George Bailey’s redemption

First, I’d make sure it was true; no mistakes, no misunderstandings, no conditions. No scams, no fine print.

If not…I’d go to church, and open the heavy creaky doors. You can pray anywhere, of course…but being in the sanctuary, the eternal flame burning, the hush; kneeling at the wooden rail worn smooth by generations of predecessors now gone on to glory… it makes me acutely aware of Whose presence I’m in.

I’d thank Him for my good fortune. It may be monetary. It may be the answer to a prayer; the miraculous healing of a loved one. A new child on the way, reconciliation of an estranged relationship, some else’s good fortune. I’d ask if there was something he wanted me to do with this gift; someone in need, some words that needed to be spoken.

I’d book a table at the best restaurant in town, the one I always drive by but never frequent, the one I’ve read so much about. I’d make a date with my wife but not tell her anything more. After our first two glasses of ridiculously expensive wine and an appetizer… but before dinner… I’d spring the news on her. In the candlelight, I’d get a kick out of watching her eyes fly open,…the ones I know so well…and her amazing, kind smile. Maybe a tear or two. I don’t deserve her.

I’d take the long way home with all the loamy fragrances of the country swirling through the open windows, our faces lit by the glow of the dash. I’d hold her hand like when we were in our 20s and just starting out, and marvel at it all.