The Boy Next Door

Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Just as Evan was about to leave after we finished our homework, I asked, "Evan, when this first started, why did you think to talk to God about it first?"

With a small smile he answered, "He's the only real father I have. Plus, he created me. Wouldn't he know best what should happen? I'll see you at church."

I frowned as he walked out and closed the door behind him. Of course, I'd heard things like that from different testimonies, but this was different. Evan was different. Yes, I had asked for Jesus to come into my life, so I was a Christian, but this was more than that.

His answer was so simple, light, natural, as if talking about God being your Father was the most common thing in the world. How could he have done that? Did he really consider God his Dad?

"Liliana, dinner's ready." Mom said, pulling my thoughts away from Evan long enough that I realized what was going on. Turning from the door, I couldn't help but glance back with another frown. I needed to talk to him again.

As I walked through the hallway in church that Sunday, I saw Evan sitting in the corner reading a book and Brianna across the room. My head was telling me to go to my friend, but there were so many questions burning on my tongue. What should I do?

"Meg, over here!" Brianna exclaimed, drawing me toward her. With another glance at the solitary boy, I carried myself over. Lunch, I decided. I'd invite his family to lunch with us again. Then we can talk.

"Evan, Carl, nice to see you again." Mom greeted, ushering the two into our house. Evan glanced up at me, I was standing on the stairs, and I nearly blurted out all my questions. "Lunch isn't quite ready yet, so the kids can go upstairs and wait."

Dad eyed us as we climbed the stairs, making my face burn. Did he know? Dad thought I was super close with God, well, I wasn't. Not really, I guess.

Like before, my sister ran off to her room to play and the two of us sat in my room together.

"Hi," he said.

"I have a few questions for you."

Groaning, he tossed his head back. "Couldn't schoolwork wait until tomorrow?"

"They aren't about school."

With a frown, he brought his head back down. "Okay, so what're they about?"

"I'm curious, when did you get so close to God? How? Did you just get saved earlier than me or is it because you went to a different church? How can I get like that? Whenever something happens, I want to turn to God first, not last."

His face showed an expression of shock. "Oh, I've never been asked anything like that. Uh...I guess I started to grow closer to God after Mom passed away. I was nine," he chuckled. "There wasn't really a point that I noticed I was turning to Him before anyone else. I did all the devotions I got my hands on, hoping that there would be something in them that would tell me how to help Dad, since he was really upset. Understandable, but it took years before he decided he was tired of mourning. Anyway, uh, I think it has to do with how much you consciously search for Him, not where you go to church or when you get saved.

"Paul told the Corinthians that they weren't mature enough to handle meat, they were still drinking milk, but others in the area that had less of a daily temptation that Paul had talked to at about the same time were eating meat."

His gaze drifted around as he spoke, but there was a look of deep concentration on his face the whole time. Listening intently, I hardly noticed the expressions on his face. I wanted answers.

When he was done, he looked at me to gauge my reaction. I smiled. Finally, I knew. I could apply that. "Thanks. Since you left Friday, I've been meaning to ask."

He raised his eyebrows. "Friday? Why didn't you just call me or throw something at my window?"

I shrugged. "Didn't think of it."

"Lunch!" Mom called up the stairs.

As I started to get up, Evan questioned, "Why did you ask me and not someone else?"

"No one else has acted the way you have, at least that I've seen. Your type of faith is different."

"My type?" I kept walking, assuming we would finish the conversation later.

Well later didn't work out. Halfway through lunch Mr. Walker got a call and he and Evan had to leave immediately. I was left with just as many questions as I had answers and almost no way to get the rest of them.

That evening I was sitting in my room reading a book when I heard something hit my window. Ignoring it, I kept reading and thought it may have just been a trick of my ears or something. There it was again. As I slid it open, a small pebble found its way into my room, whistling past my ear.

"You could've texted me to open my window." I said as I rolled my eyes. "You don't have to throw things at me."

"Sorry. We never finished our conversation earlier. What did you mean by 'my type'?"

"Remind me what I said?"

"You said that my type of faith was different."

Nodding, I grappled for the answer. I didn't know myself. "I'm not sure. It's just different." I shrugged.

"Good or bad different?"

"Good." I answered. "Definitely good."