Chapter 5
Grace Community Church always looked a little different the Saturday before the Christmas Festival. It wasn’t prettier, just busier.
The fellowship hall hummed with cheerful activity.
Long folding tables stretched from one end of the room to the other, covered with canned vegetables, flour, sugar, pasta, soup, peanut butter, and Christmas hams waiting to be packed into holiday food baskets.
Toys had been sorted by age along another wall, and volunteers tied ribbons around gift bags while children darted between tables until someone reminded them—not for the first time—that running and stacked canned goods were a poor combination.
Natalie nudged the door open with her shoulder, balancing a cardboard box against one hip. “I brought the blankets,” she called.
Mary Whitley looked up from the clipboard in her hands and smiled. “Perfect timing. We just finished counting baskets.” She walked over and lifted the lid from the box. “These are beautiful.”
“The supplier gave me a discount when I told him where they were going,” Natalie said as they carried the blankets toward one of the tables. “I couldn’t resist buying a few extra.”
“I’m glad you did.” Mary folded one of the fleece throws over the top of a basket. “There are always a few families we don’t know about until the last minute.”
Natalie nodded and shifted the box’s weight to try to relieve an ache in her back. “I’d rather have extras than come up short.”
“So would I.”
The blankets disappeared quickly as the volunteers tucked one into each basket.
Natalie looked around the room, smiling as familiar faces greeted one another across the tables. Someone had started Christmas music from a speaker in the corner. Children proudly carried rolls of wrapping paper twice their height while parents hurried after them, laughing.
She loved this part of Christmas. The lights downtown were beautiful.
The festival brought everyone together, but this was why they celebrated—helping neighbors, remembering people who might otherwise be forgotten, and living out the Golden Rule.
Owning Winter Wishes let her celebrate Christmas every day in December, but mornings like this reminded her why the season mattered in the first place.
A little boy hurried past carrying a stack of gift bags that blocked most of his face. “I can’t see!” he announced cheerfully.
“No kidding,” a young woman replied.
Natalie turned toward the wrapping station.
A young woman kneeled beside the boy, gently relieving him of half the bags before setting them neatly on the table. “There,” she said. “Now you only can’t see a little.”
The boy grinned. “That’s better.”
“God gave you two eyes. It’s best to use them.”
He hurried off again, and she shook her head with an amused smile before reaching for another roll of wrapping paper.
Mary noticed where Natalie was looking. “Have you met Anna Sanford yet?”
“I don’t think so.”
“You should.” Mary led her across the room. “Anna?”
The young woman looked up immediately, smiling as she brushed a loose strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “Hi, Mary.”
“I’d like you to meet Natalie Winters. Natalie owns Winter Wishes.”
Recognition brightened Anna’s face. “The Christmas shop downtown.”
Natalie laughed. “That gives me away every time.”
“I’m Anna.” She stood and offered her hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”
“You too.”
Anna gestured toward the wrapping table. “I’d shake your hand longer, but apparently I’m in charge of making sure six-year-olds don’t use an entire roll of tape on one present.”
Natalie looked toward the children. One little girl proudly held up a package almost completely hidden beneath layers of tape. “I think you might already be losing.”
Anna laughed. “Oh, definitely.” She picked up another roll and handed it to Natalie. “Want to help?”
Natalie burst out laughing. “Trust me. I’ve wrapped enough gifts to qualify professionally.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.”
Natalie moved beside her, reaching for a box shaped like a fire truck.
“Don’t mind the kid too much.” Anna lowered her voice. “Church volunteers are typically calm, but the children have other plans.”
As if on cue, a little boy appeared between them. “Miss Anna?”
“Yes?”
“My ribbon keeps falling off.”
Anna accepted the package from him and crouched beside the table instead of simply fixing it herself. “Show me how you tied it.”
The little boy demonstrated.
“I think I know the problem.” She smiled and handed the ribbon back. “Try making this loop a little bigger.”
“But what if I mess it up?”
“Then we’ll untie it and try again.”
“You won’t be mad?”
“Why would I be mad?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know.”
Anna’s expression softened. “Nobody learns something new by getting it perfect the first time.”
She waited while he tried again. This time, the bow held.
His entire face lit up. “I did it!”
“You certainly did.”
He raced off to show his mother, and Anna stood, dusting a bit of ribbon from her jeans.
Natalie watched him disappear into the crowd. “You could’ve tied it in five seconds.”
“I could have.” Anna smiled. “He’s much happier now that he knows he can do it himself.”
Natalie couldn’t help smiling back. “I like the way you think.”
For the next half hour, they worked side by side, wrapping presents, restocking ribbon, and answering an endless stream of questions from excited children.
Natalie quickly noticed something. Everyone seemed to know Anna.
“Miss Anna, where do these go?”
She pointed toward the toy table without looking up from the present she was wrapping. “Stuffed animals on the left. Board games on the right.”
Another volunteer appeared carrying a clipboard. “Anna, did we decide twelve baskets for the east side of town or thirteen?”
“Thirteen,” Anna answered immediately. “Mrs. Hernandez called yesterday. Her sister’s family is staying with them this Christmas.”
The volunteer scribbled a note and hurried away.
Before Anna returned to wrapping gifts, an elderly gentleman approached carrying a heavy box. “I was looking for someone strong.”
Anna reached for one side without hesitation. “I can help.”
Natalie grabbed the other. “Make that two someones.”
Together, they carried the box across the room.
When they set it down, Natalie laughed softly. “Does everyone ask you for something?”
Anna looked genuinely surprised. “I suppose they do.”
“You don’t seem to mind.”
“I really don’t.” She tucked another loose strand of hair behind her ear. “If people trust me enough to ask, that’s a blessing.”
“It also looks exhausting.”
Anna’s smile lingered, though something quieter flickered behind it. “Some days more than others.”
“Anna!” another voice called across the room before Natalie could ask Anna what she meant.
She turned immediately. “Coming!”
Natalie followed her toward the food baskets.
A volunteer stood staring uncertainly at a stack of canned goods. “I’m afraid these won’t all fit.”
Anna studied the basket for a moment. “They won’t.” She picked up two cans and moved them to another basket. “There. Now both families get everything they need.”
The volunteer smiled with obvious relief. “I never would’ve thought of that.”
Anna shrugged. “It just takes practice.”
Natalie leaned against the table while Anna checked the rest of the baskets. “How well do you know Mary?”
“Oh, everyone knows her, but we work together at Shooting Star Canyon Ranch.”
“Oh, wow.”
Anna laughed. “I look a lot more like a cowgirl when I have my boots and hat on. I tend to do a lot of this and that.” She closed the basket and brushed her hands together.
“I coordinate community events, charity partnerships, school tours, weddings... whatever the ranch needs that week. Mr. and Mrs. Whitley are very good at discovering new projects after I’ve already promised to help with three others. ”
Natalie blinked. “That’s... quite a list.”
“I also handle social media.”
“Of course you do.”
“And advertising.”
Natalie laughed. “Anything else?”
Anna pretended to think. “Oh, I occasionally remember to eat lunch.”
“Occasionally?”
“I’m getting better.”
Natalie raised an eyebrow. “Were you planning to convince me that’s healthy?”
“No.”
“It wasn’t going to work.”
Anna smiled sheepishly. “I know.”
“You wear a lot more hats than just a cowgirl hat,” Natalie murmured.
“Oh, definitely!”
Natalie looked around the room. In the last ten minutes alone, she’d watched three different people interrupt Anna with questions, and Anna had answered every one without the slightest hint of irritation. She also hadn’t stopped moving.
“Do you ever tell people no?” Natalie asked.
Anna hesitated just long enough to answer the question. “I try not to.”
“Why?”
“Because they usually need help.”
“You can’t do everything,” Natalie protested.
Anna looked at her, surprised. “I manage.”
“You do know it’s possible to take on too much, right?”
Anna didn’t answer and reached for another stack of gift bags and straightened them with unnecessary care. “My parents always said if God gives you the ability to help someone, you should.”
“I agree.” Natalie picked up the ribbon spool that had started rolling away. “But He also gave us limits.”
Anna smiled, though it looked more thoughtful than cheerful this time. “I’ve been told that before.”
“By someone wise?”
“By almost everyone.”
They both laughed.
A little girl wandered over holding a doll wrapped in wrinkled paper. “Miss Anna?”
Anna kneeled again. “Let me guess. The bow escaped.”
“Uh… maybe?”
Natalie watched Anna patiently help the little girl smooth the paper instead of replacing it. She never rushed or took over. She never made anyone feel like a burden.
There was something beautiful about that but also maybe something a little sad too.
Not because Anna seemed unhappy. She didn’t.
She radiated genuine joy. But Natalie recognized the look that crossed her face whenever she thought no one was watching—a fleeting loneliness, the kind that came from pouring yourself into everyone else’s lives before remembering to leave room for your own.
Mary clapped her hands from across the fellowship hall. “Delivery teams, gather up!”
Volunteers began carrying baskets toward the waiting trucks outside.
Children proudly collected the presents they had wrapped.
Anna rose to help an elderly couple lift one of the heavier boxes before anyone had a chance to ask.
Natalie watched her go. Then she bowed her head for just a moment.
Lord, thank You for Anna. Thank You for the joy she brings everywhere she goes and the way she notices people who might otherwise be overlooked.
Help her remember that she doesn’t have to carry every need by herself, and if there’s something she’s quietly hoping for, remind her that You haven’t forgotten her. Amen.
When Natalie looked up again, Anna was laughing with one of the children, her arms full of Christmas baskets as she headed toward the door.
Natalie watched Anna disappear through the doorway carrying another basket and found herself hoping that, someday, someone would love Anna with the same quiet faithfulness she offered everyone else.