Uncompromising Faith

Chapter 1:

Chelsea's POV

I was walking home from school with my best friends Taylor and James, as always, when Diana and her tagalongs (aka the Royal Pains) stopped us in our tracks. She looked each of us over and asked where we got our clothes. James raised a questioning eyebrow and asked, "Why?" Taylor and I looked at them expectantly, warily awaiting the answer.

She replied quite nonchalantly. "No reason. They just look like they're from Goodwill." Her three friends behind her snickered so much that the snack would have told them to shut up. One of the boys, David, stopped laughing long enough to send us a smug look. "Man, I feel bad for you guys. You can't even pull off rags."

I resisted the incredibly strong urge to roll my eyes. "We don't care what you think, guys," I retorted, "because God says that we are made in His image."

"Exactly! Besides, it's not like you're wearing the clothes, so what do you care?" Taylor added, rather harshly. Alexis, another member of the group, smirked and said, "If Y'ALL are made in God's image, then He obviously isn't very attractive." And with that, they pushed past us and walked away, laughing their heads off.

"They've got some nerve talking about God like that!" Taylor exclaimed, scowling at the clique as the distance between them and us grew.

"I know. They've been like that for as long as I can remember," James replied.

"Yeah, but those insults were mainly directed toward us, not God," I said. Then I sighed. "I just pray He continues to give us the strength and patience to not rip their heads off." We started cracking up and continued walking. When we arrived at the familiar three-way intersection, we each headed our separate ways. I turned to face them, walking backwards. "See you tomorrow guys!"

"See you tomorrow!" they yelled in sync.

When I got home, it was 4:05 pm. Mom wasn't back yet (big surprise), so I once again found myself alone in that empty two-story house. I strolled over to the pantry in the kitchen to grab a medium-sized bag of pretzels, then to the fridge for a bottle of water, and I trudged up the stairs to my room. I dropped my backpack onto my sea-green ocean of a carpet and sat down at my computer desk to work. I reviewed my Spanish vocabulary list, read from my government textbook, finished my chemistry report, typed up the rest of my English paper, and finally skimmed my calculus study guide. I completed everything around 7:48. I still had some time until Mom got back, so I rearranged the items in my room. When the boredom set in and I looked at the paint palette clock on my wall, it was 8:13. I figured I could start on dinner, so I jogged downstairs and over to the fridge to bring out the bowl of chicken drumsticks that I had seasoned the day before. Placing it on the counter and bringing out the deep fryer, I set to work. Ten minutes later I finished, so I cleaned the counter and put the chicken in the microwave to keep it warm.

Since Mom still was not back yet, I decided to read. I climbed back upstairs and selected my New King James Bible from the cherry oak shelf against the wall across from my bed, settled myself in my beanbag chair in the corner of my room, and turned to Ruth, one of my favorite books in the Bible. I can no longer count how many times I have read this story. It is about a young woman named Ruth (obviously) who selflessly leaves her homeland of Moab with her mother in-law Naomi, and their life in Bethlehem. She meets a man named Boaz when she goes to his field to pick grain, and they eventually fall in love, get married, and have a son. I was near the end of the story when I heard a car pull up in the driveway. I looked at the time. 8:46 pm.

Next I heard keys jingling and headed downstairs toward the kitchen. Mom came into the kitchen, placed her purse on the marble counter, and set to work preparing dinner. We decided to have spaghetti tonight, so I brought the chicken out of the microwave while Mom cooked the pasta (there was a bowl of spaghetti sauce in the fridge already, so I just warmed that up). We served ourselves, walked over to the white oak table to sit, and ate the hot meal in silence. The only sounds that could be heard were the soft clicking of the keys on Mom's laptop as she handled people's investments and such, and the occasional scrape of fork against plate.