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I turned sixteen in May and I almost ran away in June. Almost—if you count packing a toothbrush and a pair of underwear in a backpack. I made a deal with God. If I can’t get a ride home after church, then I’m not going home. I guess He wanted me to go home. A few weeks later we got evicted. Most people would not see eviction as a good thing, but for a sixteen-year-old who hated her home life, it was music to my ears. My brother, sister and I moved in with our dad. It took us all of 10 seconds to organize our bedroom. We were ecstatic. Finally, a home that is clean, quiet and ours! No chaos, no mom’s boyfriends, no booze…just us.
But what did we do to replace the chaos? We cleaned, cooked and waited for the mail. For once, I had a normal life. I went to youth group, summer camp, and beach bonfires. I ate watermelon, fresh strawberries and roasted marshmallows (peeling off the burned part first, of course). I helped with church car washes and got sunburned. I went to Harvest Festivals and Knott’s Berry Farm. I had fun.
My mom got better, too. She lived with loving people who helped her recover. She missed her children, but needed some time to heal from the hurts. She began her new life that summer.
Eviction might not conjure up good feelings for most, but for me it opened the door to a new world and a new beginning. It is a reminder that all things truly do work together for those who love God and are called according to His purpose. (Rom. 8:28)
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