My Refuge, My Home

This is a story I wrote for a youth group event a few years back. Emma makes a friend out of a girl named Lizzie, and recalls the story of their friendship. I hope you enjoy it.

And I'll never forget Lizzie. I'll never forget the days when things were simple, almost peaceful. When the bitter winter was blown by into a warm, crisp spring. Then the clomping footsteps of summer, and it's malicious smile as it crushed every dream in sight. My brain feels so cluttered, yet light like a cloud. Each memory, whether it be good or bad, tries to float away from my grasp and be lost in the depths of my mind. And so, this story is not like any other story. This is not about me, or not all about me. It's not about Lizzie, either. For me, as a young Emma, I found it quite challenging to grasp the idea of family, and a refuge. Who could have guessed that a twelve year girl, my peer, could have taught me that lesson? A lesson that would more or less change the rest of a young girl's existence to include more battles where blood was (figuratively) spilled, and a family to run home to after I was done? Not even Lizzie knew how she had changed my life, and she carried that lack of knowledge right on home with her.

It was winter. The day that she made the daring decision to sit down to a little outcast with long, black hair on the bus. The short, bright-eyed girl stood in the aisle and looked down at me with expectant eyes, and a face that had never seen disappointment. I had been startled from my book and now we were in an endless staring contest, until one dared to break it up. And she did.

“I'm Lizzie. May I sit with you?”

Speechless, that anyone would want to sit with me, I slowly nodded my head. I expected her to laugh and run back to sit with the other girls, but she didn't. She removed her satchel, and sat down. Silence filled the air around us for only a mere moment, “What's your name?”

“Um, Emma?”

“You don't sound very confident in that, Emma!” The girl giggled, tossing her hair over her shoulder. I stared blankly at her, with nothing to say. She cleared her throat, “How old are you?”

“Twelve.”

“Me, too,” the girl exclaimed, “Would you like to be my friend?”

It hadn't been twenty minutes since she had sat down next to me before she was already asking whether we could be friends. Did this girl know that, that was the way to make friends in kindergarten, not in middle school?

“Well?” I could see her smile fading slightly.

“Sure.” I answered, and the smile crept back up on her face.

Even though we had no classes together, we still sat together on our long bus rides to and from school. For the first time in my life, it wasn't a struggle to have to get up and go. I had a reason. And that reason talked to me and, occasionally, I laughed at her jokes. Eventually, she started to come to my house every Saturday. We played endless hours of my favorite video games as I showed her how to play.

Then came the day in February when I slept over at her house. I stood outside the rustic gates that guarded the old Victorian style house, holding my overnight bag under one arm and my sleeping roll in the other. I wore a light jacket, which I sorely regretted for not wearing something heavier on this freezing day, and I briefly thought about running back home before I died of hypothermia. I snapped out of my reflections when I realized that Lizzie had opened the gate and was standing in front of me, holding out her hands as if to help carry one of my bags. I handed her my sleeping roll, and we both walked inside her house. The house was huge, and when we were in the front hall, Lizzie took my things and ran upstairs to set them down. I was left to idle about in the front while she did this. And the first thing I noticed was the Bible verse quoted up on the wall, “'For God so loved the world, that He gave his only begotten son, that whoever believeth in him should not perish but have everlasting life, 'John 3:16”

I felt my face drop. “Christian,” I thought, “She's one of them.” How could she be a Christian? She didn't try to force her beliefs upon me as my Aunt and Uncle had. Was this what the sleepover is all about, to play “missionary” with me? I felt so deceived, and I had a sinking feeling in my stomach.

It was at this time that Lizzie came back, “Are you hungry? My mom's cooking pot roast tonight, she the best--” She stopped and I could tell that she saw me looking at the bible verse.

“John 3:16, that's my favorite verse,” she tapped me on the shoulder, and I turned to look at her, “Is it yours?”

Nervously, I scratch the back of my head, “I'm, actually, an atheist.”

A grin fell from her face for a mere second before it comes back as a big smile, “Well, we can still be friends.”

I was shocked. I thought she'd try to force her beliefs upon me, or run away from our friendship. But, she stayed. As if she was a silly, little lamb and I was a wolf. But, she was the little lamb that would soften the heart of the growling wolf.

Two weeks. Two weeks later, and there I was in the car with my mom as she was driving me to Lizzie's church. It was raining, hard. Each drop smacked the concrete like a whip, and each drop made the world more and more gray. I don't even remember how Lizzie talked me into going to one of her bible classes, but somehow she did. It was probably with that injured puppy dog look she always gives when she wants something, and she won't take “no” for an answer. Soon we arrived, and Lizzie met me at the front with her same old smile on her face. She ran to hug me, “I'm so glad your here!” She released me from the hug, and brushed her hair to the side.

“Where do we go?”

“There's a little devotional first, but after that, we go to class. Just follow me.”

And so, I went to her class and met her friends. The lesson was more or less interesting, it was about this city called Jericho and how the only thing that made the walls collapsed was blowing ram's horns. I sat there wondering how such a thing could be possible. Actually, I thought about it the whole week. I couldn't think about anything else. How did the sound of a horn manage to make a wall collapse?

On Friday, I finally got up the courage to ask Lizzie. She was silent for a moment, as she was thinking, but she answered, “God was with Israelites as they blew down those walls. They couldn't have done it without God.”

“I guess God's pretty powerful, huh?”

“That He is.”

Silence. And this time, I broke it.

“Lizzie?”

“Yeah, Emma?”

“Can I go to church with you again this Sunday?”

“Of course!”

Soon, every Sunday night, Lizzie was coming by my house to pick me up for church. And those Sunday nights came to include youth group events and, eventually, Sunday mornings.

It was summer. Everything was bright, for the sun shined on our dark world. I had been going to church regularly with Lizzie for three months.

The last lesson we had was one about baptism. Baptism. Becoming a christian. I had once scoffed at those words, and had become deeply offended if anyone mentioned them. But not anymore.

It was one of the most memorable lessons, and that Saturday before church again was when I decided to become a Christian. I couldn't wait until Sunday, so afterschool, I walked to church. There were people there, working. But, they stopped as I told them my intentions.

Before I did it though, I wanted Lizzie to be there or atleast know what I was doing. I called her cell, but it went to voicemail. So, I tried her home phone. Her father was the one who answered, “This is the James' residence, who is this?”

“I'm Emma. Is Lizzie home?” My voice echoed into the receiver, my phone wasn’t technologically advanced.

I could practically hear Mr James choke back some tears, “Now's not the time, Emma.”

“Why?” I asked suspiciously.

“Her and her mother were in a car accident,” he took in a deep breath,

“Lizzie didn't make it.”

And suddenly, with one little sentence, my whole world came crashing down around me. Lizzie. Lizzie, my best friend, was gone. With the blink of an eye. Lizzie, the girl who taught me about God, about Jericho. The girl who brought me to church: morning, nights, other events. The girl who I taught to play various console games. The girl who had made the choice to sit down next to the outcast on the bus. The girl who had changed my life, set its course into a new direction. Now that girl was gone. Lizzie was gone.

When I told the people who were around me, they started to console me. One woman by the name of Aimee, leaned down next to me, “Don't worry about her, she's safe in God's refuge.”

And I'm safe in mine. I'll never forget Lizzie.

Reviews

[SilverInk]

Thanks so much for entering this in my contest! It was a true joy to read.
The way you slowly developed Emma and Lizzie's relationship s absolutely beautiful. Lizzie's death added more meaning to what Emma had learned about God, so great job with this!

[barleygirl]

This is such a beautiful story. I get the feeling it’s not a true story, but it’s so well-told, it feels like a true story. The strongest aspect of your writing is the way you can convey strong feelings & emotions thru a chatty style of storytelling. The contrast between your casual conversational writing style & the deeply-felt inner journey this narrator is on, it’s mind-blowing how that conveys the flippant attitude of a resistant adolescent gradually being drawn in by a friend who doesn’t try to change her. The ending was very unexpected & leaves the reader imagining the journey that the narrator will have to traverse now without her friend. This is excellent storytelling (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

[April Blue]

It's a beautiful story of love and of how two bestfriends love each other, I like the way you put God into this story, it truly was touching...

[Nicolerhi]

Thanks so much!! I ended up winning gold for the competition I sent this too!!

[April Blue]

That's amazing... Congratulations!