**Chapter Two: The Big Monday**
Monday, the day everyone groans about. I guess I'm part of that club now. Uniform ironed, though it feels like I'm wearing a sail; always hated how big it has to be. Rush to the bathroom in a silent protest against the morning and quickly get dressed. Downstairs for breakfast, Granddad's packed my lunch, and we're off to school in his car before he heads to work.
The engine hums to life, and we navigate through the familiar streets. The car becomes our own little bubble, shielding us from the morning chill. Granddad hums along to an old tune on the radio, creating a soundtrack to our short journey.
The school is just a 10-minute drive, but it can feel longer depending on traffic. Today, the roads are relatively clear, and we arrive with time to spare. Granddad walks me to the entrance, a routine we've perfected. A quick hug, a reminder to listen to the teacher, and I'm off to face another week of lessons and whispers in the hallways.
As I enter the classroom, it's like stepping into a different world. The teacher is talking about math, numbers and shapes dancing on the board. I try to focus, but my mind drifts to the lunch Granddad packed. Maybe today's sandwich will be a surprise.
The day unfolds in its usual way, a rhythm I've grown accustomed to. But Mondays, they have this weight about them, like an oversized backpack. The routine keeps me going, the little moments with Granddad, the hum of the car engine, and the occasional smile from a friend.
School ends, and it's back to the routine with Granddad. But today is different. There's a whisper of change in the air, a feeling that something unexpected might happen.
As we drive home, I can't help but wonder what this Monday has in store. Another week begins, and I brace myself for the twists and turns ahead.
We arrive home, and I head inside. Grandma isn't back from work yet. I go upstairs to freshen up, washing away the day's stress. Meanwhile, Grandpa, tired like me, is in the kitchen preparing the food I'll eat.
Our little home feels calm, even with the tiredness hanging in the air. Grandpa's phone rings, and I rush to give it to him. It's Grandma calling. She tells him that our family pastor will be coming over today for prayers, so there should be food ready for him.
We get to work quickly. I set the table, and Grandpa finishes up in the kitchen. There's a quiet anticipation in the air. The family pastor's visits are special. It's like a comforting breeze, a moment of peace amid the chaos.
As we wait, I'm sure you're wondering where my aunt and uncle are. Well, as I mentioned earlier, they're in boarding school, so it's just me and my grandparents today. The house, usually bustling with their energy, now carries a different kind of warmth.
The doorbell rings, and we welcome our family pastor. Prayers echo through the walls, a familiar melody that wraps around us. It's a moment of connection, a reminder that, despite the challenges, there's a thread of faith weaving through our lives.
As we sit down for dinner, prayers are going well. The peace of the Lord fills the house, a comforting presence that wraps around us. The pastor, a familiar figure in our home, now prepares to anoint the house, as he usually does. Little do I know that something unexpected awaits.
Cheerfully, I guide the pastor through the house, leading him to each room. Unbeknownst to me, a sense of dread lingers beneath the surface. We reach my grandparents' room first, where he anoints it with solemn prayers. The corridors and restrooms receive the same treatment, a ritual that feels both comforting and mysterious.
Lastly, I lead him to the room I share with my absent aunt and uncle. Waiting outside, I expect the usual routine, thinking he wants to pray for our space.
He calls me into the room, and I enter, unsuspecting. The pastor, usually calm and composed, drops the anointing oil. He guides me to the bed, his demeanor shifting. "Don't be afraid," he says. I wasn't afraid; I thought he wanted to pray for me.
Little me, unknowing of the complexities of the world, sits on the bed. The atmosphere changes, a tension hanging in the air. The pastor's next words, unknown to me, will set the stage for something I could never have anticipated.
** I hope you are enjoying the story**
See you in the next chapter
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Unseen Grace
Beletrie** In the small town of Harmonyville, young Talia Hope Mitchell, at the tender age of six, found herself caught in the discordant notes of her family's life. The Harmony of Grace Church, where her grandparents took her every Sunday, seemed a stark c...
