December 25, 1971
For Thomas and Faith, Christmas came faster every year. It seemed like just yesterday when they had brought Nathan and Emily home from the hospital in their doll-sized pink and blue pajamas, and now the twins were celebrating their eighth birthdays with papery snow falling outside like confetti. Wrapping paper, plush bows, red and green gift bags, and crinkled tissue paper littered the floor, and both Nathan and Emily were sleeping next to each other on the couch with their new stuffed animals—a bear for Nathan, and a bunny for Emily.
“It’s Russia isn’t it.” Thomas said to Faith as he held her, both watching their children’s chests slowly rise and fall.
“No, it’s not. I mean, well, a little. It’s just coming up so quickly. Florida’s all we’ve ever known. How’d you know?”
“You get this look when you’re really thinking about something. You look distant.”
Faith lifted her head off of Thomas’ chest, her dark brown hair covering her green eyes. She moved it away asking, “I do?”
Thomas took a sip of his hot chocolate, which was lukewarm by now with grainy cocoa collecting on the bottom like muddy coffee grounds. “Yeah. And you bite your lip, too.”
“No I don’t,” Faith said, smiling at Thomas.
“Seriously! You do! Was I wrong? It is Russia, right?”
Faith looked down at her own mug of hot chocolate. Her smile faded, and her silence answered Thomas’ question.
Thomas began to speak again, but Faith interrupted, “You may be right, but I do not bite my lip when I’m thinking about something.”
Thomas laughed. “I’m going to take a picture next time. You’ll see.”
Faith tried to keep a smile from crossing her face, but was only partially successful.
“Okay, you do that, then, but I still don’t believe you, Thomas.”
Thomas laughed again, kissing his wife on the cheek, and brought her closer, though her stubborn body language showed that really wasn’t what she wanted.
“Listen, I know you’ve been worried about moving, but I promise it’ll be okay. I may be trained for this kind of thing, but you know the language just as well as I do, and I know those orphans over there will love you. We’ve been so blessed—the least we can do is be a blessing to others, right?”
Faith held Thomas’ gaze for a moment, smiled, and lightly kissed him. “I know. I trust you. God is good right? God is faithful.”
The couple sat in silence, watching the fire in the fireplace die down, its golden embers fading to black. The snow was falling harder now, looking more like cotton balls than snowflakes. It hardly ever snowed in Florida. It would be the kids’ first real experience with the stuff apart from a family trip the four had taken to visit their grandparents up in Montana a few years back. But they were only four then and not nearly old enough to remember. Tomorrow would be special.
The black wood in the fireplace popped, sending sparks up into the chimney. Emily sat up and rubbed her eyes, her bunny still in her hand.
“Bedtime?” Faith asked Thomas, hinting towards Nathan and Emily. Thomas agreed and set his mug down on the stone mantle above the fireplace. Picking up the twins—stuffed animals and all—the young couple took them to their beds. Tomorrow would be a busy day; it was time to teach the kids how to build a snowman.
December 25, 1972
Loud knocking resonated throughout the small one-bedroom house in the Ural Mountains of the Soviet Union. Thomas knew they had been found out and scrambled for an idea—even a thought about what to do. Faith huddled in the corner of the bedroom with Nathan and Emily trying to quiet them down—telling them everything was going to be okay. Thomas grabbed their Bibles off of their nightstand and put them in a small hidden space beneath one of the floorboards.
Another volley of sonorous pounding filled the room. “I’m coming!” Thomas yelled, looking around for anything else that needed to be hidden. He saw nothing, and just as he reached the door to open it, he was met with a strong kick, sending him reeling to the floor as communist soldiers flooded into the house like water through a broken dam. They shouted to each other in Russian and immediately began to rummage through drawers and closets in search of any type of Christian paraphernalia. If they found anything, it would be enough for a conviction.
Rising to his feet Thomas yelled over the commotion, “Please! What do you want?” He knew what they wanted, but he didn’t know what else to say. “You can have whatever you want. Please, just let me and my family go.”
The commanding officer approached Thomas and said through a thick Russian accent, “You know what we came for. You are underground missionary. Give us the Bibles and the names of your church members and we will let you go.”
Hundreds of incoherent thoughts ran through Thomas’ mind, as he visibly struggled to produce an answer—his mouth hanging slightly open with no words to form.
Emily began to cry.
The officer picked up a lamp and threw it to the ground, its red porcelain exploding like fireworks. “Okay!” Thomas yelled. “I’ll give you what you want, and we’ll leave.” Thomas removed the loose floorboard and gave the officer their Bibles.
“And the names?” The officer asked, examining the Bibles’ leather covers.
“I don’t know. I don’t have the list. Another family has it. Please, just take the Bibles and anything else you want and let us go.”
The officer blurted out a command in Russian to the other soldiers, and three of the armed men grabbed Faith, Nathan, and Emily. Thomas instinctively bolted towards them, but was struck with a rifle butt to the stomach. Falling to the floor and unable to breathe, Thomas managed, “Please don’t hurt them. Let them go, take me!”
The soldiers paid no attention to Thomas’ plea and took his family outside where snow descended through the black like shattered stars. As Faith was forced through the doorway she said through tears, “I love you, Thomas.”
Thomas made another effort towards the soldiers, but the tall officer struck him again in the stomach and once in the head. Thomas spat blood and looked through the doorway where the soldiers had taken his family. The officer eyed Thomas, making sure he really was incapacitated, before he too stepped through the door and out of sight.
Thomas’ world spun—the blow to his head causing a rush of nausea and throbbing agony. Managing to prop himself up on one knee, and then finally two feet, he stumbled through the doorway. He wiped his mouth, saw smeared red on his hand, spat into the snow, and looked out into the wavy, moonlit night.
Three consecutive gunshots came from his right.
Thomas’ blood went cold. He turned and ran with every last ounce of strength in his body. The Jeep the soldiers came in drove off into the night with a loud rumble, and Thomas yelled aloud—faster than the tears could fall from his eyes—as he looked upon his beautiful wife and two children slain in the snow. Hot blood melted through the soft powder, settling on the pine needle-littered forest floor—a crimson grave marker partially hidden beneath crusted white. Thomas tried to find words, a prayer, anything. All that came was a shout of anguish. Kneeling next to his wife, he kissed her as he uncontrollably sobbed and shook. He brought Nathan and Emily into his arms along with Faith and buried his face in Emily’s brown hair. He kissed them both on the head and began to feel rage build inside him as if gunpowder had been thrown into the smoldering furnace of his soul. The only word that shouted out from the broken depths of his mind was, Why? For what felt like hours, Thomas wept and held his family in his arms, snow dusting his quaking shoulders.
Thomas noticed something lying on the ground next to him half-buried in the snow. It was the stuffed bear and bunny Nathan and Emily had received last Christmas. Thomas picked up the soggy stuffed animals and placed them in his children’s arms.
Thomas recalled that winter night the four of them had spent together—that perfect night when Thomas and Faith had held each other, reflecting on how much God had blessed them. Staring at Nathan’s bear through a prism of tears, Thomas remembered Faith’s words, “God is good right? God is faithful.”
He took Faith’s hair in his hands and wiped his tears with it, his vision clearing.
The snow continued to fall.
