Ornaments of Grace

ORNAMENTS OF GRACE

Introduction

The train slowed as it pulled into the small station, its whistle echoing across frosted fields, its brakes sighing like a weary traveler. Clara pressed her forehead against the cold glass and wondered to herself if she had made the right decision. Should she have gone home? But how could she? She would be a disgrace to her father! However, the consequences of a life with her new husband absolutely terrified her. Clara did not know what she was doing, or why she had chosen Pittsburg, Texas, as her destination, but something in her heart, in her soul, told her this was where she was supposed to be. As she looked around her, Clara felt a sense of peace, the peace she had fled Houston so desperately to find.

Part One

On the opposite edge of town, a widower named Jonas worked in his workshop, the steady scrape of his knife against wood echoing through the pines. He had lived here all his life and now spent his free time carving ornaments no one saw, and guarding his solitude like a fortress. The town respected him, but since the accident, it kept its distance, and he preferred it that way. That is how it had been for three years, since the accident, and how he imagined it always would be.

That was until Clara appeared at his door, her eyes bright despite the weariness in her face. Clara knocked on the screen door and began talking at the same time. “Hello. Are you Jonas? Do you have the apartment for rent?” she asked softly. Jonas looked up from his bench, hands resting on a half-finished carving, his eyes were steady but cautious. “You must be Clara.” His voice was low, his tone guarded. “Yes.” Clara smoothed her coat, her hands slightly trembling.” Jonas nodded, studying her as though trying to send her away with his mind. Jonas was thinking through a sudden dilemma... Renting to strangers is one thing, he thought to himself. But renting to a woman, a married woman, was something entirely different. What fun the town gossipers would have with this one!

Jonas’s faith had always been his guide, and now it was urging caution. Looking at Clara's silky brown hair and big blue eyes, Jonas thought I would not only be inviting gossip into my home, but also temptation. Jonas spoke in a deep, matter-of-fact tone, “It’s a small and simple apartment, nothing fancy.” Clara shifted, and her hands trembled a little more noticeably. “I don’t need a lot,” she stammered, “just something to start over in.” Integrity demands pause; he reminded himself. Yet, here she stood, fragile yet firm, seeking shelter. Jonas paused for a moment. “I will have to pray on it tonight and give you an answer tomorrow, if you can wait until then.” Clara nodded, her face softening with gratitude. Clara turned towards the driveway, eventually disappearing around the corner.

Jonas gripped the carving he still held in his hand; it was a dove of peace, but only half-formed. Why did it feel heavier in his hand? What was the feeling he had in his chest? He did not know this woman, yet he suddenly felt responsible for her. Why?

God, are you asking me to carve space into my solitary existence to help another hurting soul?

Jonas sat alone in the workshop long after Clara had left, silence pressing against him like a weight. The dove ornament, a symbol of peace, lay unfinished on his bench. His hands trembled as he reached for his Bible, the leather worn from years of seeking solace amid grief. Jonas turned to the book of Psalms and read “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” Still, he had more questions than answers. “Lord,” he began to pray, his head bowed, “I do not want to stumble or dishonor you, but do not let me turn this woman away if you led her here for a reason. Please God, show me the right path.” Silence stretched from seconds to a minute, only broken by the ticking of the clock on the wall. Then, a whisper stirred inside Jonas. He felt these words: “Faith guards against sin, yes, but it also extends mercy.” It was clear that Clara needed a new start, and he would help her.

The next morning, Clara returned, just as she said she would. She knocked on the door, her breath clouding the glass from the cold. Jonas met her just inside the door and told her that the apartment was hers if she still wanted it. Relief flooded her face as Clara fought to hold back emotions that were long overdue for release. She exhaled shakily, clutching her coat. “Yes, I want it! Thank you, Jonas, truly.” Jonas handed her the key to her new apartment and her fresh start. Jonas’ mind was still filled with questions, but he also knew that sometimes faith meant stepping into your doubt and embracing your path, even when it was uncertain.

Clara took her two suitcases and an old, worn satchel to the apartment over the workshop. Jonas was right, it was small. There was just enough room for a bed, a nightstand, a couch, and a coffee table in the main room. The kitchenette was tucked into a corner to the left, and the bathroom was just beyond that. She heard the soft whistle of the furnace singing its welcome, and she smiled. This is just right, she thought, just enough to start over.

In the days that followed, Clara began looking for a job in town but spent her free time getting to know ladies at the coffee shop, the town hangout. She also enjoyed shopping in the secondhand stores and decorating the apartment. It was starting to feel like home, but Clara’s thoughts were elsewhere.

Houston…it already seemed like a lifetime since she’d left, yet it still held its grip on her; he still held a grip on her. Would she ever truly be free? What if things did not go her way? What if no one believed her? What if he won? She would be disgraced and would never be able to live the life she wanted. She would be chained to him; she would never be free. With a tear in her eye, Clara whispered, “Please God, please set me free.”

Clara soon got a job working at a local women’s shelter. The small brick building sat on the edge of town; its walls were worn, but its spirit was still alive. The air seemed to hum with the quiet strength of women rebuilding their lives. Clara had sat with a young mother that afternoon who had flinched at every new voice, yet she showed up to her counseling session with hope. Clara moved among them with ease, listening, encouraging, and showing compassion with her words. Helping these women who were carrying their own stories of brokenness felt as though she were tending to her own wounds. Every smile, every small victory, reminded her that second chances were possible and that no one is beyond redemption.

That evening, when she returned to Jonas’s workshop, her cheeks flushed from the cold and her heart full of shelter, she decided to stop and invite him to share a stew she had made. Jonas was hunched over a heart ornament, carving the edges so smoothly and deliberately. Clara paused, watching his reverent hand shape the wood. “They’re beautiful,” she said as she entered the workshop, “but they would shine with color.” Jonas stiffened. “Maybe they aren’t meant to shine,” he said gruffly. “They’re ornaments”, Clara countered, of course they are meant to shine.” Jonas did not want to get too personal with her, but he could tell that Clara was not going to back down.

Finally, he invited her to sit down on the workbench, and he told her, “I am partially color blind. I tried painting them before, but the blues and greens blended, and the rest just looked like a mess.” “Then have someone else paint them,” Clara reasoned. Clara hesitated before she spoke ever so gently, “At the shelter, I hear women say that they are broken, like an unfinished toy. But given the chance, and having someone to believe in them, I see them shine. These ornaments…they are like that, just waiting for a little help.” Jonas felt his jaw tighten. He thought: She says it as though they are not good enough as they were. Her words had struck deeper than she knew, causing a flicker of the past to emerge. It stung. “They are my work, and if I cannot paint them, I will not ask anyone else to.” Jonas snapped. “I would love to help you paint them,” she offered. “I told you; they are mine, and I will not let anyone change them.” Clara nodded, feeling as though his pride were to blame for his temper. “All right, have it your way. But someday, Jonas, you will see what color can do.” She left him with the unfinished heart he had been carving, her footsteps fading into the night.

Jonas stared at the plain wood, his thoughts tangled. He admired her passion and vision. Yet letting her touch his work felt too close, too vulnerable; he was not ready to let anyone get that close. Not yet. Perhaps not ever.

Soon, Jonas had a distraction, and so did Clara. Jonas was taking on a woodworking project at a farm outside of town, and Clara was trying to save the fair and Christmas.

The town’s annual fair was being threatened because there were not enough funds to hold it this year. Recalling how the women at the shelter said the fair used to bring everyone together at Christmas, Clara couldn’t help but want to do something.

Clara gathered the local women and those from the shelter. “We cannot allow the fair to be cancelled; it is as much a part of this town as any of you are.” “What are we supposed to do?” one of the older ladies scoffed. Looking each one of them in the eye, one by one, Clara started naming things they could all do to raise money…” Betty, you love to bake, so we can have a bake sale. Cynthia, you are constantly making hats, gloves, and blankets. We can sell those as well. The rest of us will go door-to-door to collect donations and items we can sell, and we will hold a city-wide auction. Soon, all the women were excited to help, and Clara felt a newfound sense of purpose and belonging.

The following evening, in Jonas’s workshop, she watched him carve another ornament — a simple cross, its lines clean but unpainted. The shelves were filled with dozens of his creations, each one beautiful in its own way, though muted without color. Clara’s eyes lit with sudden inspiration. “Jonas,” she said, stepping closer, “what if we put ornaments in the auction? People would pay for them, not just because they are beautiful, but because they carry meaning. Hope, peace, joy… all the things this town needs right now.” Jonas froze, his knife hovering above the wood. “Auction them?” His voice was sharp, almost defensive. “They are not meant for profit. They are devotionals, not merchandise.” Clara met his gaze steadily. “But is not sharing them part of their purpose? I see people every day, trying to cling to symbols of hope. Your ornaments could do that for the whole town. And if the money helps save the fair, then they would be serving faith and community.” Jonas’s jaw tightened. The idea unsettled him. He had always guarded his work, keeping it plain, private, untouched by commerce. Seeing them sold at auction felt dangerously close to pride, or worse, greed. Yet Clara’s words stirred something deeper. The possibility that his craft could be more than wood and prayer; it could be a lifeline. But for whom? “I don’t know,” he muttered, setting the carving aside. “Selling them just feels… wrong.” Clara softened her tone. “It feels wrong because it is different. But sometimes doesn’t God ask us to use what we have in ways we never would have or could have imagined? Your hands carve hope, Jonas. Let them carve a future for this town, too.”

The silence stretched, heavy with his hesitation. Jonas turned the unfinished cross in his hands, the plain wood catching the firelight. He was not ready to agree, but he could not dismiss her passion either. For the first time, he wondered if her vision might be the color his work had always lacked. Finally, Jonas set the unfinished cross down and rubbed his hands over his face. “Alright,” he said slowly, his voice rough with reluctance. “I will carve them. I will carve a set of ornaments for the auction.” Clara’s breath caught, joy flickering in her chest. “Jonas, that’s wonderful!” He raised a hand, stopping her. “But there is a condition. If they are going to auction, if they are going to be seen by everyone… then you will paint them, not me. I will not risk the colors being wrong. Since this is your idea, it will carry your touch.” Clara blinked, stunned. For weeks, she had longed to bring color to his work, only to have him shut her out. Now, he was opening the door; reluctantly, cautiously, but opening it, nonetheless. Her lips curved into a smile. “I’d be honored.” Jonas nodded, though his jaw remained tight. "I agreed because the fair matters to this town, and… you are right, these ornaments are meant to carry more than wood.” Clara’s eyes softened. “They will carry hope, Jonas, and together we will make sure they shine.” Jonas turned back to his bench, picking up the carving knife once more. The wood yielded beneath his hands, but for the first time, he felt as though something else was yielding too… his guarded heart, and his fear of truly living. Although he would not admit it yet, Clara’s colors were already beginning to brighten his world.

Word of Clara’s efforts to save the fair spread like wildfire. Families donated goods, shopkeepers donated baskets, and children helped with decorations, and the auction swelled into a movement of hope.

As Jonas and Clara walked through town to collect donations, lanterns flickered in the wind. Clara looked at Jonas, her voice soft. “The town’s waking up,” she observed. “Because of you,” he said. “Because of us,” she countered. For the first time in 2 months since she met him, Clara saw Jonas’s smile. What a lovely, warm smile, she thought. But then she gathered her thoughts and reminded herself that she was still a married woman and not free to have such thoughts.

PART THREE

To help paint ornaments for the auction, Clara introduced Jonas to the women at the shelter, and as they painted ornaments together, laughter filled the room. Jonas’s carvings became canvases for their courage, and for the first time in years, Jonas felt part of something larger than himself. Clara’s vision was transforming not just his work, but the entire town.

Despite Clara’s friendships and her determination to see the fair happen, whispers continued to spread in Pittsburgh. “She’s from Houston,” someone muttered. “Running from something.” Someone replied. “She is still a married woman.” Said yet another. Jonas overheard the talk in the square and doubt crept in. Was Clara running from something? Was she using his work for her own gain? What was she hiding? He wrestled with suspicion, even as her kindness had begun to soften him.

Morning brought an envelope addressed to Clara from a lawyer in Houston, a divorce lawyer. Clara’s stomach knotted up, and her hand shook as she opened it. Her heart sank as she read the words of her lawyer.

Her husband was petitioning the courts to make her return to him; her unfinished past was intruding on her newfound start. Clara sank to the floor with a surge of fear. Everything she thought she had left behind was threatening to rob her of the joy she had started to feel. Like a jumbled puzzle, the words whirled in her head… ornaments, auction, Jonas, divorce, they all teetered as shadows of a past she would rather forget loomed in front of her.

Shadows clawed at Clara’s fragile peace. She did not want to tell Jonas, not yet. She feared his judgment. If he knew the whole, shattering truth, would he still look at her the same? As she descended to the workshop, forcing normalcy, she smiled. Sitting amid paints and shavings, Jonas glanced up. "Everything alright?" "Fine," she lied, her voice tight, her smile forced. Inside, the letter weighed on her heart like stone.

As she felt her faith faltering, she cried out, "Lord, ARE YOU REAL? God, ARE YOU REAL? If you are real and hear me, give me strength. Let Jonas see the truth, not what he will hear."

Pushing aside the knots forming in her stomach, she asked, “What are we making today?” Jonas held up a half-carved dove. “I thought I would finish this one.” A dove, the symbol of peace. Was this a sign that everything would be alright? Could this little half-carved bird be the symbol of her own peace, or was she going to shatter his? Clara wondered what the future held and where she would go from here. Little did she know that the worst was not over. This was only the beginning of the trials she would have to face. Her faith would soon be tested in ways she could not imagine, leading to choices she would not want to make.

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