Knowing the Unknown

By Miemie M

Sweet friendships refresh the soul and awaken our hearts with joy, for good friends are like the anointing oil that yields the fragrant incense of God's presence. (Proverbs 27:9 TPT)

A seventeen-year-old high school student, Melanie, in her senior year about to graduate, battles with forgiveness and coming to grips with past events.

During her senior year, her first-period teacher introduced a secret buddy initiative. The aim is for the secret buddy to add some cheer into the life of their allocated buddy without revealing who they are until the last day of school.

At one time or another, we all may face grief, anger, sadness, and loneliness, but with a little help from a friend--a secret buddy--can Melanie regain her joy?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: May 30, 2023
• ISBN: 9798886858112

Book preview

Chapter 1

In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth. The earth was without form, and void; and darkness was on the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God was hovering over the face of the waters.

—Genesis 1:1–2

The trees that once stood tall, clothed in buoyant evergreen leaves that danced to the sound of singing, chirping birds and swayed to the beat of the warm summer breeze begin to evanesce. The sun’s glorious light diminishes prematurely day by day. The leaves turn to mosaic hues of canary, ochre, gold, rosewood, auburn, and brown, dangling on a thread on each branch. The once warm summer breeze takes a turn, punishing the mosaic leaves, causing a cascade and haphazard tumbling of leaves to the earth below.

The fall of leaves is happening all around.

The events of earlier were a nightmare.

Thunderous yells rattled the cabin.

The beginning of a tornado was brewing.

I left before the raging war got worse.

It’s days like this I wish I could be engulfed by an earthquake fissure.

A teardrop gently glides down my cheek. I wipe it away as another escapes, questioning me, How much longer must you bear this? I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head, attempting to hold back the fractured reservoir readying to gush out.

Breathe, breathe, breathe, I mutter to myself.

The air around me feels intoxicating, the oxygen depleting with each calming breath I take. The cabin walls begin to cave in on me. The reservoir I have been trying to keep at bay erupts.

I try to wipe away tears as they escape.

Ever since Dad got remarried, I’ve only ever heard arguments. They become more intense than the last.

Unable to control the continuous stream, I move around my room collecting things through a kaleidoscopic view. I make my way to the door, leaving the cabin to fare the brewing war.

I need fresh air.

I step out of the cabin, gloves, coat, boots in hand and backpack hanging over my left shoulder. I begin to walk down the gravel to the entrance of the supposed joyous family getaway. Once I’m out the gate, out of sight, I drop my backpack, throw on my coat, and plop down on the sidewalk and pull on my boots, fastening the left, then the right. I encase my hands in my gloves, grab hold of my backpack, then push off the sidewalk and mindlessly begin to walk as far away from the cabin as physically possible.

Each step farther away from the cabin puts the once gushing reservoir at bay.

The autumn air causes me to tighten my jacket from the piercing cool night air. Sappy leaves are littered across the narrow cobblestone walkways, with each step picking up a clod of leaves refusing to shake from the boot. The wind rushes through, picking up the littered leaves and twirling them in a pirouette under the spotlight of the streetlamps before scattering them farther across the cobblestone.

Stepping off the cobblestone down on to the pier, the sun has yet to appear. It’s civil twilight. Only a few objects are distinguishable around. Looking out at the lake, an outline of the weeping willows are sketched around the bank, and indistinct bobbing buoys indicating where the lake steeply deepens in depth are visible. There is sporadic, audible plop, plop, plop coming from the lake. I catch glimpses of silver-gray-looking fish jumping in and out of the lake with each plop.

The jetties and boats at bay create a symphony of noises from the passing wailing winds. All the surroundings are jingling, clanging, and slapping enthusiastically at the water. There is a sense of peace and calm. Everything is melodically at rest.

An opaque cloud hovers over the lake. The gentle movement of air across the lake thickens the cloud. It is resolute and gracefully just sitting over the lake, looking, waiting, and watching. It is daring, edging, beckoning me in. There is a pure, angelic honesty to the fog lingering over the lake.

I walk to the second to the last jetty and, without hesitation, take hold of the rowboat we would take out onto the lake when I was a child. I throw my backpack in, and I untie the rope holding the rowboat onto the jetty; one foot in, one foot out. I kick off. The boat eases away from the jetty.

Once seated, I begin to row out. Each and every stroke takes me farther from the once toxic environment and draws me out into the open fresh air. The fog begins to envelope me in its fleecy blanket, forming a shield around me till I’m out of sight.

The bank that was no more than a hundred meters away is now distant. The lights from the lake houses and streetlamps slowly begin to dim as the boat moves farther into the center of the lake. The two AM air bites and stings my exposed skin. The farther the boat eases toward the center of the lake, drifting along with the current, the darkness heightens along with the realization of solitude.

But for some reason, I feel like I am not alone. There is an unprecedented peace hovering over the face of the water.

Chapter 2

Let no one seek his own, but each one the other’s well-being.

—1 Corinthians 10:24

The water is gently lapping back and forth against the lower hull of the boat. The melodic brush sounds against the boat entice my fingers to skim the top of the water. I pull off my gloves and do just that. As I skim my fingers across the surface of the water, they leave behind Lilliputian mushroom-shaped puddles. For some reason, this amuses me, and I do it again and stop when I begin to giggle. Just a few minutes on this lake, and it’s already starting to cheer me up.

But why wouldn’t the lake cheer me up? This is where most of my happy childhood memories are from.

As I look up into the sky, I realize the sun isn’t going to come out to play anytime soon. I pull in the oars, shaking off algae from the one. I take off my boots to feel a little more relaxed and look into my backpack to see what I have to entertain myself until the sun comes out.

As I stick my hand in my bag, I grab hold of a flat biscuit-feeling object and pull it out. Oh, a granola bar that will come in handy when I start getting hungry, I think to myself. I stick my hand back in my backpack and pull out item by item, making commentary about each one. The last item surprises me because I don’t remember packing it at all.

In my hand sits a square-shaped present wrapped in silver paper with a ribbon that centrally crosses over and under, left to right and top to bottom, with a crushed white bow in the middle which looks like it once was bouncy and full of life. I toss and shuffle the present between my hands to get a feel of what it could be.

It could be a perfume in a box, but it also could be a box of chocolates. As I shake and play around with the gift, I get a paper cut. I cuss at the thing while sucking my thumb and turning the gift over to see where the cut came from. On the backside of the gift between the ribbon sits an envelope. I pull out the envelope and read the front:

From your Secret Buddy 😊

Great, just what I needed, to be reminded I haven’t been a good secret buddy at all. This year, our first-period teacher thought it would be a great idea to have secret buddies throughout senior year as it becomes a stressful and forgetful time for most students, and she went on about friendships changing, anxiety taking over, etc. She made us all pick a name from a hat, and that’s who we were assigned as a buddy. And it is our job to cheer them up over the course of the year with little gifts, notes, and acts of kindness. The secret part is that you don’t know who your buddy is.

You fill in a questionnaire at the start of the process, so your buddy knows things about you, like when your birthday is, what kinds of snacks you like, what makes you laugh, and so on. Then it is up to them to decide how and when to inject little bits of cheer into your days. She told us to be as imaginative as possible.

My buddy hasn’t made any physical contact with me as yet; I don’t think. But I’ve been getting a lot of notes. The last note I received before this Thanksgiving break was

Dig a little deeper. 😊

Come to think of it, now I guess they were referring to my backpack because the note was left on top of my backpack. My secret buddy is becoming too handsy, who goes through someone’s backpack. But I appreciate the effort.

I open the envelope and read the card:

I know you are not into the whole Jesus thing anymore like you used to be when we were kids. Oops, I almost became an unsecret buddy. 😊

Hmm, interesting. I obviously used to be close to my secret buddy. Well, I used to be close to everyone. I was somewhat popular, until the incident.

Even though I know you probably have one lying around gathering dust in your room,

What do I have that is collecting dust at home?

I decided to get you a new one. Think of it as thanks for not trashing my notes to you but just scrunching them up, throwing them at the back of your locker.

My secret buddy has officially become a stalker.

Start reading at page 474. I made a little commentary on the side for you.

😊 Love from your secret buddy 😊

I don’t know what makes me more uncomfortable, the fact that my secret buddy wants me to read a book other than school material that is longer than four hundred pages or all the smileys my secret buddy uses when they write.

Chapter 3

Now when He got into a boat, His disciples followed Him. And suddenly a great tempest arose on the sea, so that the boat was covered with the waves. But He was asleep. Then His disciples came to Him and awoke Him, saying, Lord, save us! We are perishing! But He said to them, Why are you fearful, O you of little faith? Then He arose and rebuked the winds and the sea, and there was a great calm. So the men marveled, saying, Who can this be, that even the winds and the sea obey Him?

—Matthew 8:23–27

I decided to not tear into the gift like I usually do with gifts on my birthday because, one, I’ve got so much time to waste till the sun comes up, and two, I’m kind of apprehensive about the gift. What book could it be? My mind suddenly goes to the worst possible thought. Oh gosh, please don’t let it be a classic. I read enough in advanced English lit.

The bow and ribbon easily slip off. I gracefully peel off the tape on the ends and applaud myself in my mind for not letting the wrapping peel off with the tape. I slowly lift the flaps of the wrapping and pull the wrapping all the way off to uncover the book.

The wrapping floats down to the hollow of the boat as I look at the book.

It is a teal leather cover with an intricate, silky-silver-butterfly-and-green-leaf patterns. The butterfly motif from the cover extends to a purple decorative edge printing. As I flip through the book, words jump out at me—Kings, Esther, Psalms, Daniel, Habakkuk, Corinthians, Galatians, James…

Oh, I speak out.

I wince as my voice catches me off guard. It had been so quiet.

A Bible.

The butterfly symbolism is not lost on me.

I look at the book and then at the water.

Contemplating, Should I? Shouldn’t I? Should I? Shouldn’t I?

I eventually just give in to Should I?, but instead of tossing the book in the water, I toss it to the other side of the boat, a leg stretch away.

Well, that was eventful.

I feel wounded that my secret buddy would have thought that my Bible would be collecting dust somewhere in my room. Yeah, I haven’t read it in a while, a long while, but it’s not collecting dust. How can it be collecting dust when I keep it between my mattress and bed frame?

I begin to think back to the incident. What if I hadn’t gone? What if I stayed longer? What if…

Without a second thought, I lean over and grab the book I just tossed and turn to page 474. Anything to keep my mind from my thoughts, I decided. I need a distraction.

Wow, I whisper in awe.

My secret buddy went all out. Their I made a little commentary note was an understatement. There are over five pages of commentary on Matthew, chapter 5. Come to think of it, this is a journaling Bible, one of those Bibles that give you space to doodle and reflect.

I take in a deep breath and exhale, flip back to the beginning of Matthew 5, page 474, and begin to read.

Anything to get my mind off my thoughts, I remind myself. I nestle into the rowboat, getting as comfortable as I can, and begin reading, but it’s no use. I’ve read the same two verses for what feels like the umpteenth time.

Matthew 5

Verse 1, And seeing the multitudes,

Melly, I got the goods. Come join us!

He went up on a mountain,

I watched her disappear behind the trees.

and when He was seated His disciples came to Him.

She is a Mother Teresa. Their cackles were growing louder.

verse 2, Then He opened His mouth and taught them, saying:

If you don’t want to lighten up and have fun, go home, churchy.

Aargh! I slam the Bible shut. It’s no use. I should just try to nap it off.

The wind begins to pick up, knocking the boat from side to side.

This has just become my worst nightmare now.

As the waters rise in anger and begin to torment me, tossing the boat left and right, thrusting it forward and back, I hear my mother’s voice in my head.

Don’t let the fear get within you.

I grab the paddles by their handles and slice them back into the water with the spoons of the paddles. I begin to throw my arms forward and back, trying to get the boat out of the rising waves. Every stroke I take, I feel a muscular strain in my arms. I wasn’t built for this type of vigorous expulsion. As the waters bubble up in fury, my arms become weaker.

Be cool and collected, Melly. Remember how Jesus slept through the storm? It’s because he knew