I thought my life was a good one. Plenty of friends, a boy friend, a good job, and an affordable apartment. I was living the good life, and I was the envy of a lot of other girls who didn’t have these things.
When I was young, my mom had brought down her worn black Bible, and taught me and Molly, my younger sister, about the Lord and his love for us. How Jesus died on the cross for our sins. I was a Christian, and so was Molly.
We were a happy family, Dad didn’t have an excellent job, but it was enough to keep us going. We lived in a large farmhouse in Richmond Virginia. I loved it, I had plenty of friends, a good school, and my family, and God.
I was sixteen when my family and I moved to Modesto, California in 2006. Molly and I weren’t happy. We were called hicks by other girls, because we had come from Virginia, and lived in a farmhouse.
Molly and me were pretty strong Christians, until we moved, and things became real hard for our family. Dad got a job working as a truck driver for a lumber company, but they weren’t able to pay him very much, but it was all he was able to get, jobs were rather scarce, and Dad didn’t want to risk losing the job he had now.
Mom, she didn’t complain. She had a good attitude about everything, saying that it was God’s will that we move here. But, I didn’t believe it could be, after all, everything was going wrong.
One night, a year after moving to California, we heard a knock on the door. Mom, Molly, and me were sitting in the living room talking, waiting for Dad to come home. He was later than usual, so we sat up waiting.
Mom opened the door, and there stood a young policeman. His head was bowed, and his hands folded in front of him, he looked into Mom’s face as she opened the door, “Mrs. Sessums?” He asked solemnly.
Mom shook her head, barely daring to think of the fateful news she was about to hear, “You’re husband, William Sessums, died in a fateful truck accident on Highway 99 while coming back from delivering a load of lumber.”
Mom stood there, tears silently coursing down her face, her hand was white as it gripped the door handle, but she stood there, facing the policeman bravely, “Thank you.” She said quietly, and shut the door softly.
Molly softly cried into her hands. I just sat on the couch, staring blankly at the bookcase in front of me. My hands gripped the armrest, hoping that was all a bad dream. Mom went over to Molly and put her arms around her back, and cried to.
I got up from the couch, leaving Molly and Mom crying, and ran out the door, slamming it hard behind me. I shouted into the sky on our front porch, shaking my fist at God, “How could you!?” I shouted, “How could you take my Dad away from us!” I thought God had forsaken us, he wanted to punish us for some small sin, I thought.
Well, we barely made it through the month. Mom didn’t talk much, and she never got down that black Bible anymore, she went and got a job at a local store. . Molly kept to her room, and refused to go back to school, she didn’t talk anymore.
I cursed God as I walked to school, blaming him for everything. I took to wanting to be with friends all the time, they got me into smoking and drinking, it helped me forget the pain.
I ran from God, hiding from him. I didn’t go back home one day, I moved in with my boyfriend. I was tired of seeing Mom and Molly crying.
Months later, my boyfriend left me, my friends left me, and I thought I was all alone. One night I was walking drunkenly along the road, I heard music. I walked towards the sound. I saw where it was coming from, a church.
I was mysteriously drawn to the music, and went in. That night I was saved. I was tired of hiding, tired of walking alone. God had finally found me, but all the time her knew where I was.
I had played hide and seek with God, and God had won.
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