Short story
This is just a short story I wrote called "Give It A Chance". It is not connected to the novel at all, but I figured I would post it. I'll probably post others in the near future- short stories, that is. This one, and probably many of the ones to follow, were written my junior year of high school. Enjoy. (and just a note, this one is a little... I don't know. The ending is happy and not really any sort of resolution, at the same time...I hate the ending when I read it-- not because I don't like the idea, but because it seems too----- easy, I guess. But a large part of that is that it is a short story, so the characters get fairly developed and their problems are fleshed out and hopefully mostly resolved in a few pages. That's kinda the idea I guess...Oh and another warning, it is six pages, single-spaced on Word...)
___________________________________________________________________
I folded my arms across my chest, and put my head back against the seat. My earphones blared, drowning out the world around me. The overly perky flight attendant bounced my way. “Do you need anything sweetheart?” Her southern drawl was beginning to annoy me.
“No, thank you,” I said politely, hoping my fake smile would make her leave me alone. Instead, she sat down in the vacant seat next to me.
“Will this be your first time in the States?” She was trying to make me feel comfortable, but I just wanted her to leave me alone. In fact, I wanted everyone to leave me alone.
“No,” I said quietly, “My mom and dad and I moved to Germany when I was two. We’ve lived there ever since. But occasionally we did vacation in California or New York.” I kept my voice monotone, trying not to convey any noticeable intonation that this subject often brought me to tears.
She must have realized it was a sensitive subject because she patted my shoulder, smiled her plastic smile, and skipped away. Her bleached-blonde ponytail swung happily behind her. The plane was crowded and I was tired. Too many people were talking. Too many people were shifting in their seats.
I missed home. Germany was home, not the United States. My dad was in the army and was stationed in Germany. We’d lived there for the past thirteen years. I had grown up going to German schools, speaking German outside of my house, and doing everything the German way.
And I was supposed to continue doing the German-thing forever. In fact, when I turned eighteen in three years, I was going to apply for German citizenship and spend the rest of my life in Germany. My dad would retire from the military and he and my mother would live happily in a small cottage in the German hillsides, while I would marry and live with my husband and children in a German city. At least, that was the plan. Plans are only the dreams we eat from day to day, not something that can fulfill us or sustain us for a lifetime. My plans lasted only until my mother was killed in a motorbike accident. She had gone out to the store to get milk. We were out of it. She was crossing the street when a motorbike took a sharp turn, going way too fast, and slammed into her. She was thrown twelve yards down the road where she landed and died on impact.
It didn’t take two months for my father to realize that he couldn’t hold down a job, raise a child, put meals on the table and clean the house. So he called my sister, Chase.
My parents had always told me growing up that my sister was a real good kid when she was little. She was fifteen years older than I was, and when we moved to Germany, she started her freshman year of college at the University of Virginia. My parents said that when she went off to college, she “found Jesus,” and turned her back on our atheist ways. Chase stopped writing letters to my parents when they criticized her church-going, God-loving ways. But she never stopped writing to me. She would always write and tell me that Jesus loved me, or she would quote some Bible verse and then dissect it for me. I resented the way she made Mom and Dad feel, but I really didn’t know her. She never came to visit. Other than the letters and a small crumpled picture I had of her in my desk in our house in Germany, I only ever got one Christmas present from her. Usually it was a designer jacket or a pair of stylish American jeans. I hadn’t even heard her voice since I was two, when we moved to Germany. I didn’t want to give Chase a chance to be a part of my life after what she did to my parents. And I certainly didn’t plan on giving America a chance. But it wasn’t like I had much of a choice.
So here I was, on a plane, leaving the only country I had ever called home, to go live with my sister who had “found Jesus” in another country, where I was sure I wouldn’t fit in. And to be sure, I didn’t want anything to do with her religious journey.
The flight attendant was coming my way again, this time bearing drinks. “Want some Coke?” She offered.
I nodded and thanked her as I took the cup. “It’ll be a while longer,” she told me. “You sure you don’t want a pillow or something?”
“Actually,” I said, hoping this would get her off my back, “A pillow would be really nice.”
“Great,” she said, pleased she could serve someone. “I’ll be right back.” And with that, she turned and pranced away.
I rolled my eyes, hoping that all Americans weren’t this perky and outgoing. When she returned with the pillow, I thanked her, “Danker.” She smiled quizzically, and I blushed at my habit of using German. “It’s German for thank you,” I told her. She nodded and smiled broader.
I settled my head against the pillow and allowed the dull roar of the engine to lull me to sleep. In five hours I would begin my new life, but I didn’t want to give this new life a chance.
I awoke to the jolt of the wheels as they were released from their compartments beneath the plane. I had been dreaming of my mother, of the days when I was four and she and I would spend the entire day together. Swallowing hard, and forcing back the tears, I gathered my personal CD-player and my book and placed them in my carry-on bag. The plane hit the runway full force, and the breaks squealed as we pulled into the terminal.
The crackly voice of the captain came over the intercom, “Ladies and gentlemen, let my staff and me be the first to welcome you to America. Local time is four o’clock in the afternoon. Current weather conditions are partly cloudy with a fifty-percent chance of rain. If you were vacationing away from America, welcome home. If this is a vacation for you, enjoy your stay. It has been a pleasure to be your captain on this flight. And we hope that in the future you will choose International Airways for all your flying needs.” It took me a minute to register the unfamiliar English that I had used only when I was at home with my parents.
Taking my time, I put on my coat and picked up my bag. I was in no rush to meet this sister of mine who had abandoned our family for God. I sauntered slowly down the aisles and into the tunnel that led to the terminal.
As I slowly approached the bright lights of the building, I became aware that I hadn’t seen a recent picture of my sister in years. The one I had was of her at fifteen, when I was born. Any one of the thirty people staring at me could easily be my sister.
But suddenly, I saw her. There was no doubt. And tears sprang to my eyes. Chase looked exactly like my mother. She approached me cautiously and I her. It was as though we were both animals in a cage, being checked up and down before moving cautiously closer. She opened her arms and my body’s decision to fall into her embrace shocked me, but all the shock and anger and longing I had felt for the past thirteen years melted instantly. I had my doubts, to be sure, but it felt like my mom was here with me once again. She let go and held me at arms length, looking me up and down, smiling. I looked into her eyes, the green ones mom had, but that I was not fortunate enough to have inherited. Her strait, layered brown hair that mirrored the hair in the photos I had seen of mom when she was in her twenties.
She took my bag with her right hand, and placed her left arm around my shoulder. Walking together, as though we had known each other for years, we headed into our new lives together.
My dad was shipping my belongings the next week, so my sister immediately announced that we were going shopping. “The mall,” she told me. “You guys have those in Germany, right?”
The utter stupidity of the question made me laugh out loud. “Of course. German teenagers are just like American teenagers,” I told her with confidence as I settled into the passenger seat of her red Honda. Too bad I couldn't detect saracasm yet...Then I added, quietly, “At least I hope they are.” Suddenly the realization that I was beginning a new life hit me. I wouldn’t have my parents; I would be living with my sister, who was in all respects a stranger to me; I would start an English-speaking school where I knew no one.
“I’m sure they are,” my sister said, reassuringly. She turned on her blinker, and headed out of the airport parking lot. “We’re gonna try the Old Post Office Pavilion, first,” she told me. I shrugged. It wasn’t as though I had any better suggestions. “What kinds of food do you like to eat? Pizza? Italian? Chinese?” I shrugged again; I was too busy watching out my window to care. I had heard about these places and read about them in books we had at our house—the Washington Monument, the Capitol Building—but they weren’t nearly as incredible in text as they were in person. I must have been gaping, because suddenly, my sister shook me from my thoughts. “Rachel? Are you hearing anything I’m saying?”
“Oh, uh, sorry,” I stuttered. “I was just looking at all those statues. They’re a lot cooler in real life than in the books.”
She smiled. That’s a good sign, I thought. “Yeah, I forget sometimes that not everyone has lived here as long as I have. You were born here, you know.”
I shook my head. “I don’t remember anything before Germany. Did I live here until we moved there?”
She nodded. “The year you guys left, I went off to college at the University of Virginia, and I missed being in D.C. so much. As soon as I finished school, I found a job and moved back into the city.”
I realized that we were slowing and preparing to park. I looked around and realized that all I saw were condos and apartments. I didn’t see a mall. “Wh-where are we?” I asked her, bewildered.
“We’re at my, I mean, our house. I’ll make us soup and sandwiches since it’s so cold, and then we’ll head out to the mall on foot. Traffic’s too congested to try to drive there ourselves. Okay?” I didn’t want to give the cramped apartment a chance. I was used to our beautiful 3-bedroom cottage in the German countryside. I didn’t want to give the city a chance to grow on me, but I realized it already was.
“Okay,” I said. She hit the power lock button and our doors unlocked instantly. She grabbed my single piece of luggage and we headed inside. She opened the door, took off her shoes and walked inside. I followed suit, glad to be out of the frigid weather.
She must have read my thoughts. “I promise, D.C. isn’t always this cold and soggy,” she smiled.
“I don’t mind,” I lied. I missed the rolling hills of Germany, with the lush grass and healthy trees that covered them. I missed the quaint villages and small, cozy shops that lined the cobblestone roads in the country. D.C. wasn’t exactly my definition of quaint. But it would have to do.
Chase and I spent the next days getting new clothes for me. By Sunday, I was decked out in all the latest fall fashions—skirts, sweaters, jeans that flared at the bottom. She woke me up early Sunday morning, when the sun had just begun to peek out from behind the horizon. Groggily, I rubbed my eyes.
“What?” I groaned.
“It’s time to get up, Rachel.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked her. “It’s only seven thirty.”
“I know. But by the time you’re ready to go, it’ll be close to nine. We have to be at church by nine thirty.”
What!?! No way was I going to any church. I didn’t believe in God. Any decent, loving God wouldn’t let my mother die. End of discussion. I wasn’t going. I wasn’t going to give church a chance.
“C’mon!” She said too cheerily, just like the flight attendant on the plane from Germany. She threw the covers back so that I shivered helplessly on top of the sheets. Then my sister went crazy on me. She started prancing around my room clapping her hands and singing, “Rise and shine and give God your glory, glory. Rise and shine and give God your glory, glory. RISE AND SHINE AND,” then she clapped really hard, “GIVE GOD YOUR GLORY, children of the Lord.” I moaned, but knowing I had no other choice, I rolled out of bed.
Chase was right, amazingly. By the time I had eaten breakfast, showered, and put on my new plaid miniskirt and my cream-colored sweater, it was past time for us to be leaving. She herded me into the taxi, under the comfort of her massive grey umbrella. Would it rain forever in D.C.?
We walked into the warm church building, and were greeted by people who knew my sister by name. “Good morning, Chase,” they said, one after the other. “And who is this lovely young lady?”
“This is my sister Rachel,” Chase said politely. “She’s moved here from Germany.” They all ooed and ahhed at the fact that I had lived abroad. But I didn’t want to talk about Germany, because Germany meant memories and memories meant Mom. And I didn’t want to think about Mom.
Seeing that this entire situation was more than a little uncomfortable for me, Chase ushered me to a seat on the left-hand side of the auditorium. This wasn’t your classic, run-of-the-mill church. There were no pews, only chairs in rows of about twenty. Instead of hymnals, there were two giant projection screens where the words were put up by PowerPoint programs. The pulpit was more of a modern stage with bright lights and risers for the choir. When we sang, we didn’t sing slow, boring hymns, but instead we sang contemporary music, and there wasn’t an organ to accompany us. Our music came from a piano, a guitar and an electric guitar, as well as some African-looking drums. And the preacher! He kept comparing situations in the Bible to college basketball or politics.
When the service was over, I realized that I had actually enjoyed it and was intrigued by it all. I quickly shoved those thoughts from my head. I could never like church because Mom didn’t and I wouldn’t displease her, ever.
On the ride back to Chase’s apartment, in the taxi, she asked me about church. “It was really modern,” was all I would tell her. Chase sat back and left me alone.
When we got back, Chase fixed homemade chili for lunch, and I changed out of my church clothes and into jeans. “I am going to a congregational meeting at the church tonight,” Chase told me over lunch.
“Okay, well I’ll just stay here, then.”
“Actually,” Chase said, and paused. “I was hoping you would consider going to the youth program tonight at the church.”
“The youth program? As in, more God stuff?”
“Yeah,” she said, as though I hadn’t blurted out the ‘God stuff’ comment. “It’ll be a good way to make friends.”
“Um, Chase, in case you haven’t noticed, I don’t like God. I haven’t ever and I won’t ever. So you can stop trying to convert me.”
“Rachel, I’m not trying to convert you. I found so much happiness and peace when I gave my life to Christ. I just wanted you to experience that too. It has helped me through a lot of hard times in the past, and it helped me get through Mom’s death too.”
“What are you talking about? Mom hated God. And she was mad at you for loving God. I might have given Him a chance before Mom died, but not now. If God is as good as your church says He is, why did He let Mom die? Answer that.”
“Rachel, I don’t have answers for why God does the things He does. I know losing our mom hurts you; it hurts me too. It doesn’t seem fair. But Rachel, you have to move on and let the happiness back into your life. Shutting me, God, and everyone out isn’t what she would want you to do.” I swallowed, willing the tears to stay encapsulated in my eyes, not to show themselves in front of my sister.
“I know,” I said softly. “It’s just that all my life I was happy and care-free. I was okay without God in my life. I had two wonderful parents, a great house, friends, everything I could possibly need. And then one night, my life fell apart. Mom was killed and then I lost Dad too. And suddenly, I’ve switched not only homes and schools, but entire countries. I don’t have any friends. It’s hard to believe that there’s someone up there who is in control of it all. It’s hard to imagine that there’s a master plan, greater than you and I can imagine. It’s even harder to imagine that part of the master plan would be so painful and so scary.” The tears were flowing now and I didn’t bother to wipe them away.
“I know, Rachel. It feels like the world came crashing down. But if you love God and give your life to Him, it doesn’t mean that you ever have to stop loving Mom and Dad or turn your back on them.” I looked at my sister for a long time, studying her face. All the pictures I had ever seen of her from her childhood were of a little girl who looked empty. Did I look that way too?
“Rachel,” she started again. “I know how you feel, because I was there too. You feel that void inside your heart. Mine came when Mom and Dad stopped speaking to me; yours is there because you lost two very important people in your life. I can’t bring Mom back and I can’t replace her, but you and I, we can start over again together.” I continued to stare at her. I wanted so much to buy whatever she was selling to me right then, because it sounded so good. But I had my doubts. “Rachel, God’s got big plans for you. These are the bumps in the road when your legs get a little wobbly, and you need to hold His hand.”
I was sobbing now. I was crying for Mom; I was crying for Dad; I was crying for me, because I was scared. “It’s okay, Rachel. I’m not going to give up on you, and I know God won’t either. The world is really scary and it’s full of sorrow and pain, but there’s something greater waiting for you on the other side, a place where there’s no more pain, where the sun is always shining.” Not like D.C., I thought.
“Chase, I can’t.”
“Why? People will always let you down because they’re not perfect, but God, He’s forever and ever. And He’s not going to decide one day that He doesn’t want you anymore and send you away. You just gotta give it a chance. Please.” I wiped the tears off each cheek, and sniffed. I looked into my sister’s reassuring eyes.
I was still afraid. I was still unsure and sad, but I suddenly felt more hope than I had experienced since Mom died. I decided that I could give this new life a chance.
___________________________________________________________________
I folded my arms across my chest, and put my head back against the seat. My earphones blared, drowning out the world around me. The overly perky flight attendant bounced my way. “Do you need anything sweetheart?” Her southern drawl was beginning to annoy me.
“No, thank you,” I said politely, hoping my fake smile would make her leave me alone. Instead, she sat down in the vacant seat next to me.
“Will this be your first time in the States?” She was trying to make me feel comfortable, but I just wanted her to leave me alone. In fact, I wanted everyone to leave me alone.
“No,” I said quietly, “My mom and dad and I moved to Germany when I was two. We’ve lived there ever since. But occasionally we did vacation in California or New York.” I kept my voice monotone, trying not to convey any noticeable intonation that this subject often brought me to tears.
She must have realized it was a sensitive subject because she patted my shoulder, smiled her plastic smile, and skipped away. Her bleached-blonde ponytail swung happily behind her. The plane was crowded and I was tired. Too many people were talking. Too many people were shifting in their seats.
I missed home. Germany was home, not the United States. My dad was in the army and was stationed in Germany. We’d lived there for the past thirteen years. I had grown up going to German schools, speaking German outside of my house, and doing everything the German way.
And I was supposed to continue doing the German-thing forever. In fact, when I turned eighteen in three years, I was going to apply for German citizenship and spend the rest of my life in Germany. My dad would retire from the military and he and my mother would live happily in a small cottage in the German hillsides, while I would marry and live with my husband and children in a German city. At least, that was the plan. Plans are only the dreams we eat from day to day, not something that can fulfill us or sustain us for a lifetime. My plans lasted only until my mother was killed in a motorbike accident. She had gone out to the store to get milk. We were out of it. She was crossing the street when a motorbike took a sharp turn, going way too fast, and slammed into her. She was thrown twelve yards down the road where she landed and died on impact.
It didn’t take two months for my father to realize that he couldn’t hold down a job, raise a child, put meals on the table and clean the house. So he called my sister, Chase.
My parents had always told me growing up that my sister was a real good kid when she was little. She was fifteen years older than I was, and when we moved to Germany, she started her freshman year of college at the University of Virginia. My parents said that when she went off to college, she “found Jesus,” and turned her back on our atheist ways. Chase stopped writing letters to my parents when they criticized her church-going, God-loving ways. But she never stopped writing to me. She would always write and tell me that Jesus loved me, or she would quote some Bible verse and then dissect it for me. I resented the way she made Mom and Dad feel, but I really didn’t know her. She never came to visit. Other than the letters and a small crumpled picture I had of her in my desk in our house in Germany, I only ever got one Christmas present from her. Usually it was a designer jacket or a pair of stylish American jeans. I hadn’t even heard her voice since I was two, when we moved to Germany. I didn’t want to give Chase a chance to be a part of my life after what she did to my parents. And I certainly didn’t plan on giving America a chance. But it wasn’t like I had much of a choice.
So here I was, on a plane, leaving the only country I had ever called home, to go live with my sister who had “found Jesus” in another country, where I was sure I wouldn’t fit in. And to be sure, I didn’t want anything to do with her religious journey.
The flight attendant was coming my way again, this time bearing drinks. “Want some Coke?” She offered.
I nodded and thanked her as I took the cup. “It’ll be a while longer,” she told me. “You sure you don’t want a pillow or something?”
“Actually,” I said, hoping this would get her off my back, “A pillow would be really nice.”
“Great,” she said, pleased she could serve someone. “I’ll be right back.” And with that, she turned and pranced away.
I rolled my eyes, hoping that all Americans weren’t this perky and outgoing. When she returned with the pillow, I thanked her, “Danker.” She smiled quizzically, and I blushed at my habit of using German. “It’s German for thank you,” I told her. She nodded and smiled broader.
I settled my head against the pillow and allowed the dull roar of the engine to lull me to sleep. In five hours I would begin my new life, but I didn’t want to give this new life a chance.
I awoke to the jolt of the wheels as they were released from their compartments beneath the plane. I had been dreaming of my mother, of the days when I was four and she and I would spend the entire day together. Swallowing hard, and forcing back the tears, I gathered my personal CD-player and my book and placed them in my carry-on bag. The plane hit the runway full force, and the breaks squealed as we pulled into the terminal.
The crackly voice of the captain came over the intercom, “Ladies and gentlemen, let my staff and me be the first to welcome you to America. Local time is four o’clock in the afternoon. Current weather conditions are partly cloudy with a fifty-percent chance of rain. If you were vacationing away from America, welcome home. If this is a vacation for you, enjoy your stay. It has been a pleasure to be your captain on this flight. And we hope that in the future you will choose International Airways for all your flying needs.” It took me a minute to register the unfamiliar English that I had used only when I was at home with my parents.
Taking my time, I put on my coat and picked up my bag. I was in no rush to meet this sister of mine who had abandoned our family for God. I sauntered slowly down the aisles and into the tunnel that led to the terminal.
As I slowly approached the bright lights of the building, I became aware that I hadn’t seen a recent picture of my sister in years. The one I had was of her at fifteen, when I was born. Any one of the thirty people staring at me could easily be my sister.
But suddenly, I saw her. There was no doubt. And tears sprang to my eyes. Chase looked exactly like my mother. She approached me cautiously and I her. It was as though we were both animals in a cage, being checked up and down before moving cautiously closer. She opened her arms and my body’s decision to fall into her embrace shocked me, but all the shock and anger and longing I had felt for the past thirteen years melted instantly. I had my doubts, to be sure, but it felt like my mom was here with me once again. She let go and held me at arms length, looking me up and down, smiling. I looked into her eyes, the green ones mom had, but that I was not fortunate enough to have inherited. Her strait, layered brown hair that mirrored the hair in the photos I had seen of mom when she was in her twenties.
She took my bag with her right hand, and placed her left arm around my shoulder. Walking together, as though we had known each other for years, we headed into our new lives together.
My dad was shipping my belongings the next week, so my sister immediately announced that we were going shopping. “The mall,” she told me. “You guys have those in Germany, right?”
The utter stupidity of the question made me laugh out loud. “Of course. German teenagers are just like American teenagers,” I told her with confidence as I settled into the passenger seat of her red Honda. Too bad I couldn't detect saracasm yet...Then I added, quietly, “At least I hope they are.” Suddenly the realization that I was beginning a new life hit me. I wouldn’t have my parents; I would be living with my sister, who was in all respects a stranger to me; I would start an English-speaking school where I knew no one.
“I’m sure they are,” my sister said, reassuringly. She turned on her blinker, and headed out of the airport parking lot. “We’re gonna try the Old Post Office Pavilion, first,” she told me. I shrugged. It wasn’t as though I had any better suggestions. “What kinds of food do you like to eat? Pizza? Italian? Chinese?” I shrugged again; I was too busy watching out my window to care. I had heard about these places and read about them in books we had at our house—the Washington Monument, the Capitol Building—but they weren’t nearly as incredible in text as they were in person. I must have been gaping, because suddenly, my sister shook me from my thoughts. “Rachel? Are you hearing anything I’m saying?”
“Oh, uh, sorry,” I stuttered. “I was just looking at all those statues. They’re a lot cooler in real life than in the books.”
She smiled. That’s a good sign, I thought. “Yeah, I forget sometimes that not everyone has lived here as long as I have. You were born here, you know.”
I shook my head. “I don’t remember anything before Germany. Did I live here until we moved there?”
She nodded. “The year you guys left, I went off to college at the University of Virginia, and I missed being in D.C. so much. As soon as I finished school, I found a job and moved back into the city.”
I realized that we were slowing and preparing to park. I looked around and realized that all I saw were condos and apartments. I didn’t see a mall. “Wh-where are we?” I asked her, bewildered.
“We’re at my, I mean, our house. I’ll make us soup and sandwiches since it’s so cold, and then we’ll head out to the mall on foot. Traffic’s too congested to try to drive there ourselves. Okay?” I didn’t want to give the cramped apartment a chance. I was used to our beautiful 3-bedroom cottage in the German countryside. I didn’t want to give the city a chance to grow on me, but I realized it already was.
“Okay,” I said. She hit the power lock button and our doors unlocked instantly. She grabbed my single piece of luggage and we headed inside. She opened the door, took off her shoes and walked inside. I followed suit, glad to be out of the frigid weather.
She must have read my thoughts. “I promise, D.C. isn’t always this cold and soggy,” she smiled.
“I don’t mind,” I lied. I missed the rolling hills of Germany, with the lush grass and healthy trees that covered them. I missed the quaint villages and small, cozy shops that lined the cobblestone roads in the country. D.C. wasn’t exactly my definition of quaint. But it would have to do.
Chase and I spent the next days getting new clothes for me. By Sunday, I was decked out in all the latest fall fashions—skirts, sweaters, jeans that flared at the bottom. She woke me up early Sunday morning, when the sun had just begun to peek out from behind the horizon. Groggily, I rubbed my eyes.
“What?” I groaned.
“It’s time to get up, Rachel.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked her. “It’s only seven thirty.”
“I know. But by the time you’re ready to go, it’ll be close to nine. We have to be at church by nine thirty.”
What!?! No way was I going to any church. I didn’t believe in God. Any decent, loving God wouldn’t let my mother die. End of discussion. I wasn’t going. I wasn’t going to give church a chance.
“C’mon!” She said too cheerily, just like the flight attendant on the plane from Germany. She threw the covers back so that I shivered helplessly on top of the sheets. Then my sister went crazy on me. She started prancing around my room clapping her hands and singing, “Rise and shine and give God your glory, glory. Rise and shine and give God your glory, glory. RISE AND SHINE AND,” then she clapped really hard, “GIVE GOD YOUR GLORY, children of the Lord.” I moaned, but knowing I had no other choice, I rolled out of bed.
Chase was right, amazingly. By the time I had eaten breakfast, showered, and put on my new plaid miniskirt and my cream-colored sweater, it was past time for us to be leaving. She herded me into the taxi, under the comfort of her massive grey umbrella. Would it rain forever in D.C.?
We walked into the warm church building, and were greeted by people who knew my sister by name. “Good morning, Chase,” they said, one after the other. “And who is this lovely young lady?”
“This is my sister Rachel,” Chase said politely. “She’s moved here from Germany.” They all ooed and ahhed at the fact that I had lived abroad. But I didn’t want to talk about Germany, because Germany meant memories and memories meant Mom. And I didn’t want to think about Mom.
Seeing that this entire situation was more than a little uncomfortable for me, Chase ushered me to a seat on the left-hand side of the auditorium. This wasn’t your classic, run-of-the-mill church. There were no pews, only chairs in rows of about twenty. Instead of hymnals, there were two giant projection screens where the words were put up by PowerPoint programs. The pulpit was more of a modern stage with bright lights and risers for the choir. When we sang, we didn’t sing slow, boring hymns, but instead we sang contemporary music, and there wasn’t an organ to accompany us. Our music came from a piano, a guitar and an electric guitar, as well as some African-looking drums. And the preacher! He kept comparing situations in the Bible to college basketball or politics.
When the service was over, I realized that I had actually enjoyed it and was intrigued by it all. I quickly shoved those thoughts from my head. I could never like church because Mom didn’t and I wouldn’t displease her, ever.
On the ride back to Chase’s apartment, in the taxi, she asked me about church. “It was really modern,” was all I would tell her. Chase sat back and left me alone.
When we got back, Chase fixed homemade chili for lunch, and I changed out of my church clothes and into jeans. “I am going to a congregational meeting at the church tonight,” Chase told me over lunch.
“Okay, well I’ll just stay here, then.”
“Actually,” Chase said, and paused. “I was hoping you would consider going to the youth program tonight at the church.”
“The youth program? As in, more God stuff?”
“Yeah,” she said, as though I hadn’t blurted out the ‘God stuff’ comment. “It’ll be a good way to make friends.”
“Um, Chase, in case you haven’t noticed, I don’t like God. I haven’t ever and I won’t ever. So you can stop trying to convert me.”
“Rachel, I’m not trying to convert you. I found so much happiness and peace when I gave my life to Christ. I just wanted you to experience that too. It has helped me through a lot of hard times in the past, and it helped me get through Mom’s death too.”
“What are you talking about? Mom hated God. And she was mad at you for loving God. I might have given Him a chance before Mom died, but not now. If God is as good as your church says He is, why did He let Mom die? Answer that.”
“Rachel, I don’t have answers for why God does the things He does. I know losing our mom hurts you; it hurts me too. It doesn’t seem fair. But Rachel, you have to move on and let the happiness back into your life. Shutting me, God, and everyone out isn’t what she would want you to do.” I swallowed, willing the tears to stay encapsulated in my eyes, not to show themselves in front of my sister.
“I know,” I said softly. “It’s just that all my life I was happy and care-free. I was okay without God in my life. I had two wonderful parents, a great house, friends, everything I could possibly need. And then one night, my life fell apart. Mom was killed and then I lost Dad too. And suddenly, I’ve switched not only homes and schools, but entire countries. I don’t have any friends. It’s hard to believe that there’s someone up there who is in control of it all. It’s hard to imagine that there’s a master plan, greater than you and I can imagine. It’s even harder to imagine that part of the master plan would be so painful and so scary.” The tears were flowing now and I didn’t bother to wipe them away.
“I know, Rachel. It feels like the world came crashing down. But if you love God and give your life to Him, it doesn’t mean that you ever have to stop loving Mom and Dad or turn your back on them.” I looked at my sister for a long time, studying her face. All the pictures I had ever seen of her from her childhood were of a little girl who looked empty. Did I look that way too?
“Rachel,” she started again. “I know how you feel, because I was there too. You feel that void inside your heart. Mine came when Mom and Dad stopped speaking to me; yours is there because you lost two very important people in your life. I can’t bring Mom back and I can’t replace her, but you and I, we can start over again together.” I continued to stare at her. I wanted so much to buy whatever she was selling to me right then, because it sounded so good. But I had my doubts. “Rachel, God’s got big plans for you. These are the bumps in the road when your legs get a little wobbly, and you need to hold His hand.”
I was sobbing now. I was crying for Mom; I was crying for Dad; I was crying for me, because I was scared. “It’s okay, Rachel. I’m not going to give up on you, and I know God won’t either. The world is really scary and it’s full of sorrow and pain, but there’s something greater waiting for you on the other side, a place where there’s no more pain, where the sun is always shining.” Not like D.C., I thought.
“Chase, I can’t.”
“Why? People will always let you down because they’re not perfect, but God, He’s forever and ever. And He’s not going to decide one day that He doesn’t want you anymore and send you away. You just gotta give it a chance. Please.” I wiped the tears off each cheek, and sniffed. I looked into my sister’s reassuring eyes.
I was still afraid. I was still unsure and sad, but I suddenly felt more hope than I had experienced since Mom died. I decided that I could give this new life a chance.
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home