Freedom for Rebecca

By Beth Luneke

This is the story of Rebecca, an adventuresome and spirited fifth grader whos fallen on tough times and is fighting her way through the chaos of her parents divorce. Will Jude, the older, free and fun-loving friend lead her astray? Will Bryony, her dear and true best friend, keep her grounded? Or will a new friend from church, Ruthie, be able to steer her to safety? Read on to find out!

But Rebeccas challenge is not so different than the challenges young ladies face every day. As you go on this journey with Rebecca, you can take a journey of exploration for yourself, about yourself! Use the study guide at the end of the book to learn something new and wonderful about you! And youll probably find a little help along the way.

Now, jump in and watch as the interweaving of three friends in Rebeccas life unfolds!

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Oct 8, 2014
• ISBN: 9781490852447

Beth Luneke

Beth Luneke spent seventeen years in corporate America before walking away to write this book. Her life is a story of walking in faith, and a testimony to the transforming power of Jesus. She now writes to share her experiences and inspire others. She lives with her husband and their three children in Cary, North Carolina.

Book preview

40228.png

Copyright © 2014 Beth Luneke.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

WestBow Press

A Division of Thomas Nelson & Zondervan

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.westbowpress.com

1 [phone]

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Scripture taken from the Holy Bible, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by Biblica, Inc. All rights reserved worldwide. Used by permission. NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION® and NIV® are registered trademarks of Biblica, Inc. Use of either trademark for the offering of goods or services requires the prior written consent of Biblica US, Inc.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

ISBN: 978-1-4908-5245-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4908-5246-1 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4908-5244-7 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014916658

WestBow Press rev. date: 10/3/2014

Contents

Dedication

Acknowledgments

Introduction

Chapter 1    A New Life

Chapter 2    A New Friend

Chapter 3    A Day’s Adventure

Chapter 4    A Trio Gone Wrong

Chapter 5    Maybe She’s Not That Bad

Chapter 6    The Unwanted Dance

Chapter 7    Unexpected Events

Chapter 8    A Lie Unravels

Chapter 9    Between Two Friends

Chapter 10    A Lost Treasure

Chapter 11    Freedom

Chapter 12    Rebuilding Friendships

Discussion Section

Dedication

To every young lady who needs a helping hand in this world.

Acknowledgments

A thunderous thank you to my mom for her endless prayers, which brought me through the torment of life and into a relationship with Jesus. There is no greater gift. Also for her steadfastness in proofing every chapter during the creation of the book. An overwhelming round of gratitude to my husband, Matt, who took a huge leap of faith with me when we decided I would walk away from my corporate career to follow the calling to write this book. To my Rachie bear, an exuberant thank you for being my biggest cheerleader and loving this book every step of the way. And to Chloe, who walked through a journey of sacrifice to see this book come to fruition. And for so many others who gave emotional support and encouragement, my deepest and sincerest thank you.

Introduction

Begin the story of Rebecca, an adventuresome and spirited fifth grader who’s fallen on tough times and is fighting her way through the chaos of her parents’ divorce. Will Jude, the older, free and fun-loving friend, lead her astray? Will Bryony, her dear and true best friend, keep her grounded? Or will a new friend from church, Ruthie, be able to steer her to safety? Read on to find out!

But Rebecca’s challenge is not so different than the challenges young ladies face every day. As you go on this journey with Rebecca, you can take a journey of exploration for yourself, about yourself! Before you begin the book, find the discussion section at the end and put a bookmark there. When you finish each chapter, jump to the discussion section, read the discussion for that chapter, and answer the questions that follow. You will learn something new and wonderful about yourself as you go! And you’ll probably find a little help along the way.

Now jump in and watch how the interweaving of three friends in Rebecca’s life unfolds!

Chapter 1

A New Life

H i, Rebecca! says the young lady at the check-in desk. Her hands are folded neatly on the table in front of her. It’s good to see you back!

Hi, I say with my face turned down.

Her bright smile is visible from the corner of my eye, but I focus on the sticker sheet instead. I find the tag with my name on it, unpeel it from the sheet, and stick it to my shirt—the same ruffled yellow T-shirt I wear to church every week. A piece of my hair gets stuck under the tag and tugs at my scalp. I yank it free.

The double doors leading into the small auditorium appear freshly painted in a dull shade of tan. I push through them and concentrate on the speckles in the carpet as I cling to the back wall leading to the far end of the room. Glancing up through my hair, I see that the last few rows of chairs stand starkly vacant compared to the rows in front, which are packed with kids talking and playing finger games and girls fluffing their hair and boys pushing each other. Swerving into the far end of the last aisle, I fall into my usual last seat. A book on the floor slides two rows forward after I give it a swift kick. Despite being alone in the lonely last row, I feel restless for more space. I wish I could climb into the shadows of the back wall.

Looking forward toward the stage, I see in the spaces between the kids’ heads and flailing arms, guitars being slung and microphones being adjusted and singers taking positions. With the tap of the drumsticks, the music bellows forth. On cue the crowd of irreverent kids stands in unison to join the singing. I stand too, but instead of singing the lyrics glowing on the big screen above the musicians’ heads, I sing my own little song. I mockingly snap my fingers to the beat. I’d rather be fishing with my dad. Oh yeah. I’d rather be hooking slimy worms. Oh yeah.

After a few more rounds of slimy fish lyrics, I grunt and ditch the effort to entertain myself. I drop my head and kick at the chair leg in front of me. Calculating the time difference between North Carolina and Utah, I figure me and my dad would just be putting the boat out right now. But noooo. I’m here at church. I give the chair leg a final sharp kick. Why is my mom so church crazy since Dad moved out? And why did he have to move so far away? Utah. Seriously? This divorce stinks!

I shift on my hip and flop my head backward. Spotlights on the ceiling in white, blue, and green flicker unpredictably toward the stage. I drop my head again to stare at the seat bottom in front of me; the dull tan stripes of its cushion match the dull tan paint on the door. I missed the whole summer with my friends because I had to be in Utah. I should have been here fishing with my dad! I wallow over other things that have changed, like our new house and new neighborhood. At least it’s close to our old neighborhood so I can still go to the same school. Last year, Carly had to move all the way across town after her parents got divorced.

Kids’ church goes on despite my grumblings, and I wearily go through the motions. I play a Bible game. I watch a video. I sing a song. During the final prayer, I drop my head to look at my flowered church skirt. My hair falls off my shoulders and covers my face to hide that I’m not praying. As our jovial leader announces that class is over, a screaming barrage of kids scrambles to the doors. Heading in the same direction, I’m engulfed by the crowd attempting to squeeze out. As we leave, the teachers hand out little plastic cards with this week’s Bible verse on it: And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose (Romans 8:28).

Whatever, I say to myself and shove the card in my pocket.

I head down the hall to the first-grade room. Inside, smashed Cheerios litter the floor, petite sweaters teeter off of chair backs, and children scream for their parents. I pluck my little sister, Lizzy, from the bedlam and lead her to the lobby. Across its expanse of gray carpeting and ivory walls, I spot my mom through the assembly of church-goers. She’s laughing with some lady who seems too friendly. The lady’s smile reaches from ear to ear, with her cheeks appearing to keep her blond curls from smothering her face. I maneuver through the crowd to an opening in the reception seating area for a clearer view.

A girl standing next to the smiling lady comes into view. Her smooth pink skirt perfectly matches the pink ribbon in her hair. Her bouncy blond curls mimic her mother’s coiffure. I recognize her from kids’ church. She’s the girl who sits in the front row flailing her arm and jumping out of her seat to answer all the questions. Apparently she has church clothes like me, but somehow I don’t think she minds like I do. She gives me a smile. Not a big fake one like her mom’s, but I dodge it anyway. The last thing I want is to get stuck sitting in the front row with her. I pretend to gaze at the artwork covering the wall behind their little gathering in an attempt to catch my mom’s eye. When I do, I flare my, Let’s go! eyes at her. She slants her eyes back at me and turns back to the lady. She smiles and nods her head and then chats with the mini-mom in pink before giving the lady a hug and turning to go. I meet her at the exit with Lizzy in tow.

"Mom, can we please just go when church is over?" I stomp behind her.

Rebecca, stop it. She sighs as we pile into the car. You still have your friends from school, and you know I lost all my friends after the divorce. It’s my only chance to talk with other women and make new friends. Please try to understand.

Understand? All I understand is that our whole life is turned upside down. Why are we coming here anyway?

Enough already! You know this is really important to me. It’s not my fault your dad refused to go to church. His fishing was more important, and that’s what he picked. I understand you don’t like it. But I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t complain about it every time we come! A bang on the steering wheel tells me that’s enough. I flop my head on the seatback and watch the trees whiz by. The sign to our new neighborhood, Whispering Pines, coasts into view.

Whispering Pines. Really? What a dumb name. I shift my gaze to the back of my mom’s head to avoid looking at it.

From the street, our new rental house looks like a dollhouse compared to our real house. Its modest two stories are dwarfed by the massive tree out front. The yard is barely big enough to get a good game of catch going. Mom says at least we’re still in a house. I say at least I can still ride my bike to Bryony’s. Inside, I climb the stairs to my room and throw the church card on my dresser. Flopping onto my bed, I stare up at the crusty yellow lines invading the otherwise white ceiling. The white ceiling blends into the white walls, offering the coziness of a hospital room. I long for the vivid blue and purple paint of my old room. My eyes follow the wall to a collection of my charcoal drawings I taped up before my trip to Utah. Frisky kittens and playful puppies and gallant horses jump off the pages. A moment’s peace settles over me as I imagine their antics. But the peace is fleeting. An explosive shriek from my sister blasts up the stairs.

No! she screams at my mom. Her blubbering sobs blow forth in heaving gasps. I drop my forehead in my hands and wring my hair. UGH! I can’t stand it anymore! It’s the same thing over and over! I send a stuffed animal sailing over the bed with a swift kick. My mom never knows what to say to make her feel better. What could make her feel better? Our lives stink! My nails dig into my scalp. I need to get out of this house!

Flying out of bed, I grab my favorite cargo shorts out of a heap of clothes on the floor and fling my church skirt on top of the pile. Digging through a laundry basket, I grab my pink camo T-shirt and hurl the yellow church shirt across the room. Snatching my bag of string and ringlet of knot cards off my dresser, I shove them in a pocket. With my forehead pressed against the bedroom door, I inhale a deep breath to quell the ranting in my mind before stepping out. Soundlessly, the door opens under the steady pressure of my hand. Walking out and taking a large step over the creaky floorboard, I lightly descend the stairs and escape undetected out the back door.

Outside, the normally oppressive heat of the August air feels like the welcoming warmth of summer. The tears and sadness and frustration and anger from inside the house leech from my body into the sticky humidity and float away. The freedom from the house and from my mom telling me what’s best for me ignites my sense of adventure. I want to ride free! Dashing to the yard behind the house, I grab my bike, hop on, and beeline out front. Taking to the streets of Whispering Pines, I follow one curve into another and another, trying to get out to the main road. The ginormous trees cast cool shadows that refresh my mind and senses as I pass under them. Each one seems to have a story to tell.

After a final curve, I arrive at the main road and pause at the stop sign. I really hope Bryony’s home. Peering down the long length of road, I double check that the shoulder extends as far as I can see. Cautiously pushing my bike onto the shoulder, I squeeze my eyes and crank the pedals. Bursts of air from passing cars nearly send me into the ditch. Only a little more to go. Only a little more.

Arriving at my old neighborhood, I eagerly veer into the subdivision. The young but familiar trees bring a wave of relief. The grid-lined roads feel robotic but settle my heart, unlike the curvy streets of Whispering Pines. I take a left, right, left and skid to a stop in front of Bryony’s house. My bike hits the sidewalk with a thwack as I dart to the front porch. I notice their empty driveway on my way up. Snap! They probably aren’t home. I ring the bell anyway. Their barking dog trots to the door and smashes his wet nose on the window. I tap the glass and wave. Hi, Bingo! His saucer eyes and wagging tail plead for me to come in while his panting tongue smudges the glass. But nobody opens the door.

With a sigh, I give Bingo a final wave and walk back to my bike. Picking it up, I lean the seat against my hip, prolonging the misery of riding back down the main road. I bend over, pretending to inspect the chain and brakes, hoping their van will pull up, but it doesn’t. Begrudgingly, I swing my leg over the frame, flop down on the seat, and crank the pedals. Backtracking through the gridded streets of my old neighborhood, down the treacherous main road, and through the curvy roads of Whispering Pines, I arrive in front of my rental house. Squaring toward it with my arms crossed and hip cocked, I have a showdown with the mangled, overgrown shrub that invades half the driveway. Its gnarled-up branches taunt me to come closer like the crooked finger of a witch. Snarling my lip, I brusquely turn my back to it. I am not going in there.

Staring at the street in front of me, the hot, soupy air steals the strength from my legs. A shady spot on the curb under an oak tree invites me to sit. In its relief from the heat, my mind wanders to thoughts of my dad and our fishing excursions. The earthy smell of the lake water blows through my memory. Visions of the delicate line soaring through the air float in front of me. But struggles with tying the fishing knots ruin the scene. I grab the string and knot cards from my pocket to practice making knots. It’s really cool Dad got me these before I came home! Flipping to a middle card on the ring, I study the steps to make the knot. But the words confuse me. I squint and draw closer to the card as it balances on my knees, trying to trace the loops in the picture. Suddenly the weight