The Unannounced Christmas Visitor Read online

  THE

  UNANNOUNCED

  CHRISTMAS

  VISITOR

  An award-winning novel by

  Patrick Higgins

  THE UNANNOUNCED CHRISTMAS VISITOR

  COPYRIGHT © 2014 FOR HIS GLORY PRODUCTION COMPANY

  2018 READERS’ CHOICE GOLD MEDAL

  AWARD WINNER IN CHRISTIAN FICTION

  2016 IPA GOLD MEDAL AWARD WINNER

  (INTERNATIONAL PUBLISHER AWARDS)

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American copyright conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter, without written permission of the author. Address all inquiries to the author.

  All scripture quotations are taken from the Holy Bible, English Standard Version (ESV) © 2001 by Crossway Bibles, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers.

  Library of Congress

  Cataloging in Publication Data

  ISBN 978-0-9658978-0-8

  Published by:

  www.ForHisGloryProductionCompany.com

  Publisher’s note: This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, organizations, and incidents portrayed in this novel are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Manufactured in the United States of America.

  This story was inspired in part by the Christian feeding ministry

  Jesus Loves You, Love Him Back

  based in Orlando, Florida.

  This book is dedicated to the founder of this magnificent Christ-centered outreach group, who just happens to be my twin brother, Michael Higgins. When I see how mightily God is using him, I can only rejoice. I pray that our Heavenly Father will keep opening doors for him that no man can shut, despite whatever forces may come against him. With God’s continued blessing, the positive impact his feeding ministry will have on the Sunshine State, and beyond, will only increase.

  I also need to express my heartfelt thanks and gratitude to the late Bhrett Black, for all he did over the years for Jesus Loves You, Love Him Back, most of which was done out of the spotlight.

  It was both refreshing and inspiring to witness his many selfless acts of charity and kindness when the ministry needed it most. I miss you, brother, and look forward to seeing you again on the other side, the Good side.

  There are many soldiers involved with this growing organization, from the many humble volunteers who come to feed, to the praise and worship leaders from various churches in the community to the pastors sharing God’s Word before meals are served. Many of these volunteers I do not know.

  Nevertheless, I feel the need to mention some I do know for what they do each week to help move this ministry forward. I will list them in alphabetical order: Kevin Atchoo, Raul and Celimar Freijo, Dave Hook, Kevin Kozial, David and Rose McNeilly, Joshua Mendez, Gilbert Montez, Jeff and Renee Parker, Roger and Cathy Throneburg, Richard and Noah Viera, Michael Ward and Steve Westcomb.

  To the parents who bring their children to these weekly feedings—Gilbert Montez topping this list—may God continue to richly bless you all for it. What awesome life-lessons they are learning by simply observing and participating! God is using this humble setting to better prepare and equip your children to be the next generation of mighty warriors for His glory.

  After receiving their 501c3 early in 2014, they now feed the homeless once a month in Jacksonville, Daytona Beach, Cocoa Beach,Tampa, St. Petersburg, Sarasota and Miami Florida. They have also done feedings in Philadelphia, PA., New York City, New Orleans, LA. Nashville, TN. Chicago, IL., Las Vegas, NV, Los Angeles, CA., Cancun, Mexico, various locations in Brazil and the Philippines.

  To donate money, clothing or anything worthy of resale: www.JesusLovesYouLoveHimBack.org

  1

  ANYWHERE USA - PRESENT DAY - 3 WEEKS BEFORE CHRISTMAS

  “WHO’S THAT MAN?” LYDIA Jensen whispered softly to her husband.

  “What man?” John Jensen replied, half-heartedly. His face was glued to his phone screen, thumbs ramming keys, firing off text messages to whomever. He was too focused, as always, skimming through dozens of unread messages from earlier in the week to pry his squinty eyes away from his mobile device for even a second.

  “That man over there,” Lydia said, pointing in the man’s direction off to her right.

  The Jensens were seated in the seventh row of a nearly full church, close to the middle of the assembly. They were the very same seats they’d occupied the past 17 years since they first started dating.

  “And how many times must I remind you that church is never the place to reply back to text messages!” Lydia’s voice was no louder than a whisper, yet it carried the force of a shout.

  John rolled his eyes and continued scrolling. You’re not my mother!

  Even with his mobile device turned away from her, Lydia could see his phone screen reflecting off his eyeglasses. “John?!”

  “Okay, okay, you win,” he barked under his breath. It was loud enough for Lydia’s closest friend at church, Ann Chen, to hear. The woman of Asian descent pretended not to be listening. Her husband, Jack Chen, would join them after he and the other deacons collected the offering.

  John angrily turned off his phone and stuffed it inside his pants pocket. Glancing up, he noticed the unsightly specimen his wife was referring to. He was an elderly gentleman, perhaps 80 or 90, hidden beneath an over-sized, worn out, charcoal gray trench coat that reached all the way down to his ankles.

  A thick maroon and gray scarf circled his neck. Both ends draped down the front of his coat. Underneath the wool coat was a light gray hoodie. The hair on his head was long and wiry just like his beard. Both were silver-gray in color. Both were unkempt.

  Walking at a snail’s pace, the old man was being escorted from where he was briefly seated in the front row to the back of the assembly, by two church ushers. One of them, Guillermo Vargas, was a longtime friend of the Jensens.

  Dressed in a neatly pressed, olive-colored suit and bright red tie, Vargas towered over the old man. He shook his head in disgust to everyone with whom he made eye contact, as if he’d just caught a thief and was about to hand him over to the authorities.

  “I don’t know,” John Jensen said to his wife. “Looks like a vagrant to me. Perhaps he’s here to beg money for booze or drugs.”

  “I’ve never seen him before.”

  “Probably never see him again after today,” John opined, dismissively.

  Though his answers were short and to the point—judgmental even—Lydia was just glad to be communicating with her husband without arguing for a change. She was even more thankful that he came to church at all. Lately, Lydia attended church service alone each Sunday, while their two children, Matthew, age 10, and Grace, age 7, went to Sunday school.

  But it wasn’t just church that John seemed totally disinterested in these days. At 42 years of age, life in general had become mundane, boring even, to the extent that nothing motivated him, including the job he once loved so much. Overwhelming fatigue and depression had taken his soul hostage.

  This downward spiral started roughly seven months ago, mercilessly changing John Jensen from a loving, churchgoing, devoted husband and father of two, into someone who was increasingly standoffish and argumentative. It was miraculous when a sourpuss expression didn’t follow him around everywhere he went.

  Pushing these troublesome thoughts from her mind, Lydia Jensen craned her neck back and focused her attention on the mysterious-looking elderly man being escorted to the rear of the church, to see what would happen next.

  She wasn’t the only one. It seemed half the congregation was doing the same thing; eyes narrowed, heads slanted, irritated glances displayed on so many faces.

  Stopping at one of the back doors, the three men huddled together for a brief exchange of words. After that, the shriveled up old man took a seat in the last row, causing a family of four to angrily rise from their seats in search of a new place to sit.

  Lydia observed as Guillermo mouthed the words, “Sorry” to them as they passed. The empathetic expression on his face was no match for the unbridled agitation on the faces glaring back at him.

  When the two ushers exited through the back doors, the old man dropped his head and prayed, “Yahweh, Jehovah God, change the overall heart of this gathering place of believers to resemble the heart of Yeshua, rather than the unconverted world.”

  Lydia’s eyes remained glued on him. She couldn’t help but wonder if his overall appearance was the reason for his being humiliated the way he was, in front of so many. What else could it possibly be? Did he reek of body odor?

  From what she could see, he hadn’t been the slightest bit disrespectful to anyone. Aside from his ragged, worn-out clothing and unkempt appearance, he seemed completely harmless. Yes, it must be because of his appearance.

  The back door opened, and Guillermo emerged with Betty Rainer. Her left arm was practically woven into the handsome Latino man’s right arm. Lydia observed as they slowly proceeded down the empty aisle leading to the front of the assembly.

  Betty’s husband, Tom Rainer, followed closely behind smiling brightly, waving enthusiastically for all to see, determined to shake as many hands and hug as many friends as possible, before reaching his seat in the front row.

  As always, Tom and Betty Ra
iner were impeccably dressed. Both in their 70's, the still-vibrant successful business owners were regarded as solid pillars not only in the church, but in the community as well. It was no big secret that they were the top financial contributors at the church. What should have been kept between them and God was no secret at all.

  “Welcome back, John!” Tom Rainer took John Jensen’s hand into his own.

  “Thanks, Tom,” John replied sheepishly, unable to maintain steady eye contact with him. “Nice to be back. Been busy lately.”

  “Understood.” The look on Tom Rainer’s face betrayed his one-word reply. But now wasn’t the time to press the issue. He still had friends to greet.

  The energetic senior gave Lydia Jensen a quick hug and picked up his pace to catch up to Guillermo and his wife.

  Upon reaching the front row, the 28-year-old usher with broad muscular shoulders and slicked back, jet-black hair, gently kissed Betty’s right cheek. The gesture caused even more pink to surface on her makeup-covered cheeks. Guillermo then squeezed Tom’s right hand, cupping it with his left hand, before fading to the back of the house of worship.

  The moment the Rainers were seated the service promptly began.

  “Good morning, church family,” the music leader declared robustly, nodding in the Rainers direction. “Would you please rise and join us in worshiping our Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ, through song and praise!”

  Everyone rose as one as the twelve-member band quickly roared to life performing the song, Your Grace is Enough.

  Hundreds of voices scattered throughout the sanctuary joined together in song, including Pastor Flores and his wife, Maria, who were both seated next to the Rainers.

  This being Lydia’s favorite part of the service, the confused wife and mother of two put aside her hurt feelings for the moment and sang with a voice that was glad.

  John stood alongside his wife but refrained from singing. Eyes surveying the sanctuary, he felt entirely out of place being surrounded by what he had gradually come to believe were a bunch of weak-minded people who were too afraid to govern their own lives that they prayed to a God they couldn’t even see, a God John was increasingly unsure even existed.

  How could he fully accept that God really existed, when the messages preached at this place were diametrically opposed to what he was taught in college two decades ago, from professors whose minds were so much more advanced than his pastor’s?

  According to them, humanism, or better put, mankind without God, was the only hope humanity had of realizing their full potential. Because he was raised in a lukewarm Christian household, it didn’t take long before the four years John spent seeking higher education started chiseling away at the already shaky spiritual foundation upon which he was raised.

  The more his intelligence increased, the more his already weak faith in God decreased. Yet if anyone asked, he unhesitatingly declared that he was a Christ follower. “If You do exist,” John whispered, almost sarcastically, “why do I feel so utterly empty inside?”

  After two more songs were sung, associate pastor, Amrit Chattergee, read a few church announcements. After that, the man of Indian descent said, “Now, let’s all stand and find someone near you. Help make them feel welcome in the house of the Lord.”

  As if on cue, the two-level assembly—capable of holding up to 3,000 people per service—sprang to life like an over-sized honeycomb being invaded by thousands of bees. Only instead of stinging one another, they shook hands and exchanged hugs.

  Normally, Lydia would greet everyone within her reach during this time, but not now. She kept to herself. Eyes darting left and right, she was more interested in the old man seated in the back of the church to give anyone else her undivided attention.

  Finally, she spotted him standing not too far from his seat, eagerly anticipating being greeted by someone, anyone. Some smiled and nodded at him, but no one dared shake the man’s hand, let alone embrace him. If anything, they distanced themselves from him.

  The faint smile on his face was one of the saddest Lydia had ever seen before. Though she did not know him, her heart ached for him.

  “Now it’s time to receive the offering,” Amrit Chattergee declared, slowly regaining control. “I’ll ask our ushers to get into place...”

  Everyone found their seats. Pastor Chattergee prayed, thanking God for the offering they were about to receive. Then the band started playing, Worthy is the Lamb. Dozens of ushers got busy patrolling their designated areas, handing offering plates to fellow congregants, then collecting them a few moments later.

  Lydia placed a check into the plate, passed it on to Ann Chen seated to her left, and resumed her spying on the back of the church.

  From what she could see, the old man appeared to be counting loose change in his right hand. When the offering plate found its way to him, with a grateful expression on his face, he dumped all of it onto the plate.

  Lydia was astounded. He looked honored just to have the privilege of giving back to God. Talk about a cheerful giver! she thought to herself, unable to mask her growing curiosity.

  “How many times must I remind you to mind your own business at church,” John whispered to his wife, scowl on face, striking back for her earlier comment about his checking text messages.

  Lydia turned around and stiffened up. She wanted to counter but thought better of it. This wasn’t the time or the place. Besides, she had long since grown weary of the daily fights with her husband of 13 years.

  She was tired, drained.

  Throughout the remainder of the service, Lydia fought strong urges to glance back one more time. Already on emotional overload, she managed to control herself. Her mind was too crammed with thoughts of her sagging marriage to give the old man her full attention.

  Something had to give soon, before the dam burst wide open.

  Once that happened, who knew what lay ahead?

  Lydia dropped her head and said the same prayer she’d uttered for seven straight months. “Please, God, help me! I’m desperate for my marriage to be fixed. Intervene before it’s too late. I’m open to anything at this point! This I ask in Jesus’ name, Amen!”

  With the Christmas season—the season of miracles—fast-approaching, that’s exactly what Lydia Jensen needed; a miracle from God Almighty Himself.

  If her Maker didn’t intervene soon, Lydia feared her marriage would continue to free fall, which, in and of itself, was a frightening thought to conjure up.

  How could it possibly get any worse?

  2

  “I’LL BE WAITING IN the car,” John Jensen said stoically to Lydia, the moment the church service had ended.

  Lydia remained seated, as she recorded final thoughts from the sermon onto her listening guide. “Be there as soon as I can,” came the reply.

  “Take your time.” John rose from his seat, car keys in hand, looking for the quickest exit from which to leave. He was perfectly fine waiting in the car surfing the Internet until his wife returned with their two children.

  So long as they made it home before kickoff at 1 p.m., all was well with John’s world. At least temporarily.

  Lydia headed off in the opposite direction to fetch Matthew and Grace in the adjacent annex building. The aisle-way leading to the back of the sanctuary where the mysterious old man was seated, was full of anxious people trying to exit through one of the four back doors.

  Desperate to see him one last time before he disappeared, Lydia was tempted to elbow her way through the crowd, but she refrained.

  When she finally made it to the back of the congregation, to her great dismay, the old man was nowhere to be found. Her eyes swept from left to right frantically searching for him, but to no avail.

  Lydia frowned. It’s not that she had anything of importance to share with him. If anything, she just wanted to give him what she thought he deserved as a fellow Christ-follower, a proper greeting from someone at this place. What she really wanted was to hug the man, as a silent apology for the way so many had mistreated him. But it was too late. He was gone.

  “Hey, Lydia.”