I woke in the middle of the night, shaking and sweating, from a horrible nightmare about the end of the world. It was so bad that I didn't want to go back to sleep, so I got up to get a drink, and tried to get that dream out of my head. Except it wouldn't leave. Those terrible images had been burned into my brain, so I did what I always do when I need to deal with something: I wrote it all down. When I was done, I felt better. I was even able to go back to sleep. In the morning, I expected to crumple up that nightmare and burn it. Instead, hesitantly, I read what I'd written. Most wasn't anything that belonged in a book for kids. Of any age. But there was this tiny piece, almost microscopic, that caught my eye. I focused on it, got a new sheet of paper, and began to write. And Puzzling Faith emerged...
excerpt:
Miracle Baby!
That's what the newspapers said after I came home from the hospital over fourteen years ago. I was born two and a half months early, and no one expected me to survive. My dad said I was so tiny that I could fit into the palm of his hand, which is pretty much where he's tried to keep me ever since. Both my parents, really. Every time I turned around, their smiling faces were in mine.
“How was school? Did you invite any friends over?”
“Want some hot chocolate?”
“Your room is kind of messy. I’ll just give it a quick clean.”
“Need any help with your homework?”
They wanted a house full of kids, but I was the only one who survived. So, I know they love me. I do. But, come on. A fourteen year old girl needs some space every now and then.
I thought I would get some over the summer, when Amanda’s grandmother invited us to stay with her in San Francisco. At first, Mom and Dad said I could go, and Amanda and I screamed with glee! Two weeks of fun in the sun with your best friend at your side--what could be better?
It didn’t last, though. Mom and Dad realized that the invitation conflicted with their yearly spiritual retreat to Preston Farm. Yes, a real farm, in rural Illinois. Essentially, the middle of nowhere.
My parents have dragged me to this place since I was toddling around in diapers. It was fun when I was little. Lots of space to run around with other kids, visiting chickens and cows (at that age, you don’t mind the smell so much), and getting dirty in the vegetable garden. But now? Not so much. I run on a track, thankyouverymuch. And I get my vegetables from the grocery store.
So, my parents and I struck a deal....