There Must Be Something More

82 | Rough Night

I sat back in the driver's seat of my pickup that afternoon. I stayed in my car while parked in our sidewalk. I looked out the sunset, appreciating the indescribable beauty.

How do you find concrete evidence for an unseen being? I thought in undeniable wonder. I tapped my shoes impatiently.

I sighed. I watched a tumbleweed roll its way to a fox hole. A tall saguaro's lowly branches bent over as if bowing in respect.

I smiled. I knew it was literally bowing in reverence of God.

How awesome was God? It was something people often stupidly overlooked. That looking at all the tulips, and the petunias, and the raccoons, and even the rats--they were all intelligently designed. Everything complimented everything. Even humans! It was just as Liam said! Oh, how beautiful and complex and interdependent everything is! Oh, how only man and woman can reproduce. How there are animals that can survive only in their own continent!

How could you say this all happened from an explosion?

I ran towards our house and hurried to my room. I leafed through my Bible and read God's Word for me for the day again.

Fight the good fight of the faith. Take hold of the eternal life to which you were called when you made your good confession in the presence of many witnesses. ~1 Timothy 6:12 NIV

I marveled. At that moment the Holy Spirit had coherently told me that yes--God has evidence. He was telling me to fight for my faith which I proclaimed to many witnesses, and one of these witnesses included Principal Powell.

I sighed. God, this is getting really hard. And now I'm up against my own principal? I plopped on my back and pulled the covers to my chin. I wasn't sleepy, but I wished I was. I secretly hoped this was all a bad dream. I hoped that in reality the principal had simply agreed to let us borrow the photocopy machine without a catch, that Samuel and Meredith were still good friends, and that I hadn't just a chosen a side between my two best friends.

But then again, am I not imagining this all in my head? I mean, who knows if the Holy Spirit was really the One who spoke to me about fighting the good fight of faith? Not every verse in the Bible applied to my every situation. Who knows? Who could ever know? What if I'm just making this all up so I would have to support Meredith too and I wouldn't feel too bad?

Who knows?

The doubt made me more and more anxious. I was torn between two opposing stories, and I didn't know which to believe. I admitted I didn't actually believed Samuel as a whole. I was very doubtful about his side too--it was just that I was more doubtful about Meredith's.

I hated these moments. But honestly these moments came often. And when these moments came I just knew they wouldn't let me sleep unless I find some way to get them off my mind for the meantime.

I ran off out into the street, promising my mom I would be back in ten to twenty minutes, and for the first time in my life since Michael died, rode a bike again.

The bike was already a little rusty. Even a little rickety. But it held me quite well and I loved the nostalgic feeling of it. The white paint was peeling off of it, and the handles had little cobwebs in corners. It had been laying aside in the backyard for years, I was surprised it was still usable.

Riding out in the cool night of Clarkdale, Arizona was one of the rarest things I did back as a teenager. Especially on that toilsome night. Sometimes I would spread my arms while pedaling and just feel the air slipping between my fingers. It was one of those sparse nights that didn't happen often that I actually felt free--

My pedal stuck.

The next thing I knew I was careening off onto the side of the street, trying to maintain my balance. But the bike won me over. And I lay on my side onto the grass of someone else's yard. My heart beat fast. My head pounded. I wanted to lay there the whole night but I was afraid the yard owners would see me.

I checked my bike and realized the pedal had hit a rusty part of the revolver thing that held it. I didn't know what to call it. But I knew it had definitely passed its prime. I disentangled myself from the bike and stood up to just use it by the handle like a stroller.

I sighed and watched for signs on which street I had landed. I saw it. Cross Street.

And now the uneasy feeling came back. The doubts, the confusion. I was troubled again. The fall definitely made me realize the bike ride had only made me "feel" free. But I still wasn't. Not until I get things right with God about this.

I looked at the multiple-story houses in Cross Street and realized I hadn't been in this part of the neigborhood before. The houses definitely seemed new to me.

The people in the neighborhood had to be really rich. I admitted my family and I really weren't as big as these. We were more than middle class, but we were also less than super rich too.

Only five minutes have passed since I went out of my house. I hadn't even reached my promise to Mom yet. But I had already felt the need to go home. Besides I didn't think it would be enjoyable since the bike was broken.

"Hi, Mom," I said as soon as I got to the living room.

Mom looked up from her magazine and gasped. "Charlie! Your arm! What happened?"

I followed her gaze to my right arm and realized there had been a gash and bright red blood seeped through. I had only noticed the stinging feeling. I put my hand over it.

"No, no! You look filthy. You'll infect the wound," Mom said. She ran to the kitchen and got the first aid kit.

"What happened?" She asked as she tended to it.

"Just had a rough night, I guess," I sighed without enthusiasm.

Mom stared at my face, wrapping bandage around my arm. Then she narrowed her eyes. "Is that... soil in your hair?"

I ran a hand on the side of my head and sure enough soil fell onto the tiled floor.

"Rough night?" She asked with a really worried look.

"Really rough night," I said.

And it's going to be even rougher tomorrow when I see Meredith and Samuel at school.