"Noelle." He spoke.
That was my first time hearing my name off his lips, and I may have lost my cool for the first time in my life.
"Now that I say it, you're more of a Noelle than a Nikki" he gave a goofy grin.
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Noelle.
"We pray for you everyday, sweetheart. You're on the prayer list every Sunday, we've been praying for you to come home and just let us know that you're okay. That you're alive" My grandma sobbed into my shoulder, causing me to shed a few tears at her words.
Growing up, I spent the most time with my grandparents out of my siblings, I was always at church with them, always at their house, taking them places they needed to go when they needed it as I grew up and started driving. My bond with them has always been unbreakable, and if I'm honest, leaving them behind hurt worse than leaving my parents, siblings, and friends.
My first three months in San Francisco were the most depressing times of my life. I was alone, pregnant, and 12 hours away from anything and everything that I'd ever known. Honestly, leaving them hurt, but knowing that I was having a child out of wedlock and imagining the reaction of my grandparents was what was eating me alive the most when I left.
My grandparents were very traditional Christians. Not the Bible thumping type, but the type to abide by the laws of the great book, nothing more, nothing less. I cringed at the thought of them knowing that I was having sex before marriage, let alone having a baby with a man who I'd met two hours before sleeping with.
I was alone, depressed and having pregnancy sickness out the ass. It wasn't until one night when I was laying in my bedroom, staring up at my ceiling, a hand rubbing my growing belly, when I heard a voice. It was soft, so gentle, but so powerful. The voice spoke the words in my ear as a whisper, "Romans eight eighteen." The voice remained still and calm but repetitive. It seemed to cascade over every part of my brain as if caressing it, causing chills to run up and down my body. "Romans eight eighteen."
Me, being oblivious to the voice that I was hearing, the Holy Spirit remained. Slightly irritated at the fact that I couldn't get the scripture out of my head, I googled it. I'd always been the type of girl who loved dwelling in the house of the Lord, whether I was in Children's Church, singing in the children's choir, or sitting next to my grandma, drawing while listening to the pastor preach and the congregation agree and shout 'Amen,' my grandma sneakily handing me candy every 10 minutes.
It was one of the few places where I found peace away from my home and what always felt like abandonment yet so much responsibility and scrutiny at such a young age. Shielding Ayva's ears from the drunk arguments of my parents, Keith dealing with so much anger and just wanting to be alone was no help to us at the time. It had gotten to the point where I'd made up a game where we'd turn the tv volume up to its maximum and see who could guess what the other was saying to each other correctly, kinda like the whisper challenge, just to keep Ayva from being able to hear our parents going at it.
"For I reckon that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us." (Romans 8:18, KJV) I whispered to myself, laying on my side, my phone close to my face as my heart swelled at the scripture. An overwhelming sense of compassion crippled me as I felt encamped in warmth and moved to tears. I sobbed to myself that night, remembering something that my Grandpa always told me, "He may never show up when you want Him to, but I promise you, He'll always be on time"
