I submitted this story earlier but it has not been published, so I am resubmitting a revised version. I hope everyone enjoys! 

Dark Waves of Discovery

Story by: MiyaK

Chapter 5 – Elizabeth Scott

“Elizabeth,” Mom’s face swam in and out of my hazy vision. “Time to wake up.” 

I squinted at my digital clock sitting on the dresser near my bed. 3:30 am? Wake up? 

“I hate to do this to you and Opal, but the tsunami. It’s coming tomorrow,” Mom continued, rubbing my shoulder. I shook myself out of my state of semiconciousness. “I’m trying to salvage as much as possible from our home.”

Tsunami? Huh?

“I’ve already started loading the smaller furniture into the car. It takes 25 minutes to get to the two storage units your father has rented for our possessions, and I know that with all the evacuation traffic it won’t be easy to commute back and forth. That’s why I’m making trips as early as I can.”

I sat up in bed. The events of yesterday filtered back in a sickening flood. The call from Opal, the sirens, the panic. The tsunami. It was coming tomorrow. 

“Please Elizabeth, could you help me load the furniture? I need someone else to help, and I don’t have the heart to awaken your sister. She was traveling almost the whole day yesterday. It won’t take long and while I drive, you can rest in bed again.”

Now fully awake, I jumped out of bed. “Of course, Mom,” I responded, the adrenaline already starting to kick in. “Just let me get dressed. I’ll be right down.” 

“Thank you, Elizabeth,” she said softly. She hugged me and squeezed my hand. “I’ll be waiting for you in the kitchen. I’m sorry. I really am.”

“It’s not your fault, Mom.”   

But is it yours God? Whose fault is this anyways? 

I threw on some clothes, and ran my brush through my hair, before hurrying downstairs. 

I found my mother wrapping our family heirloom antique china, the 6 plates and glasses from my mother’s grandparents, (my great-grandparents), in Japan.  The beautiful plates had been passed down from generation to generation. They’d come with my maternal grandparents when they had immigrated to America. They’d survived Japanese-American internment camps during World War II, and when my grandparents returned to civilian life, they had still treasured the lacquerware. Even when hurricane Iniki destroyed their Kauai home, the plates and glasses had been salvaged, my grandmother eventually passing them down to her only daughter, my mother, after Mom’s wedding. 

As I watched Mom carefully package the china in a box, her head bowed and her lips moved silently but fervently, as if in prayer, I was surprised to see something fall from her eye. Then another. Mom was crying. 

“Mom?” I whispered cautiously, not sure if she had noticed me. 

Her head jolted up.  

“You startled me, Elizabeth,” she gasped, discretely trying to wipe her eyes. “Okay, now that you’re here, can you pull the bedding off your father’s and my bed and fold it? I’d like to save the mattress, and I’ll need your help loading that into the car. I’ll go in there as soon as I finish packing these. After that, I’m hoping to bring whatever odds and ends we can fit. And then back for more,” she instructed. 

I quickly left the kitchen leaving Mom with her quick hands and memories as she rattled off a lengthy list of things we had to do, instead stripping and folding the sheets from my parent’s bed at record speed. Everything seemed unreal. It’s a dream. After all, it’s barely 3:45 am, I tried to convince myself to no avail.

 Methodically, I placed the linens in a pile, and called Mom. We heaved the mattress off the bed, down the hallway, and into our minivan. Next came the kitchen table, and two chairs, as well as several boxes of clothing and odds and ends around the house. The car was soon completely full. 

Mom sighed, running a hand through her disheveled hair. With a yawn, she withdrew her car keys from her purse and hugged me. 

“You’re the best, Elizabeth. Thank you. You can get some sleep while I drive these things over. I’ll awaken you both when I get back. I’m so tired, but it can’t be helped.”

“Oh, Mom. Did you sleep at all? 

“Well, an hour or two, I think. Maybe I’ll nap later in the day. But we’ve got to evacuate the house as quickly as possible.” 

“I know. They said two days, but,” I couldn’t bring myself to finish the sentence. A goodbye to the only home I’d ever known this rushed was bad enough. If reports showed that the wave was coming sooner I don’t think I could have borne it. 

Hiding my anxiety, I turned my concern to Mom. 

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” I asked. “What about unloading the van? Don’t you need me to help with that?”

“They should have moving carts available to help me manage, and I can always ask someone. Just please pray I can stay awake,” she answered honestly. “I’m so tired, but I think I’ll be fine.” 

“Okay. Call me if you need anything.”

”I should be telling you that,” she teased, before sliding into the driver seat and waving her hand. “Love you!” 

*

I never went back to sleep. I went to the door of my room, but couldn’t bring myself to  enter. I knew I’d have to leave most of the stuff behind, and I couldn’t bring myself to hasten the goodbye and pack my suitcase. I wasn’t ready to face it all. 

Making my way to the kitchen, I saw that the box of lacquerware Mom had packed was still sitting on the counter, abandoned. My stomach turned as I knew that Mom couldn’t have forgotten it. She’d left it behind, but why?

I glanced inside the cardboard flaps and saw a piece of paper jutting from where it was tucked into one side of the box. 

Pulling it out, I immediately recognized my Baachan’s (Japanese grandmother’s) spindly handwriting. The date showed that it was from the day of my parent’s wedding. 

“My dearest Isabelle,” The note began, and I silently read the opening paragraphs. 

“It is unimaginable to think that you have already grown up and ventured beyond the home we’ve built to support you, and will soon be creating a home of your own. I’m sad of course, to close the door to your childhood completely, but it is also with rejoicing that I celebrate your next phase in life. I hope you know that God willing, as long as I am physically able, I will endeavor to support you in whatever walk of life you choose, however you need. I am your biggest fan, always. 

“And when I can’t be there to support and love you, I know that God will be. Please trust Him, even when life is hard. I can’t promise ease, but I know how much security my faith has brought me over the years. 

The letter went on, a true expression of my Baachan’s love for Mom. The last paragraph caught my eye. 

“Finally, daughter, I know that you’ve heard the story of the kintsugi bowl that is a part of this set hundreds of times. Yet I hope that you will tell it hundreds more, to your children and family and friends.” 

I looked up from the page. Mom certainly had. Kintsugi was the Japanese art of repairing a broken bowl by placing gold between the cracks, in my opinion, creating a more beautiful and symbolic masterpiece. Ours was beautiful, the white surface of the bowl contrasting with the assorted cracks. Sometimes they were bunched together, while in other areas they were few and far between. I looked again at the page before me. 

“As a girl, when my mother first obtained this china, I didn’t think the bowl could have cracked more perfectly. And maybe that was so. Change is a part of life, Isabelle, and it will shape you more than you know. I hope that you’ll adjust. That you’ll allow it to expose your inner beauty rather than building up a wall of defense. I pray that with God’s help, the woman you will be at my age will be a better person than the one you are now. It may feel terrible at times, but that may only mean the bowl is cracking, repairing into something beautiful in time. 

“You are strong, my daughter. And I pray you will face changes with confidence. Remember Jeremiah 29:11 —‘For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the Lord, ‘plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.’

Love always, 

Mom”

I felt terrible for reading Mom’s personal treasure, but also couldn’t shake the fact that the note had resonated with me greatly. My bowl is certainly cracking, I thought bitterly, then remembered my grandmother’s struggles. They were much larger than this. 

And oh, Baachan. How did you face all that change in your life? How were you always gentle and accepting? And Mom, Mom is like that too. I don’t know if I can, or how I can. My bowl is breaking, but how can I be sure God isn’t cracking it on purpose? Just to have another pretty decoration? Or is there truly divine guidance in these turbulent moments? I’m not sure what to believe. 

I pushed the thoughts aside. Now, packing the house would be my full priority. The everyday dishes? More small furniture? The mantle decorations? The bookcase? I didn’t know what Mom wanted to try to salvage next. That’s when I realized it didn’t really matter. Whatever I didn’t get today would be gone tomorrow. I exploded into action. Within minutes I’d stacked kitchen chairs and a decorative table by the front door. I had wrapped our most used dishes. I had dashed up the stairs and folded Kai’s bedding, packing it into a box with some of his clothes. I hauled another storage tub upstair, and threw in more clothing. I knew he’d want his judo medals, and a framed photo of him, Opal and myself. We each had an identical one. I grabbed his Bible from a stack of books, and nearly tripped over parts of a building project that was caressly strewn about the floor. It took me awhile to locate the Aloha Boeing 737-200 model airplane that I knew he treasured, but I finally spotted it hiding behind a box of assorted toys in the closet. I imagined his pleased smile that I’d remembered the exact model of the toy, and could almost hear his energetic laugh bubbling up from inside of him. It was then that I realized that for maybe one of the first times in my life, I dreadfully missed my brother. It isn’t fair, God, that he, that we, should have to go through this much, I argued as I packed. A few more things I thought he’d want went into the tub, until it was almost full. His piggy bank, full of state park quarters that had accumulated over the years was the last thing I threw in. 

Swallowing tears, I said a silent goodbye to my brother’s room and hauled the tubs down the stairs. The kitchen clock read 4:36 AM. Mom would be returning soon, and I felt accomplished in the fact that I’d already prepared the next load of things to be stored. Accomplished was far from done. 

Opal. She’ll help. I’ve got to wake her up,  I remembered. I knew I should let her sleep, but my frenzied mind needed a companion. The silent house and frantic mindset I’d acquired did not sit well. 

The door to Opal’s room was closed. Completely shut, not cracked open the tiniest bit as our parents expected of us. In the dark hallway I groped blindly for the door knob, when suddenly, the moon moved out from behind a cloud. A beam of faint light came through our front windows and dimly illuminated the area where I was standing. As I now easily reached for the knob, I paused at the sight of my sister’s decorative sign.

Be joyful always, pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances…

I frowned. That sounded nice, of course, but was it reasonable? As of late, most Bible texts were like that. Like a false storefront, they were wonderful ideas but hard to carry out, so only the good parts were called attention to. What I’d usually been comforted by, I was now questioning. 

Give thanks? For this? 

But a questionable text on a decorative sign was the least of my worries. I brushed the thought aside as just another platitude that wasn’t practical, and gently opened the door a crack. Who needed to give thanks to a God that would only bring tragedy? Certainly not me, not anymore. 

I peered through the crack. 

Opal was seated at her desk, facing away from the door. Head bent, hand scribbling. 

What on earth? 

I spotted her open Bible on top of the cluttered array of pens and papers, next to whatever she was writing. 

Why is she up? I barely had enough sleep as it is. 

I observed silently for a few more seconds, then pushed the door open even further. 

“Opal?” I whispered into the stillness. 

She jumped. Her head snapped up and she whirled around to face me. 

“Elizabeth! What are you doing here?!”

”Waking you up. I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt anything.” 

“How long have you been here?”

“Maybe 20 seconds. Not too long. I didn’t barge in since I didn’t want to startle you.”

She sighed in exasperation. “You obviously did. How long have you been up?” 

“Over an hour. Mom woke me.” 

“Where is Mom, anyways?” 

“At the storage units Dad rented for our belongings. Taking the first load of things over already,” I entered the room. “I’ve been packing stuff, and I need your help. We can be faster if we work together. If you aren’t too tired.”

“Okay. I’ll be there in a second, or actually… I can finish this later.”

She hopped up from the chair and scooted past me into the hall. 

I caught a glimpse of the open journal. 

“Crushed. It’s how you felt too, wasn’t it? Even under the worst circumstances, water spilled from your wound. The water of life for others, mixed with the blood of your sacrifice. You gave the reminder of your pain to show us that you persevered for us. To produce this water to cleanse and refresh me, so that I’d have hope. You were crushed, and you just took the hurt and the sin and bore it; you didn’t use it to hurt others. I don’t think I can produce water, God. Or anything. This crushing of me, it can’t end in anything good. It’s hard to accept the hurt. And why am I even expected to —”

My body jerked as if touching a hot stove at the sound of Opal’s voice, from downstairs. “Elizabeth? You okay?” 

Reluctantly, my eyes moved away from the page. “Of course! I’m coming.” 

Crushed? Water?  Had Opal gone crazy? I glanced over my shoulder one final time for her spot in the Bible, (John 19 and 20), and vowed to look it up later. I could maybe ask Opal, though the fact that we rarely kept anything from each other would make my guilt at snooping rather obvious. 

I quietly left the room, and dashed down the stairs. Mom’s car was pulling in the driveway. I opened the door and quickly went outside. 

“I’ve prepared more stuff to store. Do you want to take it now, or rest a bit? I just woke up Opal. How big are the storage units? How much do we have room for? What do I do next?”  My words stumbled over themselves in their rush to be heard, each stepping on the heels of its predecessor. 

“I’ll be taking another trip over as soon as I load the car, but Elizabeth, why did you stay up? You need your sleep!”

“So do you.”  

Mom looked at me for a long moment. “I should have never woken you up. I should’ve known you’d stress about this more than Opal. You’re going to worry yourself sick.” 

“I’m not worried.” 

Another pause. “If you say so. It’s normal to worry, though. I’ll have to admit I’m doing quite a bit of it now. But Jesus said, ‘Therefore, do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.’ And also, ‘So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.’ We don’t have to be afraid, Elizabeth.”

“You always quote that. And admit it. Too many, so many of those promises are outdated. Maybe when Jesus walked the Earth they’d apply, but not now. Not here. If our home was destroyed in this tsunami, do you think God is going to snap his fingers, and, boom, restore our house? Or give us a sure place to live, and a well supplied new life? Because I don’t,” I admitted honestly. “And I don’t see why we have to abide by all that either. To worship a God that would allow something like this to happen in the first place. He contributes to the worry, don’t you see? By making me confused about what I can trust and what I can’t. In how to interpret these empty promises you and Opal and Dad are always quoting. How do you expect me to be thankful and unafraid and praise God while this is happening? How can I be assured in that when I don’t even trust him with my wellbeing? And all of these endless platitudes. Telling me to not worry. Of all times, why now? Why this?” I was crying. 

“Oh, Elizabeth.” 

Mom was out of the car in an instant, and had wrapped her arms around me. 

“I won’t pretend that I know, or that I understand why these bad things happen. What I do know is a good and loving God who has promised to always be with me. He never promised that everything in our lives would be good, or even safe, but he has promised to always be with us. When Jesus was in the boat with his disciples, and the large storm arose, remember that story? Anyways, as the winds blew and the waters rose, Jesus wasn’t performing miracles. He was sleeping. Not doing anything. But instead comforting themselves with his presence, the disciples took matters into their own hands. They looked at the wind and the waves. Jesus was there. He could calm the storm, and so they faulted him for sleeping. They needed an immediate answer.” 

I studied the ground, my lips as sealed as the rotting lock in our garden, the product of a recent flood. Another memory of a quirk of home that didn’t really matter. That I would have to leave. Why, God? 

“You’re sinking Elizabeth. Sometimes I think we all are, but especially you, and as a mother, it hurts so much to see it.”

I stiffened, but she continued before I could object. “It happens to me too, you know. Sinking. Like Peter when he tried to walk on water. We start out looking at Jesus who gave us the opportunity in the first place, but as soon as we look away, as soon as we focus on the wind and the waves instead of him, we sink. It’s only when we focus our attention on him, that we accept the circumstance in our lives. The waves will always be there, but God is above them.”

I contemplated Mom’s words, tears still moistening my face, and saw that there was truth in them, to be sure. Yet it was easy to accept that God was above our troubles when there weren’t any troubles, and now that I was wading through them, believing he was still there wasn’t that easy. Instead of questioning my mother further I turned to go back in the house. Mom hugged me once more, but didn’t push the subject, for which I was grateful. Questions of faith would have to wait for later. Now, we were all racing against time, hoping, praying that maybe, just maybe, this was all a dream. 

*

“And when did you say our flight was?” Mom asked as she went through one of the ten massive drawers in her towering file cabinet at record speed. 

“Opal confirmed with Dad this morning that it would be this Wednesday, at 6:00 am, heading out to Dallas, Texas,” I responded, wiping my forehead with the back of my hand. 

“Okay,” she said, not pausing to look up from her sorting. “Hmm… a rejected graphic design proposal I created – I’ll throw that away. Here’s the Hawaiian Water Conservation Committee’s new logo I designed – we can keep that. Umm, your dad’s financial records and banking account status – keep. Adoption papers for a cat we no longer own – let’s throw them away…,” She mumbled as she sorted the cream colored file folders with her neat handwriting at the top into piles, tossing many into the nearby trash can. I watched as she neared the bottom of the draw she was sorting. “Elizabeth,” she said, while reading the label to a business report she had created several years back, “if you aren’t busy, it would be great for you to help me with these business records that I have saved. Keep important paperwork and certificates, and toss the rest. Quickly please. I’ll start looking into saving the more important business info. And where is Opal? What is she doing now, anyway?” Mom commanded, as she stood up and surveyed the room. 

“Opal is in the living room, wrapping up the glass figures on the mantle from you and Dad’s wedding so we can take them with us, along with the yearly photo books.” 

Mom nodded. “Three drawers done, seven to go, but the rest of the business stuff is at the office. I’ve got to get over there to get the most important records…,”

Mom worked as a graphic designer, owning her own business that had actually become quite popular in the community; and with fifteen years of work, proposals, designs, and records, the office was certainly stuffed with file folders. This didn’t even include non-business related, regular things like records for our water bill, important paperwork, and finance management spreadsheets listing our expenses and bank account status. My organized parents obviously didn’t leave the clutter lying about though. They tucked it neatly away in labeled folders within the massive file cabinet located towards one side of the desk housing framed photos of our family and a large computer, which boasted the latest graphic design programs, up to date software, and endless possibilities for work. 

Cautiously opening a drawer, I began to lift papers out. These had already been sorted through before, to eliminate unnecessary things that would only clutter our small space, but still, the mountain of paper before me seemed to grow with each stack of pages I brought out of the drawer. Fifteen minutes later, the drawer stood clean and empty in the middle of the floor. 

“Okay,” I smiled at Mom. “I’m done.” 

She didn’t look up, but her lips fluttered into a slight smile. “Now, if you think you want a break, why don’t you check on how Opal’s doing? Next I need you to pack the computer in a box. I’ll be going to the office in 15 minutes to take important material from there. While I’m gone, please gather food that we can take on the plane and set it aside. The rest, I’ll donate to a food bank if applicable and toss out, if not. We have to be out of the houses by 9:00 pm tonight – that’s the official evacuation time. So please, hurry, Elizabeth.” 

I nodded, glad for the excuse to leave the cluttered room. As soon as I stepped out of the double doors to the office, I spied my sister, wrapping the glass figurines that rested on a shelf near the entry of our home. Already, the barren bookcase I spotted through the open door to the living room and kitchen spoke of anything but my home. 

“It already looks so different,” I sighed, half talking to myself, but also slightly hoping that Opal would join in the conversation. 

“I know,” she said, carefully placing a vase in an open shoebox. “Mom wants me to fit all the glass decor in these three small boxes, so we may have to leave some stuff behind. I’m wrapping these the best I can and even placing some foam between them, but….,” her voice trailed off wistfully. “They may still break.”

“Oh Opal! I hate this stupid tsunami, and I hate the thought of leaving our whole lives behind. I hate the goodbyes, and I hate packing everything. I hate it!” A tear trickled down my cheek, closely followed by another. 

“Elizabeth!” Opal exclaimed, running to me. “Elizabeth, you’re crying. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to make you worry, or make you sad, for that matter. Even if we lose most of this stuff,” she swept her hand in a dramatic arc across the room, “we’ll still have our family. We will still have you and me and Mom, Dad and Kai. Listen Elizabeth! That’s what really matters, you know. That’s what makes us the Scott family.”

Her words jumbled up inside my brain, and it refused to process what she was saying. Lose………everything? How can she say that? I’m thankful that our family will be safe, but if the house is gone, what’s left? This is the memories from my whole life, this is my treasured home, and my safe place to rest. Oh Opal, I wish I had your mindset but it’s so hard….

“I’m fine,” I responded, hoping my expression didn’t give away what I was actually thinking. I then smiled at my sister’s tenderness as she hugged me. “Really Opal, I’ll be fine, I guess. Mom wants us to go through the foodstuff.” 

I reached up and dried my face with a tissue. 

“I’ll come in there as soon as I finish here,” Opal promised. “But tell her that I’m certainly not looking forward to it! This is too much work as it is!”

“Hey!” I shot back, in mock anger. “Mom and I have to sort drawers and drawers and boxes of files, while you only have to wrap a few vases. You cannot be the one to complain!” I gave her a wink and smile, so she knew I was only teasing before disappearing back into the office for the computer.

*

That night Mom scrambled extra food we had leftover in the refrigerator together for supper. Our dinner was leftover soup with sandwiches and a half finished bag of chips in the pantry. Already, the house looked empty. The office had been successfully cleaned out, the family photos and computer had been packed to take with us and 2 file folders housed the things Opal and I had chosen to keep from our past school years, along with certificates and records from personal life. The living room decor had been packed and certain items had been chosen to go with us.

I sighed deeply, feeling the pain at leaving almost all of our belongings that I had expressed towards Opal this afternoon. 

After a short blessing, Mom scarfed down her food, and stood. “I’ve got to try to pack something else. Girls, finish in 10 minutes and start loading anything of importance that you can into the car. This is my last trip to the storage. Whatever we leave is lost. I’m sorry, but we just don’t have the space or time. It’s in God’s hands now, as it’s always been.”

Opal nodded.

I turned my face away.

”This is harder on you than it is on me,” I heard Opal comment.

“How can you know?”

”It’s quite obvious how much you’re hiding your hurt.” 

“My -“

”Look Elizabeth. I don’t know why you’re so angry. But I do know that anger will only bring you pain.” 

“WE’RE LEAVING THE ONLY HOME WE’VE EVER KNOWN, AND MOST OF OUR POSSESSIONS TOO! All you say is that God has a plan, or that he’s above the troubles. How? How do you point to a God that would allow this to happen. Don’t you see, sister, that God is letting our lives be destroyed!? He seems to be destroying our lives!!” I shouted, tears brimming, but refusing to spill. 

“No! He’s not! You’re destroying your own life. I want the real Elizabeth back. The one who wasn’t angry and distrustful and unhappy. Even before this tsunami, you weren’t yourself. Please, Elizabeth, what happened?” 

My anger spent, I couldn’t bear to face her. 

“There’s no way that we can save everything,” Opal said with a sigh. “You do know that we’re leaving tonight, at 9:00, for the hotel?” 

“Yeah.” My voice broke.  

She nodded, and rinsed her bowl in the sink. Together, we left the room, and as we passed through the dining room, Opal pulled at my sleeve, directing my attention to the sun that was setting behind the palm trees. 

“Should we go watch?” she whispered softly.

The lump in my throat prevented me from answering, so I only nodded. Is this the last sunset that we will watch at this house? The colors…Oh, it is so beautiful.

I hardly noticed when the colors faded to black, and Opal finally walked back to the house after many more minutes than ten and assisted Mom in final preparations. I was too lost in thought.

I thought of my high school, where I would be starting my junior year this fall. Fortunately it was considerably inland from where the wave would strike. I imagined my home; mom’s fruit and vegetable garden out back, the two palm trees waving a welcome in the front yard. The luscious green grass and the hibiscus plant which I had cultivated myself, was blooming nicely, but now it would almost surely be destroyed…In my mind’s eye I saw our warm and sunny kitchen, with a view of the beach behind the cluster of beautiful magnolia trees. I pictured the small flight of stairs that led up to the rooms Opal and I occupied. Our home….

But there is a chance that it won’t be harmed, I told myself repeatedly, but I knew better than to actually believe this. Years ago, before Elizabeth and I had been born, another house had stood in the very spot ours did. It wasn’t exactly beachfront, as it had some tall trees and shrubs as a barrier, and a small rented beach house stood in front of it. But when another earthquake had rocked Japan, another huge wave was formed, and before anyone had time to do much, it struck. The house, even though built to withstand such fury, was completely destroyed. Demolished. Washed out to sea. That’s when Mom and Dad bought the land to build a house, our house. It had withstood numerous floods and tiny earthquakes, and was designed to withstand a tsunami, but would it? Every time I promised myself that our home would be okay, I got a sinking feeling in my chest that I wasn’t telling my own self the truth, and I imagined that house, built so many years ago, being beaten down, destroyed, and washed out to sea. 

*

“One hour, girls. We only have room for one suitcase of your things. This is my last trip to the storage. When I get back, they’ll be forcing us to leave,” Mom admonished, not too many minutes later. 

The door slammed. 

She was gone.

“It’s 8:03,” Opal announced, and dashed up the stairs.

I followed her, quickly this time, not ready for this last hour in my room, in my house, to slip away from me. But it did. Like everything else, of course, it did. 

*

When I heard the car pull into the driveway I took one last glance around. The album of baby pictures and the tub full of plush animal friends spoke of happier, carefree days. The memory took my gaze to the space below my window. Instead of a dollhouse, there was my desk, angled so that the last rays of evening light could reach it. My favorite time to work on homework, just before sunset, when the sunlight spilled in like pools of gold that couldn’t contain themselves, was also the time in summer when I would saunter outside to the garden and indulge in the reading of a book. There were several of them there now, actually, mixed in with a half finished craft and some school folders. There was the beautiful ivy plant from a lady we frequently visited in the nursing home, and a framed photo of my parents and me, on the night of my first professional orchestra concert. I tore my eyes away from the momentos and pulled open the door to my closet. The sight of my remaining, neatly arranged clothes brought tears to my eyes. I also knew that in a tiny corner I’d find the science exam I’d failed in 7th grade, a letter of rejection to perform at an event Opal had been invited to play her violin at, and the broken pieces of my cello’s bridge when I had dropped the instrument unexpectedly, among other secrets. I knew this room inside out, and everywhere I glanced contributed to the lump building in my throat. 

The last place I looked was my bookshelf. It was crowded and messy, but quite meaningful, as each of the books had shaped me in its own way. Quietly, I removed my favorites from the shelf, and stood them up on the bench underneath my window, which overlooked the ocean. I started with childhood favorites, then moved to my more recent and mature readings. Out of the Blue, by Charles Mills, my favorite of the Shadow Creek Ranch Series. Camporee of Doom, by Seth Pierce. Hidden Notes and High Seas, from Sandy Zaugg’s Alice, an Adventist Girl series. What God Hath Joined, by Patty Ntihemuka. Bathsheba, by Tracy Morgan. Serenity’s Desire, the first book in Kay Rizzo’s Serenity Inn series. I went back to the bookshelf to gather a few more, which included Lynn Austin’s Candle in the Darkness, Kay Rizzo’s The Prodigal Daughter, and the 5 of Ellen White’s Conflict of the Ages series books that I had started reading before the tsunami. Each had been a favorite in a different time of life, and status of faith, and each had helped grow that faith. I couldn’t take the books, there simply wasn’t room. But I wanted to leave the books, representing a piece of me that wanted to trust God, looking out the window and over the waves even to the point of being completely washed away. I couldn’t find that trust at the moment, but I wanted to remember the girl that had once had it. 

The door slowly opened and Mom’s voice reached my ears. It was time to go. 

I turned away from the books at the window, walking out of the room. Their hope and promises would be washed into the sea, closing a door on my innocence and unfailing trust. I only wondered if the God behind the stories of the characters, and individuals in my life, would still be there after everything was gone.  

*

And where was my Heavenly Father, as I was forced to leave the only home I’d ever known? I didn’t know if I should blame Him or turn to Him. 

As we pulled from the driveway, Mom quoted promises about storing up treasure in heaven and God’s plan being for the good. Opal was scribbling in her journal, perhaps continuing the confusing thoughts of the morning.  

What wouldn’t I give for a faith like theirs? Yet I still questioned if such a relationship with God was worth having. Wasn’t he the one destroying me? Or did he truly want to work this for the good? 

Oh God, I prayed silently, I want to trust you, but I don’t understand why this is happening. But then again, I don’t think anyone understands. If nothing else, grant me peace. You seem to be the only one that can. Help me trust you, even though I can’t see what you’re doing in all of this mess.

Thank you for reading this chapter! The story will be continued from Elizabeth’s perspective, (she has another, shorter chapter). After that, you will hear from Maria!