Promises Kept
Chapter 2 — The Grandfather Gospels
Scripture: Isaiah 9:6; Luke 2:10–11
Winter had settled deeper now. The kitchen windows were rimmed with frost, and the morning light came slowly, pale and quiet, as though it didn’t want to disturb anyone. The stove hummed low. A kettle steamed. On the counter, a loaf of fresh bread rested beneath a folded cloth, the smell of it already warming the room.
Bethany moved easily between stove and table, the way only a grandmother does—without hurry, without noise, as though the room itself trusted her. She sliced the bread thick, set out butter still cool from the pantry, and placed everything within reach.
Maya sat at the table first, her hands folded, watching. She always noticed things before she spoke, as if she wanted to understand the whole room before choosing her words. Lydia stayed close to the window. She was younger than Maya, smaller, and rarely still for long. She traced the frost with one finger, then wiped a small, clear circle in the glass and peered through it, her breath fogging the pane, as if she expected the morning to answer back.
They were cousins, but mornings like this made them feel like sisters—drawn together not because they were told to be, but because this was where they belonged.
Their grandfather, Elias Gray Hawk, stood just inside the doorway, watching them for a moment before anyone noticed he was there. He always waited.
When he stepped fully into the room, the girls looked up at once. They knew that pause. They had learned it from him.
“Cold mornings make you hungry,” Bethany said gently “More than you expect.”
Lydia nodded, already reaching for a slice. “Because you’ve been waiting all night,” she said, pleased with her thought.
Elias smiled. “Yes,” he said. “And some kinds of waiting make you hungry in ways food can’t fix.”
Maya tilted her head. “Like when you’re waiting for something God promised?”
“Yes,” Elias said. “Like that.”
Bethany took her seat then, spreading butter slowly, listening.
“For a long time,” Elias continued, resting his hand on the counter, “God’s people were waiting. Not for comfort. Not for ease. But for a promise spoken long before anyone could see how it would be kept.”
The room grew still—not silent, but attentive.
Elias reached for the Bible on the counter, but didn’t open it yet. “Hundreds of years before Jesus was born,” he said, “God spoke words meant to carry hope through generations.”
He opened the book carefully and read, “For to us a child is born, to us a son is given…”
Lydia stopped chewing and looked up quickly. “That’s Jesus,” she said—not asking, just knowing.
Elias nodded. “Yes,” he said. “That was Him. Promised long before anyone could see His face.”
Lydia glanced at Maya. “So they were waiting for Him.”
“They were,” Bethany said softly.
Elias let the page rest open for a moment, then turned it. “And when the time was right,” he said, “God kept His word.”
He read again, “Do not be afraid. I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all the people. Today, in the town of David, a Savior has been born to you.” Luke 2:10-11
No one spoke right away.
Bethany reached for the bread and pressed butter into a warm slice. “Bread takes time,” she said quietly. “So do promises. But when they’re ready, they nourish more than just the moment.”
Elias smiled. “God doesn’t rush what He means to keep.”
Lydia took a bite and smiled to herself. “I like promises that turn into people,” she said.
Bethany laughed softly. “So does God.”
No one hurried after that. The girls ate. The kettle softened its song. Light shifted across the table, catching crumbs and hands and steam rising into the cold air. Outside, the frost began to thin along the glass.
Some promises are spoken once and forgotten. But God’s promises are different. They are given with care, waited for with patience, and fulfilled fully. And when they arrive, they do not shout. They feed.
This has been Promises Kept, from The Grandfather Gospel Series by The Cardinal and the Dove.
