“Hit me instead.” My older brother’s voice trembles as he stands between my mother and the crying misery that is me.

Yet, our obedience throws us from our rocking boat into a raging ocean.

Our eyes quickly shut, resuming an imagined reality. Life goes on, wasting away until the next abrupt awakening, when we will again glimpse the gospel.

My eyes raised back to the net. "Father. If you really love me. If you have forgiven me, show me one more sign. Make my next ten shots in a row."

But if our life is solely defined by spiritual isolation with Him, we will quickly find ourselves not walking with Christ at all. 

It sounds heretical, but as one who despised the very nature of reading, nothing was as uninteresting as the Bible.

Though my gross lie is believable, it’s obvious the deceit doesn’t fool her.

I listen, hoping my instincts will kick in, but all that is heard are the imagined judgments whispering from the crowd.

No home, no stability, no belonging, a normal life for a third culture kid.

Silence returns a second time as the speaker and students are abruptly whisked away, and my soul feels again the gentle whisper to execute.

Splash. A flawless arc draws my gaze away from the rim to glance at my surroundings.

Being chased by my dad in a South German field, my feet gave way and I toppled into the angry red coals of a dying bonfire.

The car noticed my fear starting to build as I began restlessly shifting gears back and forth behind unhurried cars.

I was facing a forked road. Continue my walk with Jesus, or go on with the old. I could not do both.