“You’ll Never Walk Alone”
Listen to “The Proposal”
The glittering gifts around the tree, the smell of pine and holly and persimmon cookies, the Christmas records on the hi-fi, and the pitter-patter of gentle rain all added to the cozy togetherness as Bob and Sandra and Julie and Allen basked in the warmth of the cheery fireplace. Kenny had gone to bed and Peter was reading to him, and the grownups were in the kitchen making popcorn. Snuggled up close to Bob, Sandra could see Allen and Julie, lively but serious, young and foolish and sentimental, yet sincerely Christian. But now Sandra gave her full attention to Bob.
“I love you so much, babe doll,” he was whispering, not loud enough for anyone else, except for Allen and Julie—if they had been listening—to hear. “Princess,” he murmured, “won’t it be wonderful when we get married! Just like Don and Betty…” He went on, but the words “when we get married” rang through Sandra’s mind. To be a minister’s wife—that was her dream! Bob was a junior in college now; only three short years more. And it could be less, since the denomination needed young ministers so much. He would make a good pastor, one of the best, there was no doubt about it. Sandra recalled those summer nights she had spent with Bob in her family’s garage, studying the Bible and prophecy. He had explained everything so clearly, yet with tact and love.
But to be a “Mrs.” so soon, or even engaged! Even now Bob was saying, “It’s Christmas, honey, and remember our promise.” Sandra remembered. On the day Bob left for college they had agreed that if they still felt the same way about each other, and especially if they had dated others—which they both had done—well, what was left but engagement?
Now Sandra and Bob sat in silence, but she could feel his searching eyes wanting to look deep into her heart. He loved her—she knew that—but why must she answer now? If Daddy ever knew, he would kill her!
“Tomorrow, Princess,” Bob whispered in a way that almost melted her—but not quite. Then Bob called to Allen, “Hey, fellow, it’s getting late. I guess we’d better take our girls home soon.”
And so, after the boys each placed his gift, with instructions to not open until Christmas morning, into the respective hands of the delighted girls, they escorted them home in the usual manner. But Sandra could not quickly fall asleep.
Surely God meant for them to be together. No one else in either his or her life had supplied such a feeling of completeness. No other boy had made Christ seem so real and personal to her, had given her incentive to study her often dust-covered Bible, and had generated the deepening desire to be a minister’s—an evangelist’s—wife. No other girl had been quite like Sandra to Bob, had inspired him to go back to college, or had been such a cheerful, sympathetic, and loving source of inspiration. Yes, miracles had happened and were happening.
The thought of marrying Bob was wonderful, but that would be a long time away. But being engaged! And tomorrow! She knew Bob would not force an answer, but the anxiousness in his eyes, the half-hidden hurt in his voice would be even worse….
Christmas morning dawned, typically southern Californian, clear and sunny. But even with Sandra’s sunny spirit, Christmas could not be quite the same at the Lee household. With Dorothy Lee in a coma, the silent walls and the strange emptiness of the lonely house were almost unbearable. Yet, they had put the cheery Christmas tree up as usual by the window in the living room. Now Sandra and Harry would spend Christmas day at Macintoshes.
With the kindness of Pastor Macintosh, Mr. Lee had accepted calmly the saddening experience concerning the one he loved so dearly. She had been a wonderful wife and mother. Eighteen-year-old Sandra was the living proof of that. Harry, like Sandra, now had the calm assurance of being reunited—someday….
Julie’s cousin Sue came to spend the rest of the vacation week, so Sue and Julie, Allen, Peter, Sandra, and Bob spent most of the afternoon at Macintoshes’ playing with Peter’s new game, helping with Christmas dinner, listening to Bob play his guitar, or just talking around the fireplace. They had exchanged presents in love—a homemade shirt, a vest, stuffed animals, lovely black gloves and purse.
Later that evening Sandra found herself in an overstuffed chair with Bob on his knees by the chair and Sandra’s hand in his own—a pretty eighteenth-century picture of a perfect proposal!
“Sandra,” he said, “we’ve known each other quite a while now. And don’t you think it’s about time—”
“Time?” she said with a mischievous sparkle. “Oh, I believe the time is 9:43.”
“Well, uh, what I mean is, uh…”
“Oh, I agree, definitely.”
“Uh, look, honey, we love each other…don’t we?”
Sandra’s mock seriousness changed to the old familiar smile as she nodded, then quickly changed back again with a nonchalant, “Of course.”
“Well, what I’m trying to say is…”
“Oh, are you trying to say something?”
“Sandra,”—dramatic silence— “will you marry me?”
Sandra, trying harder than ever to keep a straight face, held out a dangling hand on a stiffened outstretched arm. “Kiss me.”
With graceful elegance, he pressed his lips against her hand. “Sandra Anne Lee, my dear”—with more and more drama— “will you?”
She looked blankly at him for a moment and then at her audience. “Well, folks, stay tuned again next year, same time, same station.”
The other kids could hold back the laughter no longer. It was all so ridiculously funny. To everyone, including Bob and Sandra, it was a great show. But down deep inside, Sandra knew that Bob really meant what he said, every syllable.
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