Hi my POstable friends, It has been quite a while since I have written. I hope you enjoy this short reflection. It is a little piece that ruminates on the ending of A Hope and A Future and provides a little bridge to the McInerney mindset in For Christmas. I own none of these characters. The story is based on the beautiful gift of SSD created and developed by Martha Williamson.

Rain

Shane McInerny stood frozen in the rain as Oliver O'Toole turned and walked away with his shoulders drooped. He was going toward the parking lot, not her. He had done that thing which scared him the most and suddenly it was she who was fearful. Just as the letter dropped into that mail receptacle was now legally out of her reach, so too Oliver seemed to be beyond her grasp.

How did it come to this? One minute you are entertaining Norman's grandmother at the Mailbox Grille and the next thing you know you are in a hospital lobby in a conversation that is both confrontational and confessional.

The day wasn't supposed to be like this. Yet it was. The hours had propelled them to this moment like a hard-falling rain flowing to streams which flow to rivers which flow to the sea. The momentum was unstoppable. They were caught in a moving current that was sweeping them somewhere whether they liked it or not.

Hours earlier Shane had been comfortable enough to fall asleep with her head on his shoulder. It wasn't intentional. She just drifted to sleep. It was one of those times when waiting and hoping unite friends more deeply than previously realized. Then good news comes. They move to that vulnerable point of relief when not only has the storm passed but also a rainbow has appeared. At the end of this delivery lies reunification of two families. A mother and twin brother, a grandmother and a grandson - seemingly unrelated stories merge and the outcome is divine.

All is well. Like two clouds floating against a blue sky the observers slip into conversation and smile at the tender shoot of love spouting in front of them. He smiles at her that beautiful smile and they are at peace with each other. It is all so easy. Until it isn't.

One statement, one innocent yet careless statement was all it took for the rumbling of the next storm to begin. "But we can't all be poets. Now can we?"

The smile she so enjoys reflecting is replaced with defensive fear and anxious question.

Had her insatiable curiosity invaded his personal life once again? Had she read his most personal thoughts? All he wants is her denial. Just say no. But like a cloud burst she just can't stop.

If her interest in him, her affection for him, her longing for him had ever been in question, surely her misty eyes and confession of regret for ever looking up his wife's address betrayed her heart.

Honesty and regret and vulnerability pour forth and he finds it hard to watch. He is uncomfortable. He has trouble looking at her. He has trouble not looking at her. Stop. What if her honesty washes away his own façade? What would be lying beneath? Stop. Please stop.

But she does not stop - like rain that just won't quit. "Then what are you afraid of?" The thunder and lightning suddenly cease but the rain continues.

The night ends. He vanishes. He was just there and now he is gone. She too will leave. Down the hall, down the elevator, across the tile floor, out the automatic door she goes. Her heart continues to beat a little too hard, her thoughts continuing to be a little cloudy. It is still raining. She opens her umbrella and prepares mentally to make a dash for her car. But she is stopped.

Standing frozen in the rain, water splattering so hard it soaks the hem of her pants, Shane McInerney cannot move.

There he is. All his well-dressed confidence is washed away and nothing is left to hide his struggle, his hesitation. He has already stood there long enough to be soaking wet when he finally drops his greatest fear into a mailbox. Her eyes well with her own fear and longing – longing to comfort him. Yet she does not go to him nor does he bid her come. He does not mail the letter and run to her. He does not take her hands and mutter, "I told Holly it was over." No. He mails the letter, looks at her with a mixture of hurt and fear and regret and finality, and just slowly walks away.

So now what? A part of her wants to say, rain be damned, umbrella be damned, and scream his name into the night – calling for him, pursuing him across the rain-drenched parking lot. But she knows better. She knows that isn't what he wants. His words ring in her ear, "I believe in keeping promises."

Her eyes are fixed on him as he makes his way to his car; and just when she loses sight of him in the darkness and the distance of a hospital parking lot - the rain stops. She is left only with the sounds of cold wind biting her face and water dripping from steel buildings. She closes her umbrella and walks to her car. She thinks the storm has passed. Except as she drives, his wrecked appearance as he stood drenched beside a mailbox won't leave her mind. Before she knows it, she has need of windshield wipers. The deluge returns.

The unrelenting rain makes the late fall night seem all the colder. It is the kind of night in which you exit your car and run for your house. Driving you long for that place that is warm and smells of freshly baked bread. It's the house where the lights are on inside and someone is waiting for you. But for neither Shane nor Oliver, there is such a place – at least not tonight. The lights will not be on. No one is waiting.

Shane bolts up the steps of her house. She folds her umbrella, shakes off the excess water, and leaves it on her barren porch. Inside she changes into a well-worn robe and warms milk for a cup of decadent hot cocoa. It is time for chocolate – seriously hot chocolate. She can't stop thinking of him. Monday could be awkward but she will pretend nothing happened and he will be courteous and life will go on in the dead letter office. And in seven to fourteen days a letter will arrive in Paris. And by Christmas it will be over – one way or the other. Yet something inside her cannot help but hope. Tonight, it is but a sliver of hope. It is a hope for a future – a future with him.

For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Jeremiah 29: 11