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Authors: Dandi Daley Mackall
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âYou know I wouldnât sleep anyway.â
She shouts back some Granny quotes about sleep and clouds and brain food. But finally she gives up and goes inside.
Minutes later Mom brings me a sleeping bag and a peanut butter sandwich. And two kissesâone for Dream, the other for the top of my head.
Dad comes out later with a blanket and a pillow. Heâs in his striped pajamas. He kisses me good night and tells me to stay safe. I know he means I shouldnât get too close to Dream. I promise him.
I roll out the sleeping bag and lie on top of it. From where I am inside the lean-to, I have a clear shot of our house. Golden light spills from the windows and into the backyard. Shadows of my family move around inside. It looks like another world, like a TV show Iâm watching.
Iâve let down every single person in that house. I wouldnât blame any of them if they didnât care what happened to me or to Dream.
The night gets darker. I pull the blanket over me and listen to Dreamâs breathing. Itâs heavy, but I think it might be getting more regular. I hope so.
Out and in. Out and in. Out and in.
I refuse to let myself sleep, but I do close my eyes. I need to talk to God. My mind moves somewhere between praying and talking. It zigzags between thinking and dreaming.
And imagining.
Just like I do lots of nights when I canât sleep or when I need to do more than the âGod blessâ kind of prayer, I imagine crawling onto Godâs lap.
I climb up onto Godâs lap. Itâs surprisingly easy to get here. It takes no effort at all, like sledding down a hill or floating downstream. I snuggle in and get comfortable. Then I open my mouth and let the words pour out. âFather, I know I donât deserve to have You listen to me.â
âWhy?â God asks.
âYou know. We both know You know everything. Youâve seen everything I did all week. And worse, You saw what I should have done and didnât do. Iâm sorry about not coming up with rhymes for my dad like I said I would. And Iâm sorry Mom had to do my job with the quarantined cats at the farm. I know sheâs got her own work to do there. And at the worm ranch. And the regular animal shelter. I really did mean to help Colt with Bullet. And to sign the talks at Ethanâs game. But I didnât do any of that. Plus, I havenât even thought about doing math homework or studying for proficiencies like I promised Miss Hernandez.â
I take a breath and feel the freshness of getting all that bad stuff out. It feels so good to talk things over with God. I lean my head on Godâs shoulder. âPlease help my horse even though Iâve been such a rotten person all week.â
I still donât open my eyes, but Iâm not imagining any longer. Iâm thinking. Hard. And one thing Iâm thinking is that I wish Dream could get all the bad out of her like I do when I talk things over with God.
The next thing I think hard about is how much I love my horse. I donât care if she never wins a race. I donât care if she never learns a single trick or jumps a jump. I just love her. I love her because sheâs Dream.
Iâm starting to get goose bumps, and itâs not because itâs cold out here. Itâs because something inside of me is telling me to pay attention. I love Dream because sheâs Dream.
And isnât that how God loves me? God isnât on my side because I do stuff Iâm supposed to. God loves me because Iâm me. Ellie.
What a stupidhead Iâve been to think for one second that God wouldnât answer my prayers because I messed up. I mess up all the time. I know when God does answer prayers itâs sure not because Iâm such a perfect kid.
God answers prayers because God is God. And Jesus already took care of my mess-ups.
I drift off to the sweet sound of crickets. Their regular chirping is like music. And the lyrics are from
She shouts back some Granny quotes about sleep and clouds and brain food. But finally she gives up and goes inside.
Minutes later Mom brings me a sleeping bag and a peanut butter sandwich. And two kissesâone for Dream, the other for the top of my head.
Dad comes out later with a blanket and a pillow. Heâs in his striped pajamas. He kisses me good night and tells me to stay safe. I know he means I shouldnât get too close to Dream. I promise him.
I roll out the sleeping bag and lie on top of it. From where I am inside the lean-to, I have a clear shot of our house. Golden light spills from the windows and into the backyard. Shadows of my family move around inside. It looks like another world, like a TV show Iâm watching.
Iâve let down every single person in that house. I wouldnât blame any of them if they didnât care what happened to me or to Dream.
The night gets darker. I pull the blanket over me and listen to Dreamâs breathing. Itâs heavy, but I think it might be getting more regular. I hope so.
Out and in. Out and in. Out and in.
I refuse to let myself sleep, but I do close my eyes. I need to talk to God. My mind moves somewhere between praying and talking. It zigzags between thinking and dreaming.
And imagining.
Just like I do lots of nights when I canât sleep or when I need to do more than the âGod blessâ kind of prayer, I imagine crawling onto Godâs lap.
I climb up onto Godâs lap. Itâs surprisingly easy to get here. It takes no effort at all, like sledding down a hill or floating downstream. I snuggle in and get comfortable. Then I open my mouth and let the words pour out. âFather, I know I donât deserve to have You listen to me.â
âWhy?â God asks.
âYou know. We both know You know everything. Youâve seen everything I did all week. And worse, You saw what I should have done and didnât do. Iâm sorry about not coming up with rhymes for my dad like I said I would. And Iâm sorry Mom had to do my job with the quarantined cats at the farm. I know sheâs got her own work to do there. And at the worm ranch. And the regular animal shelter. I really did mean to help Colt with Bullet. And to sign the talks at Ethanâs game. But I didnât do any of that. Plus, I havenât even thought about doing math homework or studying for proficiencies like I promised Miss Hernandez.â
I take a breath and feel the freshness of getting all that bad stuff out. It feels so good to talk things over with God. I lean my head on Godâs shoulder. âPlease help my horse even though Iâve been such a rotten person all week.â
I still donât open my eyes, but Iâm not imagining any longer. Iâm thinking. Hard. And one thing Iâm thinking is that I wish Dream could get all the bad out of her like I do when I talk things over with God.
The next thing I think hard about is how much I love my horse. I donât care if she never wins a race. I donât care if she never learns a single trick or jumps a jump. I just love her. I love her because sheâs Dream.
Iâm starting to get goose bumps, and itâs not because itâs cold out here. Itâs because something inside of me is telling me to pay attention. I love Dream because sheâs Dream.
And isnât that how God loves me? God isnât on my side because I do stuff Iâm supposed to. God loves me because Iâm me. Ellie.
What a stupidhead Iâve been to think for one second that God wouldnât answer my prayers because I messed up. I mess up all the time. I know when God does answer prayers itâs sure not because Iâm such a perfect kid.
God answers prayers because God is God. And Jesus already took care of my mess-ups.
I drift off to the sweet sound of crickets. Their regular chirping is like music. And the lyrics are from
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