My Christmas Story for 2019 - and more

The Amnesiac’s Christmas Surprise

By Lena Nelson Dooley

Carlos began to awaken from a dark place. He gradually became aware of pain in many parts of his body. An anvil pounded in his head. When he started to turn, a pain shot through his brain like a razor-sharp sword. He slowly lifted one hand. As he did, he realized something was wrong with his shoulder. He couldn’t remember having an accident. Actually, he couldn’t remember anything, except his first name.

After dropping that hand to his side, he felt around, trying to reach his covers. And the hand felt like a giant ice cube, as did whatever he was lying on. Hard … wet … slick and frigid. He was able to lift his other hand without much pain. He gently walked his fingers around his skull until he encountered a lump the size of a goose egg. How did he know what size it was? He slowly opened his eyes.

No wonder he was freezing. He wasn’t home in bed. He couldn’t even remember where his home was. Nothing looked familiar in this strange world filled with swirling … snowflakes? He closed his eyes to keep them out. Since he evidently wasn’t indoors, where was his coat? Surely he wore one today.

He wiggled his toes, and the pain in them was excruciating. Where were his shoes? Had he died and gone to hell? No … hell was supposed to be hot. He’d welcome some of that heat right about now.

“Hey, buddy. You okay?” An unfamiliar voice called to him.

Carlos couldn’t see where it was coming from. Was it a ghost? Was he in purgatory?

How did he know what either of those things were?

He wanted to relax, but he was afraid that if he did, he would die for sure.

A man hunkered beside him. He could hear him breathing. He opened one eye to peek at the man.

“Good. You’re awake.” Kindness radiated from the face peering at him.

While Carlos stared at the man, he took off his heavy coat and covered him with it.

“I live a short distance from here. My brother-in-law is visiting us, and he’s a doctor. I’ll go get him to help me take you to our house.” The man’s eyes closed. “Lord, please protect this man until Brian and I can get back.”

Carlos followed his progress down the road. He could barely make out the lighted house in the distance. Although he was still cold and hurting, he felt calmer while he waited. Soon the warmth from the coat helped him relax, and his eyes slipped closed.

The sound of a vehicle approaching pulled him from the darkness. It stopped close by.

“We’re back.” The kind voice hovered above him. He opened his eyes and saw two men hunkered beside him. One on either side.

The new man ran his hands over Carlos’s body. Carlos moaned whenever it hurt.

“I don’t think anything is broken.” Soothing words washed over him. “We brought a blanket, and we’re going to move you onto it, then put you in the back seat of the car.”

Even though it was very uncomfortable as they proceeded, Carlos felt hope that soon things would change. They reached the house just as a bright red pickup truck parked beside them. A very tall, brawny man in a cowboy hat stepped out. The three men quickly had him in the house and onto a cow-patterned leather couch. After the cold pavement, the cushioned comfort enveloped him.

“I’m Bradley Norton, the pastor of the Cowboy Church.” The man who’d found him smiled down at him. “And this giant is one of my deacons, Lane Hamilton.”

Brian, the doctor, gave Carlos a thorough examination. “We have to warm you up as quickly as we can. Even though your extremities are very cold, I don’t see signs of frostbite yet.”

Two women entered the room carrying blankets.

“We put these in the dryer to warm them up when Bradley came home.” She smiled at his rescuer.

Bradley took the blankets the blonde held, and the men tucked covers close around him.

“That’s my wife, Beverly.” He nodded toward the woman whose arms were now empty.

The redhead handed him her blankets, too.

“And this is my sister, Mary.”

He mumbled thanks to them as his eyes slid shut once again. Oh, the bliss of finally being warm.

For five days, Carlos stayed with the Nortons. Dr. Brian took care of his body, and everyone tried to help him remember. Nothing they did triggered a single memory. Why had he been laying on the pavement with no coat and no shoes? How did he get there, so far out in the country? Where did he come from?

During this time, his physical injuries improved. Several members of the Cowboy Church came by with clothes for him—jeans, western shirts, a Stetson, boots, and even packages of new underwear. Lane Hamilton brought him a winter-weight duster to wear over everything. Although these clothes fit him, he didn’t really feel like he’d ever worn anything like this before.

They even watched the news on TV, hoping to hear about a Carlos who was missing. Not one was mentioned.

While he ate breakfast on Sunday, Brian joined him. “No pressure, but would you like to go to church with us? It’s the last Sunday before Christmas.”

“Sure.” He shrugged. “Why not? I haven’t been out of the house since you found me.”

A sunny smile spread across the preacher’s face. “I’m going early, but you can come with Beverly.”

When they arrived at the white clapboard church with a steeple pointing to heaven, Beverly went to sit on a pew near the front. Carlos chose one in the back. The room soon filled with cowboy families. Some of the ones who had help him stopped to speak to him.

When it came time for Brian to preach, he nodded at the congregation. “You might think my message strange for a Christmas Sunday, but I felt God would have me share this one. We all know the story of the prodigal son, but we’re going to look at it a little differently today. I believe Jesus shared this parable to teach us an important truth. He wanted us to know why He came to earth as a baby. It was so that we would understand that the Father in Heaven would welcome each of with open arms as the father in the story did.”

As Brian continued with his message, Carlos realized that his own heart was cold as marble. Sometime in his past, he’d built a strong wall around it. Maybe that was the reason he couldn’t remember who he was. As the message continued, a tiny crack burned in that wall from the top to the bottom, as if it had been struck by lightning. Soon the crack widened, and memories poured out like a waterfall. His anger at his father, because he didn’t feel he could ever measure up to the man’s expectations. He’d left home and had never returned. Everything he accomplished in his life was to show the man how wrong he had been. But his father never knew.

Now he realized he was Carlos Shelton. He’d been successful in his life. Many people believed he had it made, but his life was empty.

Then he remembered the carjacking. He’d stopped to help two men who were hitchhiking. In the process, they had cold-cocked him. Hence the lump on his head. They’d stolen his car, his cell phone, his wallet, his shoes, and his coat—leaving him for dead on the pavement.

As Brian continued his story, the return of the prodigal and the way the father accepted him made Carlos yearn for something like that to happen for him. Before the service ended, Brian gave an invitation for anyone who wanted to meet Jesus this week. More than anything, Carlos did. He made his way to the altar at the front.

When they returned to the house for Sunday dinner, Carlos told them about his memories flooding back. After they ate, they looked him up on the Internet. There he was, so successful in the eyes of the world, but without any real friends, his stone-cold heart had been empty.

They discussed his lack of a relationship with his father. They looked him up, too. Carlos was amazed by what he saw. The strong man he remembered was only a shadow of what he used to be. In the latest pictures, his eyes were filled with deep sorrow.

Brian looked at Carlos, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Maybe God gave me my sermon today just for you.”

Carlos nodded. “I believe you’re right. I’ll leave right now to return to my father. Maybe he’ll forgive me for abandoning him like a coward.”

When he arrived at the estate, the security guard greeted him and opened the gates to let him enter. Evidently, the man called his father, because he was standing on the wide front porch. He looked grim, but as Carlos drove closer, he rushed down the steps and met the car with his arms open wide. He didn’t even give his son time to get out of the vehicle. He hurried around and opened the driver’s door as soon as the vehicle stopped. He pulled Carlos into a tight hug, and tears streamed down his cheeks, wetting the western shirt Carlos wore.

“My son, I’ve searched for you ever since you left.” He turned toward the open doorway of the mansion where the butler stood. “Have Cook prepare all my son’s favorite foods for supper. Tonight we celebrate!”

The house didn’t look as if it were almost Christmas. There were no Christmas trees … or lights …or tinsel. Carlos decided that he’d make sure the mansion looked the way it did when his mother was alive. He had a couple of days to get that taken care of.

Carlos swallowed his own sobs as they walked arm-in-arm toward their new life.

© Copyright 2019, Lena Nelson Dooley 

In 1984, soon after God told me to become a professional writer, (You can read the testimony of that on the About Me page of this blog or my website: www.lenanelsondooley.com ) He also told me to use the gift He had given me to bless people at Christmas. I've only missed 2 or 3 years since then. I published the first 24 in this book:

available in the Amazon Kindle store. The price has been cut in half this year.

There have been 8 stories since this book was published. If you buy or have bought a copy of 24 Christmases, let me know in the comments, and I'll email you copies of all 8 stories. If you want extra protection for your email, send it this way. I'll demonstrate with my email. safe [hyphen] LDwrites [at] flash [dot] net

Also, next year, I will start sending both our family newsletter and the Christmas story through email instead of mailing them. Of course, for people who don't have email, we'll continue mailing them. I'm compiling a Christmas emailing list. If you want to be added, leave a comment with your email address and say whether you want the story or the story and newsletter.

I hope your 2020 started off with good things and that it will continue through the year.