Free Threads of Hope: Quilts of Love Series by Christa Allan Page B

redefine
clumsy
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12
    Peyton and I are about to leave. We wouldn’t mind swinging by to pick you up,” said Elise. “Would we?” She directed the question to her husband, who must have been in the room when she called. Peyton answered loudly enough for Greg to hear him, “I think Greg trusts that you’re telling the truth.”
    Greg laughed. “Ask him if he wants me to pick him up instead.”
    “The two of you deserve one another,” she said, the smirk apparent in her voice. “But the truth is, he looks so great in a tux, I think I want to walk in with a trophy husband on my arm.”
    “Thanks for the offer, really. I’m leaving as soon as I tuck Jazarah in.”
    “Give the little princess a hug and kiss from the two of us. See you soon,” said Elise.
    Greg tucked his phone in his pocket and headed upstairs to his daughter’s room. He knew his sister wanted him to ride to the benefit with them to spare his having to walk in alone. And he appreciated, not only that she offered, but that she didn’t say the obvious. But for Greg, it wasn’t just the arriving by himself that magnified Lily’s absence on nights like tonight.He missed her little rituals, like when she’d lift her hair so he could zip her dress, and he’d always take the opportunity to softly kiss the back of her neck. Or when she’d spray a new perfume on the inside of her wrist, then hold it up to him to ask if he approved. And before they’d walk out the door, she’d make him stand perfectly still while she adjusted his tie, smoothed the lapels on his jacket, and declared him presentable with a soft kiss. Then she’d laugh that she’d just given him a lipstick cheek, and she’d smooth it over with her hand that was as soft as her face.
    Will someone ever love me that way again?
And, as he opened the door to Jazarah’s room, he wondered if someone would ever love her again with Lily’s fierceness and abundance. One thing he knew for sure. They were a package deal. And that was his prayer, always, that God would open his heart to a woman who would accept them both. A woman after God’s own heart.
    Greg tapped lightly on the partially closed door. “Is there a special little girl here?”
    “Daddy, Daddy, come see!” His daughter’s excitement reached him before he stepped into the room.
    Paloma sat, Jazarah on her lap, in the pink-and-white ticked armchair that Jazarah called her reading chair. The small crib quilt that Lily had sewn for her while they waited for word they could finally fly to her was an uneven ball of fabric bunched in her arms. Every night Greg tucked her in with the quilt, always showing her the square that Lily stitched with, “I’ll love you forever,” and his daughter’s sleepy eyes would blink as she’d clutch the quilt to her chest and whispered, “J woves you, too.”
    Jazarah waved him over and pointed to the page in Max Lucado’s
You Are Special
where Eli, the woodcarver, explains to the wooden Wemmick Punchinello that the stickers the others use to label him only matter if he lets himself care about them.Greg loved the story’s message, that joy comes from what God thinks of us, not others, and that in His eyes we are all special, regardless of how we look.
    When he and Lily bought the book years ago, they knew their daughter would face all sorts of issues and not just because of her race. Being an HIV-positive child would not be a ticket to popularity. But what made Jazarah special was what made her different, and what made her different would make her later question her self-worth. As her parents, Greg and Lily were determined their daughter grow with the conviction that nothing could sway God from loving her.
You Are Special
became a book that they gave to their own families and many of their adult friends, some of whom apparently either forgot or were never told the message.
    His daughter pointed to Paloma’s face, then his, then her own. “No ’tickers!” She grinned as she clapped her