from the shadows to make sure no one else was walking in, we slipped into the building and down the hall to the sanctuary, then stole across the back to the empty seats tagged for us on the end of the last row. We had only missed a couple carols, and as we settled into our seats, the senior pastor, Paul, took the stage to give his message.

I rolled my program over and over in my hands as Paul spoke, trying to determine at each point he made how Jack would take it, think of it, what he would believe about it. I hadn’t realized what a racket my fidgeting was making until Jack gently stilled my hand with his and flashed me a curious smile. I bit my lip and forced myself to be still. I noticed later he’d never let go.

We stood to sing the last few carols of the night, and halfway through the second one he leaned over and whispered, “Did they rewrite these lyrics?”

I stared at him, baffled. “Um … no. Why?”

“They’re all about Jesus. Have they always been about Jesus?”