Ever since she heard the news about that young girl passing away, Mary had been completely out of it all through Thanksgiving.
She couldn't stop playing the tragedy over and over in her head, and slowly, she started to question the big guy upstairs. To her, if God really existed, there was no way He'd allow something so cruel to happen to one of His own followers—especially on Thanksgiving.
As evening rolled around, Meemaw had a massive spread ready on the table. She looked out into the yard where Mary was still standing by her little prayer garden, lost in thought. "Mary! Time for family dinner!" Meemaw called out.
Hearing the happy sounds from the house while knowing another couple was grieving the loss of their daughter felt wrong.
In that split second, Mary's faith cracked. If God wasn't looking out for His people, then what was the point of all this? Frustrated and heartbroken, Mary marched forward, kicked over the little memorial she'd carefully built, and stormed into the house.
George Sr. noticed the heavy cloud hanging over his wife as she sat down. "Mary, do you want to lead us in grace?" he asked gently.
"No. I don't think He deserves a 'thank you' right now," Mary snapped.
George wasn't used to this side of his wife. He paused for a beat, then gave a forced smile. "Alright, let's skip the prayer and dive right in."
Trying to lighten the mood, he raised his glass. "I want to thank Connie for putting together such an amazing meal for us."
Thanksgiving is all about the vibe, so regardless of whether they had juice or beer, everyone raised their glasses. Even Mary, looking miserable, hoisted her beer.
Once the toasts were over, Meemaw smiled and started passing plates. "Everyone try my special brisket and the turkey..."
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Even though Mary kept a cold face throughout the meal, Meemaw and George managed to keep the conversation lively. The dinner stretched on for a good while.
After Mike and Meemaw headed home, Mary got the kids and her buzzed husband tucked into their beds. After cleaning up the dishes, she grabbed a beer from the fridge and curled up on the living room sofa alone. She still couldn't shake the sadness over that little girl.
"Mom?"
She looked up to see little Sheldon standing there.
"Shelly, why are you still up?" Mary asked, sitting up and trying to look composed.
"I noticed you were really sad today..." Sheldon said, searching for the right way to comfort her. "I just wanted to say... I love you."
Hearing that from her youngest made Mary feel a whole lot better. She stood up and gave him a long hug. "I love you too, baby."
A moment later, she felt a bit more grounded. "Alright, Shelly. Time for bed."
She walked him back to his room and tucked him in. Watching him drift off, a small smile finally returned to her face. God had blessed her with a happy family; maybe she was asking for too much to understand everything else.
The next day, Mary headed to the church, but the doubt started creeping back in. She tracked down Pastor Jeff and asked point-blank, "Is God truly merciful?"
"Of course, Mary. Everything we enjoy is a gift from Him..."
Pastor Jeff didn't quite know what was going on with her, but he gave her the standard company line. Before she could push back, he continued, "By the way, the church outreach coordinator is out for a while, and I want you to step in. I can add another hundred bucks a week to your paycheck. What do you think?"
"Really?" Mary's eyes lit up. A more important role and a raise? That definitely cheered her up.
Her old job was basically being Pastor Jeff's personal assistant—making coffee, filing papers, and doing the church taxes (though she usually handed that off to Sheldon). It was easy, but boring.
Being an outreach coordinator was different. The church acted as a safety net for the neighborhood—checking on the elderly and helping kids in need. To Mary, doing something that directly helped people felt like exactly what she needed right now.
"Just a heads-up," Pastor Jeff added. "One person on our list is an old WWII veteran. People say he's a real piece of work—super cranky. You'll need some thick skin for that one."
According to the files, the guy had no kids, no friends, and was broke and bitter. He sounded like a nightmare.
"Don't worry, I can handle it," Mary said, feeling a surge of motivation.
She followed the address to a small, run-down house. The second she stepped inside, she was hit by a smell she couldn't quite identify. The tiny place was packed floor-to-ceiling with trash and old junk.
"Hello? Anyone home?" Mary called out, picking her way through the clutter.
After a long silence, an old man in a wheelchair rolled out of the back room. He glared at her. "Who the hell are you?"
He looked ancient, his face covered in age spots, but his eyes were sharp and fierce.
"I'm from the church," Mary said, forcing a polite smile despite the smell. "I'm here to help."
"The church sent someone new? Well, you're easier on the eyes than the last one," he rasped. His tone was rough, but his gaze softened slightly once he knew why she was there.
"Yes, I'll be looking after you for a while," Mary said. "Is there anything you need help with right now?"
"Are you blind?" The old man gestured to the disaster zone of a room. Point taken.
"I'll get right on it," Mary said, and she started cleaning.
The old man watched her for a bit before rolling back into his room without a word. Two hours later, Mary was dripping with sweat, but the place was finally organized. With the sun shining through the clean windows, the house actually looked like a home again.
"Anything else?" Mary asked, feeling pretty proud of the transformation.
"I haven't had a real bath in ages," the old man said flatly. No "thank you" for the cleaning, of course.
"You want me to... help you bathe?" Mary asked, caught between surprise and awkwardness.
He didn't answer. He just fixed those sharp eyes on her again.
"Alright, I get it," Mary sighed. She felt for the guy, and honestly, the smell was pretty bad. Clearly, he wasn't lying about needing a scrub.
Another hour later, the veteran was clean, in fresh clothes, and back in his wheelchair.
"If that's all, I'm going to head out," Mary said. It was late afternoon, and after a full day of manual labor without a single "thanks," she was ready to go.
"Wait," he called out. "Get that box off the top of the closet for me."
Mary bit her tongue, reached up, and handed him a small metal tin. He opened it to reveal a gold medal. He traced the edges of it with his fingers, looking like he was a thousand miles away.
"Can I go now?" Mary asked when he didn't say anything for a long time.
"Go on," he said without looking up.
As she reached the door, she heard him mutter, "When I kick the bucket... make sure you keep this medal safe."
Mary froze at the mention of him dying. She turned back, but he had already rolled into the other room.
"What a character," she whispered, shaking her head as she walked back to her car.
That night at dinner, Mary shared the story with the family. Seeing her back to her old self, George smiled. "Look at you. You're practically an angel."
Mary had done something good today, and for the first time in a while, she felt like she was exactly where she was supposed to be.
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