I read my first and only Frank Peretti novel in ninth grade. My sister, Katie, brought it with her when she moved back from the children’s home where she’d lived for the last seven years, along with her collection of pig tchotchkes and a thin copy of the Living Bible. In the room we suddenly shared, she put away her clothes in the closet, her impressive collection of nail polish under the sink, and the pigs, Peretti, and Bible on the shelf of what had once been my desk.
I expected, when I’d heard the month before that she was moving home, that I would resent having to share a room with her. Since her exile, I had told myself a version of a fairy tale. Katie was Cinderella, and I was the spoiled, pampered sister. I expected to sulk, to complain, to throw fits at living alongside her. I dreaded my own entitled fragility.
When she moved in all of her stuff, though, I felt something entirely unexpected. I was so, so happy to have her there. I was also happy to discover I was a better person than I’d imagined.
Katie had become a Christian at the children’s home, and Peretti wasn’t the first Christian book she’d brought home. By then I’d been following her breadcrumb trail of Christian Evangelical culture for years. As a result, I had recently knelt by my bed and prayed the sinner’s prayer. When I asked Jesus to forgive me, it was my wicked stepsister role I was thinking of.
So: back to Peretti. It wasn’t a shock to read that angels were floating around me like holy, invisible butterflies, or that they were powered by prayer battery packs. I had heard rumors of the apocalypse and the Beast already from Katie. Compared to that, Peretti was tame.
Part of me liked the world he described. In Peretti’s universe, teenagers were warriors, and the choice to fall on your knees was more important than any pre-algebra quiz. I wanted to matter, to change things, and it fascinated me to imagine the power was inside me to affect spirits in an unworldly realm. Also, almost every character was so earnest, just like me.
I’m at SheLoves today, talking about beginning to see God’s work in my life as a slow-growth forest instead of a momentary fire. Join me there?
The Change, My Mother, and Me: For The Same