December 22nd-Recommended Music: I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day-Casting Crowns

Bucky had slept well the night before. It was the first time he'd slept in a real bed since before he'd joined the army. It had felt luxurious and he was very grateful for it. He'd had another hot breakfast and now he was standing on a ladder on the back porch, working on the light bulb that had burned out a couple weeks ago. The nuns who lived at the church were all too frail to climb a ladder and he was glad to be of use to somebody in a non-murdering capacity.

So far, nobody had asked too much about his past and they mercifully ignored his arm, though he had no doubt of their curiosity, for he'd caught several of them staring at it. They were a nice, kind group of women, however, and mostly left him to himself.

As the day went on, Bucky followed in Sister Mary Helen's wake, assisting her wherever she pointed out something that needed to be done. They talked and got to know one another better as well. He was grateful to have a place to stay, for whenever he looked out a window, he saw the snow continuing to fall and the wind blowing it around.

After a filling lunch of tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches, he sat down in a church pew with Sister Mary Helen and talked to her. He told her about the war. "I went to Europe and shot other guys before they could shoot me…That's war, I suppose…"

He discussed what he and Steve had done with the other Howling Commandoes. "You should have seen Steve in his Captain America get-up. You've seen him now, so you know how big he is. Imagine him going toe to toe with a handful of Nazis. He could take his shield, lob it at them and take them all out in one shot. I, on the other hand, stuck with my reliable rifle. It got me almost all the way through the war…But then there was the train I fell out of…And everything changed after that."

He told her about Zola's experimentation, or what he could remember of it. "The metal arm…it hurts, a lot. It hurt when they put it on me, and it has hurt ever since. It's what I remember the most about that time."

He hesitated before finally confessing his sins as the Winter Soldier. "Over the years, I have done so many things…Maybe it's finally time to tell somebody. Church is where you come clean, right?" It took nearly an hour for Bucky to recall all that he had done over the decades. At times his voice would grow tight and tears would prick his eyes. At others, he would stop speaking entirely until he could compose himself again. All through it, Sister Mary Helen held his good hand and looked at him with compassion.

"I just don't know how to live with what I've done," he concluded in a small voice. He frowned and looked down at his lap, unable to look her in the eye.

Sister Mary Helen nodded her head. "I can understand that," she replied. "But you must remember that it wasn't really you doing any of that. Somebody else was controlling you. Would you ever do those things otherwise?" Bucky shook his head. "Then you have nothing to fret about. If it is God's forgiveness you are seeking, you need look no further. God knows what is in your heart and mind. There is nothing for Him to forgive. That guilt lies with those who used you for their own terrible purposes."

Bucky sighed and looked up at the crucifix above the altar. The statue of Jesus stared down at him with unseeing eyes. Arms outstretched, hands nailed to the cross, another nail through the feet. There was not a look of pain on the statue' face, but one of anguish, a great, terrible sadness. Blood from the thorn crown adoring the statue's head dripped down the carved face. The blood that was shed, supposedly saved the world—Bucky included, but he just couldn't imagine being forgiven for what he had done, even if he'd been in another's control. With a sigh, he tore his gaze away from the crucifix and closed his eyes. "I don't know what I'm looking for," he finally replied earnestly.

Sister Mary Helen squeezed his hand once again. "And that is just fine too," she said.

They sat, hand-in-hand, silently for the rest of the afternoon in the pew, each thinking their own thoughts.