This seats saved, p.8
This Seat's Saved, page 8
“I’ll try,” I said.
Mrs. Burgley’s face pleaded; she grasped her mug harder, and she pursed her lips. “It has to do with God. Are you okay if I talk about that?”
“Yes,” I said. But I wasn’t sure. We went to church on Sundays, but the whole time, I just thought about the crockpot mac-n-cheese waiting at home for lunch. I knew the stories of the Bible just like any kid in church—Adam and Eve, Noah’s ark, Daniel in the lions’ den—and we said a blessing before dinner. But we didn’t really talk about God a lot.
And I even knew the whole part about needing Jesus to come into my heart and forgive me for the wrong things I did. But that was about it. I guess I didn’t really think about God, if you want to know the truth. Well, I sort of did. I prayed for the fox to come when Stephen and Allie came that one day. Sometimes in the woods, I’d think about things like heaven or angels or magical things I couldn’t see like fairies and gnomes. I’d think about invisible things that might be all around me. Was that faith? To believe in invisible things?
“When I was your mom’s age, I kept thinking about the tables. I remembered that feeling of not having a seat. So think about that feeling, if it’s not too painful in your heart. I think the word for it is shame. Shame is the feeling you feel. It makes you want to hide. You like to know the names of things, right?”
“Right.” But how did she know that? And how did she know that I knew all about wanting to hide? I thought of how I hid in Margo’s bathroom. I thought of how I hid my face in my folded arms in science class.
“At the same time, I was reading my Bible more and praying to God. I knew God loved me and wanted good things for my life, but I really didn’t think about Jesus much of the time.”
I nodded. I sipped the tart cider.
“And then I read something that was like a lightning bolt in my soul. I was sitting right where we are now when God spoke to me.”
I had goosebumps all over my arms. The room felt cold. I both wanted to run away and stay right where I was forever. God spoke? Right here? I took a deep breath and looked out the window. I tried to imagine the voice of God and couldn’t. Does God speak to people?
Mrs. Burgley reached for a tattered green book that, if handled roughly, would surely disintegrate. “Here’s what I read.” She turned to a spot near the end of the book. “Wait a second. Irvin! Irvin! Can you bring me my reading glasses?”
As we waited for Mr. Burgley, she told me that the Bible isn’t like a typical book. She explained that you don’t have to read it from start to finish. You can dip in and read where you want to, and God will speak to you through the words. But it’s in your heart. The Holy Spirit. Goosebumps again.
The first part is history, then there’s some poetry, some predictions about Jesus coming, and then all sorts of stories about Jesus, she was saying. Then you get letters some guy named Paul wrote. I was listening, but I was also worried why Mr. Burgley was taking so long. Finally, he poked his head into the library and delivered the glasses. Bo and Bee lazily followed him and then curled up on the floor beside Mrs. Burgley. The room cheered up. Every room cheers up when a dog comes in. Bo inched over to me and put his head in my lap.
There I was with a dog in my lap, bookshelves rising up like a protective fort around me, and Mrs. Burgley bothering to talk to someone as unimportant and invisible as I felt about big ideas. Like my soul. Like God. I didn’t want to be anywhere else in the world. I scratched Bo’s ears and watched his grateful eyes gazing up at me.
“It’s in a letter Paul—who knew and loved Jesus—wrote to a church, and to us, about what we truly need to know most of all about who we are.”
I leaned in to listen. What would Paul say? Would God speak to me through the words like to Mrs. Burgley? Who was I? Even Bo perked up his ears to listen.
CHAPTER 16
SPARKLES IN MY SOUL
Mrs. Burgley turned to a letter called Ephesians. I thought Ephesians would make a good name for a dog. “I’ll just read it. It’s confusing maybe. But I have to read all of it to get to the part where God spoke to me. I’ll pause after each part to see if you understand.” She started reading in a voice that made me think she would have made a great kindergarten teacher. I don’t care what anyone says. No matter how old you are, you’re never too old to enjoy someone reading a book to you.
She read slowly: “Once you were dead because of your disobedience and your many sins. You used to live in sin, just like the rest of the world, obeying the devil—the commander of the powers in the unseen world. He is the spirit at work in the hearts of those who refuse to obey God. All of us used to live that way, following the passionate desires and inclinations of our sinful nature. By our very nature we were subject to God’s anger, just like everyone else.”
She peered at me over her reading glasses. “Do you understand that part? We’re spiritually dead inside without Jesus. And we’re full of sin—we cannot do the right thing.”
“I think so,” I said. But I wasn’t thinking of me. I thought of Lindsay. I shivered because what if it was the devil at work in her heart? Then I did think of me. Was the devil in my heart? Hadn’t I been secretly wishing for terrible things to happen to Kee, Margo, and Lindsay? I didn’t like this so far. This wasn’t fun to think about. I couldn’t help feeling bad about myself. Then my thoughts were even worse. I thought of how I ignored Cally most of the time and how she made me jealous. I thought about how I really didn’t like to talk to my mom. It was like a parade of memories of how bad I was marched through my brain. Ugh. I’m not a good person.
“It gets better,” Mrs. Burgley promised. “And we’re not to the part where I heard from God.” She read very slowly and emphasized each word. “But God is so rich in mercy, and he loved us so much, that even though we were dead because of our sins, he gave us life when he raised Christ from the dead. (It is only by God’s grace that you have been saved!) For he raised us from the dead along with Christ and seated us with him in the heavenly realms because we are united with Christ Jesus…. For we are God’s masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so we can do the good things he planned for us long ago.”
She closed the Bible and folded her hands on top of it. “Did any pictures come into your mind when I read that?”
“The masterpiece part. It’s like a painting.”
“Yes—you are a masterpiece! But what about that other image?”
“Um—God raising me up to be with Him?” I guessed.
She read Ephesians 2 again and told me to listen for the word “seated.”
“God seated us with Christ in the heavenly realms. That’s the secret! It’s already true of me right now. I am seated with Jesus at the greatest table—the one my heart really longs for. He’s saving a seat for you, too, Elita. He makes you a new person inside and has good things planned for you to do with your life. I was sitting right here when Jesus told me He saved a seat for me. ‘This seat’s saved for you,’ He said.”
He’s saving a seat for me. Goosebumps. Sparkles, but in my soul.
Bee came over to me. I scratched her behind her ears, and she came close to lick my face. Her tail thumped on the ground. I was listening hard. I wanted to hear an actual voice from heaven. Nothing. I closed my eyes. I did like that part where Jesus was saving a seat for me. I thought of walking to Jesus toward those high-top tables and instead of Margo’s voice, I heard Jesus say, “This seat’s saved … for Elita.” I felt my eyes filling up with tears. My nose started to run, so I buried my face into Bee’s fur to hide from Mrs. Burgley. Bo stayed in my lap, pinning me in place so I couldn’t move, even if I wanted to.
“You don’t need to have shame, Elita. God doesn’t want you to hide. God forgives us and makes us clean inside. And you are marvelous just as you are; you don’t need to try and be like any other girls. Jesus wants to be with you.”
With me? And marvelous just as I am? I thought of the list of all the ways I was supposed to improve.
Mrs. Burgley continued. She leaned forward and stared into my eyes, into my soul. “It’s hard to picture. But it’s true. You’re seated with Jesus when you ask Him to come into your life, forgive your sin, and make you a new person. Remember, He cleans up your heart. You get a seat at His table. He saved it for you. I wish I would have known that, Elita. I could have walked into that seventh grade lunchroom and seen all those popular girls, and I could have known in my heart that I already had a seat at the best table with Jesus.” Her eyes glistened now. Her nose would soon run like mine. I looked up from Bee’s fur. Mrs. Burgley’s face seemed lit up to me—radiant and joyful. Like her soul was sparkling.
I tried to picture my seat with Jesus. “But I’m right here,” I finally said. “How can I also be there?”
“It’s a mystery. I don’t know—Paul was most likely in a Roman prison when he wrote that. That was his here. But he experienced himself as there with Jesus in that special seat.”
I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. I was trying to picture my seat with Jesus. First, I thought of an old metal folding chair—the kind in every school lunchroom. That’s not it. Then I imagined a royal throne—gold with a red velvet seat. But instead of me, I saw a red fox seated there. That’s not it either. Finally, I put myself in the royal seat. But not like a princess in a gown; I was a girl in sturdy hiking boots, a dark green jacket, and a beautiful yellow bow tying back my long brown hair. I wore a golden pendant with a fox hanging on it. Strong. Beautiful. The perfect mix of princess and naturalist.
“Elita—take this advice and put it in the middle of your heart,” Mrs. Burgley told me. I was listening. “For the rest of your life, no matter what classroom, no matter what happens at a friend’s house, no matter where you work or where you go, remember you are already seated with Christ, and He has a special place saved for you. So you never have to worry if you have a seat.”
I remembered how I felt the day Margo invited Kee to make the crêpes and how grown up they acted. I didn’t have a seat with the mature girls. I could have thought about my seat with Jesus. I thought of Margo’s party when she opened the stuffed poodle and how everyone else was so glamorous. I didn’t have a seat with the beautiful girls. I could have thought about my seat with Jesus.
If I asked Jesus right now, could I take my seat with Him? Could I think about that seat instead of the lunchroom seat? And every time I heard Margo’s words, could I picture Jesus saying He saved a seat just for me?
I liked mysteries. I liked unexplainable, supernatural things. Like my fox. Maybe I could practice thinking of myself as part of another realm—another kingdom altogether. I mean, sometimes the forest did feel magical like that, like it was more than it actually was. Like unseen things like angels were in there.
I remember how Allie had told me something in school that I hadn’t stopped thinking about. She told me that in Chinese culture, the fox is a shapeshifter. She called it the huli jing and told me that in Chinese folklore the fox can turn into a wise, old woman. I looked at Mrs. Burgley and the thought flickered through my mind that maybe … Was I in a Chinese fairy tale? No, of course not. I was too old for silly things like this. Even Cally was. I knew these things weren’t true, animals can’t turn into people, but I did know that God was true, and maybe He sent me my fox and Mrs. Burgley.
I felt amazed. I felt suddenly part of something supernatural—but not a fairy tale. I was learning something true and more real than I could understand. I pictured my throne. Now I pictured the fox sitting by my feet, like a royal assistant.
“I like the part where you said Jesus saved a seat for me,” I said. “I like it so much.”
“You can start reading the Bible for yourself, you know. Jesus is a friend, and like any friend, you have to spend time and get to know Him. You have to have conversations, and the Bible is what helps you do this. And you’ll like it.”
I nodded.
“You know—there’s a part in the Bible where God sends ravens to help a prophet. It’s like how God sent you your fox. Do you have a Bible of your own?”
“Yes,” I said. Did God send me my fox? Did God send my mom into the grocery store at the exact time to meet Mrs. Burgley where she could ask about my coming to work for her?
I did have a Bible, it’s just that I never read it.
CHAPTER 17
GOING VIRAL
I made neat columns in my Field Notes journal that listed the day, time, weather, and sunset. I showed Mr. Dale and Mrs. Harlow my notes during lunch as I sat on my usual stool at the scientific drawing station. I explained to Mr. Dale that not only would we consider if a fox sticks to a tight schedule, but we would also see if his schedule was dependent on weather.
“Is it?” he asked and rubbed his chin. “Hold on a moment. I want to gather the other teachers in here.” Two other teachers besides Mrs. Harlow crowded around my stool. They used words I didn’t understand like dependent variables and statistical analysis. “That fox only varies his timing by less than twenty-two seconds if we average this. And other variables matter little. Fascinating.”
“Can we see this fox?” Mrs. Harlow asked. I closed my journal and shook my head.
“I … I don’t have any pictures. But Allie made videos and posted them on her channel.” I felt like a baby again. Mrs. Harlow didn’t seem like she was judging me, but she took out her phone, searched for Allie’s name, found her channel, and pulled up the first video of us watching the fox cross my backyard.
“Whoa. Wait a minute,” Mrs. Harlow said. “What is happening? Dale, the video had 56,000 views. Look!” The teachers gathered around to watch Allie narrate her one-minute video. Allie spoke like a reporter and said, “Reporting from Elita’s backyard, we’re here waiting for the approach of the fox.”
“Looks like your fox is going viral,” Mr. Dale said and smiled.
“Have you considered submitting your research? To the Wildlife Council or even National Geographic? Maybe to the Game Commission? What about—” Mrs. Harlow was full of suggestions.
“That’s a great idea,” Mr. Dale said. “I think Elita and her team care most about protecting the fox. This project could halt any development along Siler’s Ridge—fracking, drilling, or even housing or retail up there. Would you, Allie, and Stephen make a video on this same page and tag the Game Commission?”
“Um, my mom doesn’t let me go online on my phone,” I stammered. “She says I’m too young and it’s bad for my brain.” I tried to explain, but I felt like a little kid again. I felt like I did when I showed up in jeans while everyone else at the party had on their dresses.
“Smart woman,” Mrs. Harlow said. “It’s all just videos and pictures making people jealous, unless, of course, you use your page for education. I deleted my Instagram because it just makes me feel bad.” Mrs. Harlow? Feel bad?
“Allie can do it,” I offered.
“Your mom knows that everyone’s just bragging and trying to feel good about themselves on social media. It’s a terrible source of self-esteem. You’re on the right path, Elita Brown.” Mrs. Harlow looked down at me as I thought about Margo and her posts about her outfits. Did Margo not feel good about herself otherwise? Hypothesis: People use social media to brag because they don’t feel good inside.
I sat alone and drew a picture of the fox with Mr. Dale’s special pencils. I had another hypothesis. I was a lead scientist, a naturalist, but I also believed that God sent my fox, even though it didn’t sound very scientific. I think science and God can go together, can’t they? So here it goes: Hypothesis: My fox is related to God somehow. There’s such a thing as the supernatural.
Every Saturday and Sunday in October, Stephen rode his bike to my house. On Saturdays he always wore the same blue hoodie and Penn State baseball cap. On Sundays he wore a Pittsburgh Steelers jersey. I always wore my orange fleece and jeans. “We are people of routine,” Stephen said and laughed. “We are foxes.”
My dad and Stephen worked together to cut the right size wood for our diorama. Stephen leaned in toward my dad and said, “I’m gonna need to know one thing.”
“What’s that?” Dad said, distracted by his measurements.
“Are you a Steelers fan or an Eagles fan?”
My dad laughed and said, “Well, you know Mrs. Brown and I are from Philly, so I admit I’m an Eagles fan. Fly, Eagles, Fly!”
“Noooooo,” Stephen said and put his palm against his forehead. And then, with a serious tone, added, “Aren’t you so depressed all the time? They’re terrible.”
“I can respect that.” My dad held up the cut wood to show me. “Elita can choose her own allegiances. We haven’t forced our football opinions on her yet.”
Stephen ran over to me. “She’s a Steelers fan,” he announced.
“I honestly know nothing about football,” I said. My stomach fluttered.
“I will teach you, young Skywalker,” he said in a deep voice.
“Star Wars fan?” Dad chimed in.
“Of course!”
“I’ve never even seen one movie!” I admitted. “You guys can talk about Star Wars, but I have stuff to do. I have to finish my data charts for our presentation.”
Stephen stepped back in actual astonishment. “Elita, if we’re going to be friends, you’re going to have to start taking notes on football and Star Wars.” He put his finger in the air to imitate Mrs. Crisp. “Take good notes!” he shrilled.
My dad positioned a large folding table on the porch, and on top, the piece of wood as the base for our diorama. Stephen and Dad did all the math to make things “to scale” like how far the row of trees should be from where we would place a replica of my house. They also talked about how tall the trees should be so our house—and the fox—wouldn’t look so tiny. I sat on the porch as we started to hot glue trees and fake little bushes to make our forest. Mrs. Rackley had purchased realistic grass and even a special blue glue that we could use to make Spring Creek. We used rocks to build up the land so it looked like a ravine with the creek below.
