(Not) Sleeping Ginger - A Skit

This is a skit I wrote yesterday for my Bright Lights group's upcoming video conference on purity. It's not the finest piece of work in the world (and should have been written days ago), but I thought maybe you might want to see it. It's about two girls, Kate and Ginger, about...well, you'll see. :)

(NOT) SLEEPING GINGER

A girl (Ginger) is lying on a bed, a bouquet of flowers in her hand. She is on her stomach, her arm hanging off the bed so that the flowers almost touch the ground. She sighs loudly. Her friend (Kate) comes up.

Kate – Ginger! What’s wrong? Are you okay?

Ginger – (half-heartedly) Yeah. I’m fine.

Kate – W-what are you doing with those flowers?

Ginger flops onto her back

Ginger – Well, I’ve been going to this conference and they said that I should wait for the Lord.

Kate – With…flowers?

Ginger – They said I should wait, so I thought I’d wait. I went and grabbed some flowers from the dining room table and lay down on my bed, to wait for my prince. You know, like Snow White, and Sleeping Beauty.

Kate – Uh…I don’t think that’s really –

Ginger – I don’t know how they could stand it! I mean, lying there for years and years. I guess it helped that they were asleep, but, really.

Kate – I wouldn’t say that’s the way –

Ginger – Waiting is impossible. And it’s so boring lying here, with nothing to do. I keep trying to picture my prince – but that just makes it worse! And what if he never comes? Then I’ll be stuck on my bed for my whole life, with a bouquet of dust-petals.

Kate – Actually, Ginger, Miss Mally didn’t say anything about a bed or flowers. Waiting for the Lord is different that waiting for a prince to come and wake you up.

Ginger – And what if I never can fall asleep? Then he’ll really never come! Oh, I’m doomed! Doomed!

Ginger throws her arms over her eyes, sticking the flower bouquet into Kate’s face. Kate carefully pushes it away.

Kate – Ginger, do you have a Bible anywhere around?

Ginger – It’s over there.

Ginger points (without uncovering her eyes) to the Bible sitting on the stool nearby. Kate picks up the Bible and finds Romans 8:28 (doesn’t have to really find it – ‘Kate’ can either memorize it or have a piece of paper stuck somewhere in the Bible with the verse on it)

Kate – Ginger, do you know what Romans 8:28 says?

Ginger – No.

Kate clears her throat.

Kate – Verse twenty-eight: And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose.

Ginger uncovers her eyes and shrugs.

Ginger – Well, I knew that.

Kate – Well, maybe in your head you do, but you don’t seem to be believing it right now.

Ginger – What do you mean? I believe God’s going to take care of me, no matter what happens in my life. He’ll help me through whatever comes my way.

Kate – Then how come you don’t trust him about your ‘prince?’

Ginger bites her lip.

Ginger – Weeellll…that’s different.

Kate – How so?

Ginger – Well, what if God doesn’t think I should have a prince? What if He wants me to live my whole life in misery, all alone? Like-like that lady on the Old Maid cards!

Kate laughs.

Kate – Actually, she doesn’t usually look all that miserable.

Ginger – Yeah, but I would be!

Kate - God doesn’t want you to be miserable, Ginger. He wants you to be happy – with Him, and the things that He gives to you. What He doesn’t want you to do is sit (or lie) around your whole life pining away after something He knows isn’t good for you just now. That will make you miserable.

Ginger – But what if God says I can’t ever get married?

Kate – I have an idea.

Kate pulls out a clipboard and a pen.

Kate – Okay. Tell me your criteria for your ‘perfect prince.’

Ginger’s face brightens, and she looks thoughtful.

Ginger – Well, first of all, he would have to be handsome. Very handsome.

Kate nods, and writes on her clipboard.

Ginger begins to look dreamy.

Ginger – He would have to be very kind. And like me, a lot. (Ginger grins and lifts her shoulders in glee) And he would have to like kids – that’s a must. It wouldn’t be very much fun to have a husband cranky for twenty-five years until your kids move out.

Kate chuckles.

Kate – Okay.

Ginger – He would have to always be honest, and be punctual, and not be sloppy. He would have to be willing to help me clean the dishes sometimes, and like reading. Especially Dickens. Do you think I’m being too choosy? What if there isn’t anybody like this?

Kate, smiling – Just keep going.

Ginger – Okay. He would have to like pink. And purple. Oh, and blue. And maybe yellow. Yeah, yellow, too. And pale green. He wouldn’t have to like dark green, like a forest green – just that pretty pale green color. (She pauses, thinking) It would be nice if he liked animals. If he had allergies, that would be bad, because I really like cats.

Kate – Anything else?

Ginger, after a moment – He would have to love God, and be a good worker. And patient. That’s about it. (She looks concerned) Oh, I’m too picky. I’ll never get married.

Kate finishes writing.

Kate – Actually, it’s good to be picky. Well, about some things. You could probably stand to take the colors off your list, but it’s important to set down your qualifications for a man early on, so that you aren’t just running after every cute guy you see.

Ginger – Do you think I will get married, ever?

Kate smiles.

Kate – I don’t know, but I do know that God wants what’s best for you. And maybe God does mean for you to get married. But He will do that in His timing, in His way. You don’t need to try to do it for Him. Or worry about it. Just wait for His plan. You said yourself that God will take care of you, no matter what. You just need to trust Him to do that. He will.

Ginger nods, soberly.

Ginger – All right. I’ll try to. But it’s going to be hard.

Kate – A lot of times, God’s way – the right way – is hard. But He doesn’t expect you to do it alone. He will help you stand for Him.

Ginger looks at her flowers.

Ginger – I guess I should go put these back.

Kate stands up and helps her friend out of bed.

Kate – There is one more thing I wanted to tell you. You know the list we made of what you wanted your husband to be like? Well, almost everything on your list – Jesus meets them. Like being kind, loving you, loving kids, being honest – every truly important, noble thing you wish for in a husband – you already have. In Jesus. Your true Prince.

Ginger lights up.

Ginger – Really?

The girls begin to walk off-stage.

Kate – Yeah, really. We can even find verses to back them up. Like here, in Mark 10. (Likely this whole line will not be completed by the time the girls exit the stage, out of hearing. But try to at least get to the word ‘verses’ when the girls can really hear it.

Take Heart In Suffering

He is good.

What a wearying day.

My Mom came back from the hospital Thursday night, with my new baby brother. Both doing well, but Daniel tested high for bilirubin levels when he was discharged, so he has to use a biliblanket, or a 'glow blanket,' (UV light) to help him get rid of all his extra bilirubin. He had a test again on Friday, which came back higher, which was not good news, not because it was really dangerous, but because he might have to be readmitted to the hospital to be under 'the lights' (does the same thing as his biliblanket) for a little while. That would mean Mom would have to go back with him, wouldn't be able to rest or relax very well, and all of us kids would be without them both again. So then we really tried to have him in the biliblanket pretty much 24/7, which also entails Mom being with him a lot (he's 'attached' to a machine, so she can't get up and come and sit downstairs) and feeding him a lot.

So now we're up to yesterday. Dad, Lyd, and Nat left at about eight fifteen in the morning. The older kids choir was singing with the adult choir and Dad was directing. Dad also is now less than two weeks away from Festival, and the stage wasn't in place (last week's snowstorm prevented them from starting last weekend), so that's why they left so early. I stayed home with Mom, two girls, and five boys.... Mom had to stay upstairs all day, so Essie and I had to mostly take care of the kids. I will admit the TV was on much of the day. :) Oh, and I'm also working on taming three kittens that our barn cat just brought home after raising them herself for over a month. Fun, fun.

The day went fairly well, despite my having a lot to do and realizing that I was getting sick. My throat had been scratchy in the morning, and then I felt it move a bit into my chest. By evening my nose was running, I was sneezing, and my throat was still a bit scratchy. Still, I was okay. But it was a full, tiring day.

We had corn dogs for dinner and then I put the kids to bed while Essie cleaned up downstairs. I was almost done with my day! Dad, Lyd, and Nat came home and I went to feed the kittens, who are in a small kennel in our porch. I was giving them bits of canned cat food when Dad came downstairs, saw that someone had left the light on in the porch, and flipped it off. I was now in the dark. I called after him, but he didn't figure out where I was in time, so I smiled wryly, stood up, turned around, walked toward the door, and rammed my shin into the cans of paint Dad had brought into the porch the night before to keep them from freezing. I regained my balance, staggered for the door, and collapsed onto the floor in the doorway, mostly-groaning, partly-laughing. Dad came and found me now, turned on the porch light and gasped. I had knocked over the gallon of primer, it had fallen to the ground, dented, opened, and now white primer was pooling on the floor.

At first I didn't really feel that bad about it. My leg hurt and I really was just sitting there, not really thinking too much. Then I saw my shoes, and my jeans. And yes, I'm a woman.

The shoes were relatively new - I got them about a month ago. With my own money. And I only had two pairs of my good jeans. Slowly I realized the shoes were ruined, and maybe my pants. I started to cry, quietly, feeling guilty for crying for my shoes. It wasn't long before I totally broke down.

So after all that had happened that day, I ruined a pair of shoes, possibly a pair of jeans and several towels, two floor mats, dented and spilled a third (or half) of a can of unused primer, banged my shin in two different places, got sick, and ended up crying really hard.

Ironically, yesterday morning I read an article by Paul Tripp on God's Surprises, which I found encouraging and a little difficult. Often I am scared of what those surprises might be. And yet, strangely, often even when I am in the middle of a surprise, it is okay. I can bear it. And often afterward it seems almost trivial. It still hurts. It still makes me want to sob. But I've got a breast to cave in to. And arms that lock around me, challenging evil to try and get me. He knows it hurts. And He loves me as dearly as His own Son. So it must be for my good.

In addition to all those bad-good things that happened that day, there have been several other good-good things and sort-of-bad-good things that also happened. 1) Daniel's Sat. test results came back slightly lower, so he doesn't have to be readmitted, and doesn't have to be tested again 'til Monday. 2) Two of my younger brothers were really concerned about me when I came upstairs crying after the spill, which was very touching. :) 3) Even though he was surely discouraged about having to clean up the primer, the first thing my Dad did was try to save my shoes. 4) I got to cry, which actually can be kind of nice if you've had a lot of stress lately, which I have. :) 5) I got to whimper to Jesus, which doesn't happen every day. 6) I ended up getting the shower I needed. 7) Lydia and Nat stayed home this morning, and I've been in bed while Lyd takes care of the kids. 8) I didn't break my leg, though it almost felt like it initially. I hardly even have a bruise. 9) The kittens do seem to be settling down a little. 10) I got sick now, and will hopefully be better by Wednesday or Thursday, as I'm in charge of Thanksgiving dinner. 11) I got something to blog about, which I had been wishing for.

I apologize if this is a long, hard-to-understand, and poorly written blog post. I'm quite exhausted. But...

He is still good.

"I have said these things to you, that in me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world."

Two Wonderful Verses

Philippians 4:13 ~

I can do all things through him who strengthens me.

John 15:18-19 ~

"... If the world hates you, know that it has hated me before it hated you. If you were of the world, the world would love you as its own; but because you are not of the world, but I chose you out of the world, therefore the world hates you. ..."

The Chronicles of Narnia

I have read or have listened to all of The Chronicles of Narnia before, but a few weeks ago a couple of my sibling started reading through them and I decided to read them over again. Oh, they're so good. I just finished The Last Battle this morning. I remember being a little scared or daunted by the book the first time I read it a few years ago, but I really, really enjoyed it this time. The first two-thirds of the book is sad, but the last couple of chapters completely make up for it! It's like having to go through a trial if you really want to enjoy the happiness afterward, for otherwise the liberation wouldn't feel so sweet. Actually - it's exactly like that!

If you haven't ever had the pleasure of reading The Chronicles of Narnia yourself, I highly commend it to you. And read them, not in the order he wrote them, but in the order they go -

The Magician's Nephew

The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe

The Horse and His Boy

Prince Caspian

The Voyage of the Dawn Treader

The Silver Chair

The Last Battle

I hadn't done it that way before, but it is very nice to do them chronologically (pun half-intended) and I loved it.

And please vote on my poll to tell me which Narnian you would most like to know. :) Then comment and tell me which one you chose and why.

Extreme Makeover: Home Edition

I love Extreme Makeover: Home Edition! The stories are always compelling and inspiring, and the houses are great! I like a lot of the team, although Ty is definitely my favorite. And I like Paul(y), and Tracy, and Paige.

My favorite part of the show is when the family comes home, and they're all really eager to see their house. Then they move the bus ("Bus driver, MOVE THAT BUS!") and the family is always astounded at their beautiful new home. Crying, laughing, screaming, jumping, hugging...to see their reactions is very special.

And then Ty says, "Do you want to see what's inside? [Blank] family, go check out your house!" and the whole family races up the sidewalk and goes excitedly through their new front door.

Alright, now this may sound weird, but a while ago I was watching EMHE and I thought about Jesus and how He has gone to prepare a place for us (John 14:2) He went to build the house for His people. An Extreme Makeover house ten thousand times better than any Ty and the team could ever design. So...when He comes back to bring us home, after this 'week' here on earth, will He perhaps say, "Do you want to see what's inside? God's family, go check out your house!"?

So now, whenever I see Ty showing the family their new house, I often think of Jesus and the house He went to prepare.

“Let not your hearts be troubled. Believe in God; believe also in me. In my Father's house are many rooms. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, that where I am you may be also. And you know the way to where I am going.” Thomas said to him, “Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?” Jesus said to him, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me. If you had known me, you would have known my Father also. From now on you do know him and have seen him.” ~ John 14:1-7

Bump learns to clap!

Yes, it's a ridiculous nickname, but he doesn't seem to mind it. As a baby (and even now), 'Bufie' had a billion nicknames, so we thought he needed one, too. So 'The Bump' he became.

Bump started clapping this past week. He's getting quite good at it. :D I took this video yesterday. Isn't he CUTE???

Superbowl

My family and I watched the Superbowl this evening. There were several things that, other than the contagious game fever, touched/struck me. One was something that a player did after kicking an incomplete 50+ yard field goal. He lifted up his hands and pointed. He was giving the glory to God. I wish I could go back and watch to see if he had known he'd missed it yet. The commentator, I think, thought so, and I hope he did.

And that reminded me.... So often we groan when things don't go our way. We sigh, grumble, mope, yell, cry...probably more often that we should. But watching that field goal kicker miss the kick and praise God – that's what we should do. 'We're going to praise God when we win, and we're going to praise him when we lose.' (Facing the Giants, Sherwood Pictures 2006) Just because it doesn't work out our way doesn't mean God did something mean, unjust, or accidentally. And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose – Romans 8:28 God always does what is best for His children, and He knows that often we will find it painful. It is painful. But that does not mean we get out of praising Him. How can we shut our mouths? He is doing this because He loves you, child! He loves you and He wants what is best for you. Will He give you any less?

Praise Him with me, then. He is good!

Christmas Cookies (Long Overdue)

In December, Katie and her mom and younger siblings came over to frost Christmas cookies with us a few days before we drove to Kansas for my Grandma's surprise 80th birthday (that may get its own post later). We had a lot of fun decorating them – although I wasn't all that creative. This is my super-cool Darth Vader head:

And this is my old woman who lost her right leg a very long time ago(we figured out how that happened, but at the moment the reason evades me – was it a car crash?):

You don't have to feel sorry for her – she's very used to it by this time.

This one did get a little more thought put into it. Can you guess who this might be?

It's Harrison Ford – can't you tell? Unfortunately he has green eyes, as we didn't have any blue sprinkles.

Here are some other pictures from the day. You can tell we enjoyed ourselves!

Extraordinary Measures

I just was wondering if anyone else (other than Katie ;) ) had heard about this movie. extraordinarymeasuresthemovie.com It comes out January 22nd and I'm really hoping to see it while it's still in theaters. It stars Brendan Fraser and Harrison Ford, both of whom I have seen in other movies and like a lot. I don't think I've seen Harrison Ford in anything other than Indiana Jones, so hopefully it'll be kind of cool seeing him in this. I've seen a couple of different previews for it, and it looks very sweet and tense and triumphant – a lot of what I like in a movie. I really, really hope it's as good as I'm hoping.

His Daughter

Well, I had hoped for this to be a longer series – one with several parts to it, but with our wonderfully busy December and the fact that I didn't get the idea for The Christmas Eve Chronicles until about two weeks ago, it will be incomplete. Perhaps next year I will be able to do the whole thing.

But here is story one: His Daughter. I actually wrote this story last year, but for some of you it may be new. I hope you enjoy it. Merry Christmas!

His Daughter

The banister slipped smoothly beneath my hand as I tiptoed down the staircase. It was three in the morning, but I couldn't sleep. Even though I'd been so exhausted only a few hours earlier. And it wasn't just because it was Christmas Eve.

I paused on the landing. Light glowed through the living room doorway, throwing shadows onto the hall rug. I glanced toward the stairs. I hadn't woken Mom.

Pulling my robe around myself, I stepped toward the living room. My slippers made gentle brushing sounds on the floor. A cat looked up, blinking, from its place on a shelf. Brad loved cats.

I sat down on the couch facing the tree. The twinkling colored lights had been left on. Drawing my knees up to my chest, I rested my chin on them and took a deep breath. Why did I care what that woman had said? I didn't even know her name. I wondered if she'd even been invited. There had been so many people at the party – maybe Mom hadn't even noticed who was here and who wasn't. She'd been so stressed out yesterday afternoon; maybe her mind was occupied with other things. She probably hadn't cared who came, just as long as there was plenty of eggnog for everyone.

"Lori, go make sure Brad got the wine. Did you get everything on the table?" Mom glanced at her watch. "Oh, I need to go take a shower. Take out the kitchen trash!" I opened my mouth to speak, but she'd rushed out of the porch before I could say a thing. Shrugging, I reached up to hang the last sprig of holly above the entrance. I stepped down from the footstool and smiled. Perfect.

There was a muffled knock at the door. I pushed the stool out of the way with my foot and pulled it open. A snow-covered young man stood on the step, holding a large brown box which looked almost too heavy for the unfortunate boy to carry.

"Please, come in!" I smiled at him. He looked very anxious and very tired, and I wondered if he'd gotten a friendly word all day.

He tumbled through the door, tracking snow and ice onto the newly vacuumed floor. I sucked my teeth. Whoops.

"Where do you want this?" he asked, glancing at the decorations.

"Oh, anywhere." I pointed at a corner. "There would be fine. Brad can move it if he needs to."

The boy all but dropped the box, two feet shy of where I'd suggested. On his foot. He closed his eyes as his toes were crushed, stifling a yell. "There...you are, ma'am." He shuffled toward the door, limping. I stopped a giggle.

"Wait a minute – don't leave yet!" I dashed out to the dining room, where I snatched three cookies, a tart, and a little tuna sandwich from the table. Grabbing a napkin, I wrapped it all up and ran back to stuff it into the boy's hands. "You look hungry. Merry Christmas."

The boy looked down at what I'd given him. Some of the worry vanished from his eyes and I thought he was going to smile. But before he could, he realized that the snow he'd brought in with him was melting everywhere and his cheeks flushed.

"Merry Christmas." He stumbled backward and was gone.

I sighed. Poor kid. I hoped he had family to go home to tonight. I was sure it would be terrible to be alone on Christmas Eve.

I swept out most of the snow and shut the door, hoping Mom wouldn't notice the carpet was soggy. Folding up the footstool, I took it back to the upstairs bathroom. My stepdad was shaving over the sink.

"Don't forget to clean up any mess you make." I wiped a speck of shaving cream from the mirror. "Mom already cleaned everything. Oh – she wanted to know: did you remember to buy the wine last night? She couldn't find it in the fridge."

"It's in the basement. Lori, please move – you bumped my elbow. Thank you." Brad shook his head briefly in irritation. "Did you clean your room yet?"

"This morning." I closed the medicine cabinet. "Mom wanted me to take out the trash, but I don't want to go outside. It's snowing really hard."

"I'm sorry." Brad nicked himself with his razor and yelped. "Lori Wallace, get out of here."

I watched a glass ball turn and sparkle in the firelight. I ran a hand through my hair and frowned. You aren't a Wallace. That's what the woman had said to me. But that wasn't true. I was a Wallace. I had been one for just about forever. When Mom and Brad had gotten married, a few months after I was born, they'd given me his name – my father's name. Brad was my father. He'd raised me – not my blood father. That's what I wanted to be. A Wallace.

I leaned against the dining room bureau, lifting a glass of punch to my lips. My muscles ached from cleaning all day. I just wanted to sleep. Sleep for a week. I rested my head on the wall. The grandfather clock chimed ten. Only an hour more, and then I could crash. Just collapse on my bed and rest my weary body.

A slender, middle-aged woman caught my eye. She was looking at the family pictures on the upright. I smiled and forced myself to walk over and talk with her. She looked slightly familiar, and Mom had told me to be hospitable.

"That's my dad." I pointed at the photo she was staring at.

The woman hummed. "You aren't a Wallace."

"Excuse me?" I raised my eyebrows in confusion. "That is my name. Lori Wallace."

"No, it isn't." The woman glanced at me for a second, before turning to a baby picture of mine. "Such a pretty child. All of us were attractive babies. Your Uncle Robert, especially. Never grew out of it."

"I'm sorry, but I don't have an Uncle Robert. I have an Uncle Tom, but not a Robert." I tapped the frame of another picture. "That's him."

The woman bent to inspect it closer. "Tom is handsome enough. But he is a Wallace."

"So? I'm a Wallace, too. What's wrong with you? Are you a friend of Mom's?"

The woman's face creased with bitter sadness. "She was my friend, once upon a time."

I lifted the open photo album from the coffee table and flipped through it, looking for a picture of the woman. There were pictures of me as a toddler – in my stroller; learning to wink; taking my first steps, but no sign of the strange woman. I stopped on a page covered with photos of me. In a rather faded, black and white one, I lay curled up on my stomach on Brad's chest. I was four months old, by the date on it. His strong, tender hand rested on my little bare back. The cat jumped down from the shelf and came to snuggle up beside me. Scratching it behind the ears, I sighed and stared at the flames licking the walls of the fireplace.

"You don't really belong to Brad." The woman spoke his name as though it poisoned her. "He isn't your father. Your birth father is your father."

"But I never knew him." I let my gaze drift to a picture of Brad and me – I was on his shoulders, leaning down to kiss him. He was laughing and looking up into my face. I smiled and touched the picture gently. "This is the only dad I've ever known."

"It doesn't matter who raised you." The woman shook her head, snorting. "Jason was your dad, and nothing can ever change that."

I twisted the ring on my hand and frowned. "Brad is the only father I have."

I leaned on my elbow. The cat had stopped purring. The only sound was the quiet crackle of the wood in the fireplace as the flames slowly died down. Wrapped presents were scattered around the Christmas tree. The stockings hung from the mantle were bulging. Brad's, Mom's, and mine. My heart twisted. What if I didn't really belong to Brad?

The living room light flicked on. I blinked and whirled around. Brad was standing in the doorway. The picture of us sleeping together drifted to the floor.

"What're you doing up?" Brad sounded tired.

I glanced at the picture at my feet. "I couldn't sleep."

"You should be in bed. It's the middle of the night."

"Sorry." I put the album back on the coffee table. "I'll go upstairs."

"Why're you looking at that?"

"I just...." I swallowed. "Brad, who am I?"

"What do you mean, who are you? You're a girl who should be in bed. Go on." He jerked his head toward the hall.

I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and bit my lip. "You and Mom got married when I was a few months old, right?"

Brad's eyes sparkled. "That's right. When you were ninety-nine days old. I made up my mind that morning that when you were ninety-nine months old, I'd get you a ring, like the one I slipped onto your mother's hand that day."

I looked at the ring glinting on my right middle finger. Two little sapphires sat like winking eyes set into the braided gold band on either side of the beautiful emerald. I could remember after Brad had given it to me, how long it had felt to wait until my hand had grown enough to wear it. Now I wore it every day, ever comforted by its presence, by the constant reminder of Brad's love for me. My breath quickened with the fear that maybe he didn't really count as my dad.

"Brad, am I really yours?" I lifted my head, tears welling in my eyes.

Brad's face softened and he came to take my trembling hand in his steady one. "What do you mean, sweetheart?"

"I mean, you aren't my blood father, but he didn't stay." I gripped his hand tightly. "I want to be a Wallace, Brad, but I'm afraid I'm not."

Brad smiled kindly and stroked my cheek. "I'm your adopted father. It counts every bit as much. You're my daughter."

"But I don't have your genes."

Brad shook his head. "It doesn't matter if my blood doesn't run through your veins. It's just your body. But I got to help mold the heart inside it. That's what being a father means."

"Really?" A smile pulled at my lips.

"Yes, really." Brad slid his hand down my arm back to mine and squeezed it. "You're a Wallace, even if you look a lot prettier than Brad Wallace."

I giggled. "But we do have the same nose. Even Mom thinks so."

"Do we?" Brad looked cross-eyed down at his nose. "I can't really see the resemblance."

"Well, you'd have to look in a mirror!"

Brad grinned. "Well, maybe I'll do that in the morning when I'm brushing my teeth." He yawned. "Speaking of mornings, you and I had better be getting back to bed to sleep for a few more hours."

I put my arms around Brad's neck. "Will you carry me upstairs?"

"Carry you upstairs?" Brad grunted. "I don't think I can hold you that long."

"You could try." I tilted my head to one side. "Please?"

"All right." Brad took a deep breath and slid an arm beneath my legs and one behind my back. With a great heave he stood up. "I think I'm starting to get to old for this."

He carried me up to my bedroom and let me fall gently onto my soft mattress. Pulling the blankets up, he tucked me in like he used to when I was younger. My Yorkie looked up at me from her place at the foot of the comforter, as though confused why I was getting in bed twice in one night. As I laid my head down on my pillow I could hear the ticking of the clock on my wall. It was almost four.

Brad brushed my hair off my forehead. "You don't have to worry about being my daughter. You are my daughter, and I love you very much. Okay, sweetie?"

I nodded and reached up to hug him. "Okay, Daddy. I love you, too."

Brad leaned down and kissed me. "Merry Christmas, Lori Wallace."

I closed my eyes in contentment. I was a Wallace – Brad's daughter.