Joseph nodded. “Tell me yours.”
So he did. I listened as Joseph explained his dream to him. He interpreted all of their dreams. The baker, the wine taster. But by the fourth day, I couldn’t stand the darkness any longer. Joseph prayed all the time. He said God was with him, and I hoped with all my heart it was true. But then again, who really was this god?
Then Pharaoh had a dream.
I could feel it from the dungeon. From the talk that I heard from the dungeon guards, I found out that Pharaoh was looking everywhere for someone to tell him what it meant.
“Joseph!” I called. “Joseph! Did you hear? Pharaoh had a dream and he’s looking for someone to interpret it.”
Joseph looked up from his daze and smiled. “I know,” and I kept listening for any sign that would indicate that the pharaoh knew about Joseph.
A week later, I heard the guards talking about the wine taster who told Pharaoh of the man in the dungeon who could interpret dreams. Not more than an hour later, a messenger from the palace came for Joseph. I was so thankful when they took me along that my knees buckled and the guards that came with the messenger had to carry me to the palace. I learned later that they let me come because Pharaoh had sent for a witness who saw Joseph interpret the dreams.
He was talking with some advisors when I approached, but when he saw me, he silenced them and peered at me with interest.
“Are you the witness?” his voice echoed across the marble floor.
I nodded.
“Well then, don’t be shy. Tell me about this dream interpreter.”
And I did.
Pharaoh was silent for a few restless heartbeats. He cleared his throat. “You have the Lord with you,” he said to Joseph. You are the wisest and the most understanding of all my people here. You will be in charge of the palace. Only because I sit on the throne is why I will be greater than you. My people will obey your orders.”
And then there was seven years of bountiful harvest, just like Joseph had said.
I took in a sharp breath as my world went black.
When I opened my eyes, the attic library started to come into focus around me. The scent of old pages hit me with familiarity. I looked down. My jeans and Hollister tee were back. The carpet was touchable. Was I breathing? Bleeding? Everything seemed in check.
I lunged for my phone. The screen read 8:03.
I’d only been gone for a minute.
Chapter Twenty-Five
It felt like I’d been gone for weeks. Even longer. But I knew the clock wasn’t wrong. It was still 8:03, whether I chose to believe it or not.
I lay in the darkness of the attic for a long time. Somewhere, one of the attic windows was open, letting in the sound of nighttime cicadas and crickets.
I looked around with my flashlight, taking in the details of the small library. Old cobwebs hung in the corners. Boxes of random items sat along the walls. Piles of picture books equipped with sing-along audio collected dust on the floor. In the lower corner of the wall, part of the wood hadn’t been finished. There was a hole between the wooden slab and the slanted ceiling. When I was younger, Mom used to tease me that a witch lived behind the hole. I shone the light into the opening and remembered how scared I used to be.
It used to be just us up here. We’d come here even in the middle of the day when it was sunny and warm. Those summer days when every kid in the neighborhood would be outside, playing with sidewalk chalk or rolling down the street in pink scooters with streamers sticking out of the handles.
But I’d be here. We’d be here. Just my mom and me. Lying on a blanket with seven of my favorite stuffed animals surrounding us. She’d read me picture book after picture book and play the little songs that went along with them. On those days, I wouldn’t feel bad that I wasn’t playing with the neighborhood kids or outside on the swing set. I wouldn’t feel bad because when I was with her, there was nothing to feel bad about.
Until a few weeks ago, I’d stopped coming up here. It had become too much of a burden to be here on my own, her laugh and her voice echoing through the walls and between the books and over the boxes of stuff. Her stuff.
The stuff we never had the heart to throw away.
I stood up, tiptoed down the steps, and flicked off the flashlight before shutting the attic door behind me.
“I’m going to bed early,” I called down the steps to the basement.
“Alright. Hey, happy birthday, hon.”
“Thanks.”
After I went back upstairs, I changed into a big T-shirt and comfy shorts and slipped into bed.
Yeah, happy birthday to me.
The sun woke me up around 7:00 on Sunday morning. I turned over in my bed, pulling the covers up to my face. I really needed to get rid of those thin curtains and invest in some thick blinds.
I lay in my bed for another twenty minutes before I finally decided to get up. The night had been restless. I’d lain awake for hours, fresh tears rolling down my face. It was easy to put on a face in the daytime. But no one fakes it for the night. No one ever needs to. The darkness is the keeper of everyone’s secrets.
Aven’s text messages from last night were still unopened on my phone. I reached for my phone and opened them.
9:02
You’ll never believe what Alex and I did last night!
9:30
How’s it going? I wanted to say happy birthday again!
11:05
OMG, I have sooooo much to tell you!
11:44
How’d the birthday dinner go?
12:13
Helloooooooooooo. You dead?
I clicked out of my messages. I really didn’t feel like telling Aven what happened with Jace last night. She’d ask too many questions. Questions I didn’t know the answers to. And besides…if she was having so much fun with Alex, what did she care anyway?
I dropped my phone on my bed and ran my hands through my hair.
Aven had been my best friend since as long as I could remember. But lately, it seemed like I was only getting half of Aven. And I didn’t like who I was sharing her with. I tried to shake off the jealousy that was rising in my stomach, but it was hard. I really didn’t want to lose her. It seemed it was only her and Dad whom I had left.
I reached for my bear sitting on the edge of my bed. There was so much I couldn’t tell the both of them. Aven would never believe me if I told her about the book. And Dad? My dad had always taught me to hate religion. So what would he say when I told him I was spending time with people who believed in it.
“Gods are what people make up because they’re scared of nothing being on the other side of death. It’s not real, sweety,” he’d say, and that was the end of most of those kinds of conversations.
But this God in these stories…He seemed so different. And the people who followed Him seemed so different. This God was personal and relational and real.
He was real.
I swung my legs over my bed. There had to be more, and I was going to find out. I went to the window facing the garage and peered over the ledge. The sounds of the grumbling lawn mower pierced the air from somewhere in the yard.
Perfect.
I slipped into the basement where the office was and switched on the computer. It whirred to life and the main screen flicked on. I clicked on the search box and googled “churches near me.” About ten links pop up and I clicked on the first one.
Grace Church.
I skimmed the paragraph on the link about the church’s website and scrolled down to the location. My heart skipped a beat.
The church was a few blocks away.
My hand began to shake and it took me a couple of seconds to click “print.” The copier next to me beeped, and the machine spit out the church’s webpage and location. I folded it and put it in my pocket. Running up the stairs, I opened the screen door that led to the backyard. I headed straight towards my bicycle.
The lawn mower stopped and I froze.
Dad wiped the di
rt on his jeans and slipped one of his gloves off with his teeth. “Where you off to?” He took a swig of his water.
“Just…uh…” I nudged the kickstand with my foot. “Bike ride. It’s nice out.”
“That sounds like a great idea. Have fun, okay?” He set his water jug down and headed back towards the lawn mower.
I walked my bike out from the garage and pedaled out of our driveway. The morning was hot but the breeze from the ride blew the hair off my sticky shoulders. I knew these streets by heart, so I found Kern Road pretty quickly. It was on one of those little roads in town that seemed to be tucked away from the world.
The church came into view. I slammed on the breaks of my bicycle and sat there for a minute. Thoughts tumbled in my head.
What was I doing?
I almost turned around. I had no place in a church. Who did I think I was? But something seemed to beckon me, like the tide pulling at the dry sand on the shore. I rode quietly to the front doors and chained my bike to the bike rack. I slowly made my way to the church, hesitant.
The church was built with simple mud-brown brick all the way up to the chimney. Ivy clung to the outside and wrapped around the church. Almost like in a picture book. The towering trees with sunlight filtering through their branches, the old wooden doors in the front of the church, the brass bell in a tower at the top of the roof, the stained glass windows.
As I drew closer, the tower bell rang. The first ring was loud and disturbing, but the following six were deep and humble sounding, each one digging deeper into my heart. I didn’t realize I’d been walking towards the doors until they stood right in front of my face. I reached for the two black handles.
The doors opened to a small foyer. A group of voices singing drifted to me from somewhere in the church, and I closed the door quietly. Following the sound, I climbed a small set of stairs and turned into a hallway. I stopped.
The hallway opened up into a large open room. The vaulted ceilings reached up over the rows of wooden pews. Colored light shone through the stained glass and painted shapes onto the floor. At the front of the church, a simple wooden cross was standing on the stage. A streak of light from one of the windows cut across the wood.
The main room wasn’t completely full, but the people were scattered in the rows, and there was a person at the piano and another person with a guitar on the front stage. The church may have looked old fashioned from the outside, but on the inside the front stage had a speaker system and a projector displaying the song lyrics.
No one noticed me in the back. I leaned against the door frame as they sang. Their voices rose and fell in unison and echoed throughout the room. I closed my eyes, listening to the strumming of the guitar. The song continued on, the words playing across the screen. It was a mix of modern and old, something I’d never seen before.
The music died away and the younger man with the guitar started to speak. I backed out of the church quietly. I didn’t want to barge in. I had no clue if I was even welcome.
The front doors shut lightly behind me. I picked my bicycle back up and rode into the empty street. But as I pedaled back towards home, I couldn’t help but feel the music following after me, humming quietly in my head.
Chapter Twenty-Six
I awoke to a dark room. The smell of fish and seawater stung my nostrils. I gagged on the scent, searching for light.
I looked around and tried to adjust my eyes to the dark. Fishnets hung from hooks in the dim light and crates covered the plank floor. A short set of stairs led up to a closed door where a sliver of moonlight was escaping through the bottom crack. A hammock hung in the corner. The middle sagged under a figure’s weight, swaying slightly with a pendulum-like movement.
The room rocked violently and I was thrown into the wall next to me. Nets flew into my face and baskets skidded across the floor. A stack of crates missed me by a few inches.
I had to get to the stairs. I slid along the wall towards it, trying to keep my balance. I could barely see. Footsteps pounded above me, followed by a crash of thunder. I got within several feet of the stairs when the door flung open. A pair of sandals pounded down the steps. Wind gushed in and water flooded the floor. Another figure gripped the railing.
“How can you sleep at a time like this?”
The figure in the hammock stirred and sat up. He draped his legs over the side and rubbed his face. “What’s going on?”
Water gushed into the lower deck, nearly knocking the man off the stairs. “You have a clue?” he shouted over the sound of waves crashing. “Come on! We need you to help.”
I watched as both men ran up the stairs and slammed the door shut. I dove for the stairs with what little light that was left. Finally, I reached the door handle.
The wind was so strong I was nearly blown off my feet. The ship rocked back and teeter-tottered in the storm. Sailors and crew members shouted in panic. All of them were drenched as they ran around tying up sails.
I squinted into the wind. The two men from before shouted at each other. Wind blew my hair into my face and a blast of water knocked me into the side of the boat. I gasped for air, the weight of the wave crashing into my body. I scrambled for a hold on the side of the boat.
The last thing I heard was my scream as I tumbled over the edge. I didn’t know when I hit the ocean surface. The water consumed my entire body, turning me in its violent fingers.
I gasped when my head broke the surface. The waves rolled into hills and valleys, breaking into massive crests over my head. One after another.
The boat. I’d lost the boat.
Another wave collided into me. I took in another gallon of water and broke the surface. The clouds had disappeared. A darkness loomed ahead of me, approaching fluidly through the crashing of the waves. I had a second before I’d be sucked under again.
Lightning flashed, illuminating the long black body in the water. And above the gaping mouth, a tail arched in the moonlight, flicking water into the air.
I took one last breath and disappeared back into the water.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“‘You threw me into the ocean depths,
and I sank down to the heart of the sea.’”
Jonah 2:3 NLT
I didn’t see light for three days.
The darkness was more than I could handle. I sat in utter silence. Lost. Alone. Wondering if this might be the end of everything.
It would make sense. It was the same as how it all began. Empty, dark, desolate.
Time stretched on, winding a long finger into the hours and minutes and seconds of the day, night, afternoon, morning, evening. Everything collapsed and faded together until I had no sense of time, and the only thing keeping me alive was the driftwood I floated on and the lapping water beneath.
That was until the whale spit me out.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“‘And I will fulfill my vows.
For my salvation comes
from the Lord alone.’”
Jonah 2:9 NLT
I woke up to the sound of the waves pulling against the sand.
The sun was hot against my skin. Icy water lapped at my legs. The wet sand soaked into my cheek. I lifted my head and squinted in the sunlight. Sand fell from my skin as I sat up.
The beach stretched for miles in both directions. The world blurred in my vision, and I closed my eyes to cure the headache that was pulsing in my head.
Dead or alive? I spit out sand from my mouth.
Alive. Barely.
After a moment, I was able to sit up. I washed my face with the ocean water and felt the burn of the salt on my dry lips. I shielded my eyes with my hand and tried to see down the beach. A figure washed up against the shore broke the never-ending stretch of sand. My heart beat in my chest. I stood up slowly to keep myself steady and walked towards the figure.
As I drew closer, I could barely make out the figure’s features. It was a male lying sideways in the sand. He had a tunic and a cloak, and one sandal was m
issing from his foot. Half of his face was buried.
I leaned over to get a closer look. He kind of looked familiar…
The man sat up abruptly, coughing up water. I jumped backwards, falling on my butt. I scooted away from him and almost got up to run.
“Wait!” The man reached out his hand to stop me through several coughs. He tried to breathe but only spit out more water. I stopped and waited until he was done coughing.
“Are you okay?” I asked tentatively. He nodded before coughing some more and spitting out a mouthful of sand. He was covered in so much filth and debris, I could barely see his clothes. I looked down at myself and realized I didn’t look any better.
The man swallowed finally and closed his eyes. “Sorry, give me a moment. I didn’t expect to see another person so close by.”
“Me either,” I agreed.
He rubbed his eyes and opened them. “What is your name?” he asked me.
“Genesis,” I said. “And you?”
“Jonah,” he swallowed. “Where did you come from?”
“You wouldn’t believe me,” I murmured.
I stared at him. I remembered why he looked familiar. He was the man on the boat. The one the sailors had been yelling at. What were the odds that he and I would end up washed up on the same beach in the same area? Alive. Breathing. Unharmed.
I was trying to remember how I got here. I replayed my last moments in my head. The storm. Falling overboard. Nearly drowning. The lightning flashes. A tail in the black water. Darkness. Solitude.
I must have passed out and dreamed those hours in the darkness, the sounds of a high-pitched echo vibrating in the chasm. There was no way what I think happened could have been real.
I looked out into the calm waters, watching the small waves break and bubble onto the sand. The storm was violent enough; there was no way we were close to land. We must have been somewhere in the center of that ocean….
So, if I fell overboard, I should be dead. And yet, somehow, I was here, washed up on a beach. The opposite of dead.
Worthy of Rain Page 10
