Bottle Caps
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In my room, on my desk, sits a bottle cap. This bottle cap was from a Sobe bottle, Black and Blue Berry Brew, only a dollar fort-nine. I bought it quite some time ago, at the begining of the year of 2006. Little did I know that I got a message from that bottle cap that would stay with me for the rest of my life. I originally bought it for a trip I was invited to go on. A close friend of ours invited me to go four-wheeling with him and his father, meeting another two four-wheelers on the way there. It would be the first time in my life I'd ever gone four-wheeling. We stopped at a local store and there I was allowed to pick out a drink. Well, my choice was aparrent, although it was a toss-up at the time between Jones Green Apple and Sobe.
We did go four-wheeling, and I ended up hitting the dirt my first half-hour. The farm bike threw me off after hitting a sharp hill, knocking the wind out of me. My friend's dad happened to be riding behind and stopped, laughing at my grin. I was embarassed, but rather proud when I got right back on and started off again. I never hit the sand again that day. Later that afternoon we stopped and went back to the meeting point for lunch. I opened up my sandwich and chowed down, scarffing it down like a ravenous wolf. After about three hours straight of trail riding I realized you had to have some serious stamina to be a four-wheeler, and I was already feeling the side-effects of such a long grueling day of fast riding. I opened up my Sobe bottle, swigging about half of it down, then resting before taking another long drink. Looking down at the bottle cap, knowing it was going to say something weird like, "Here lizard lizard!", or something else, but what I read made me laugh out loud. It said, "I'm with ya girl!". I'd never seen anything that applied to me so much, but I felt so relieved, and so peaceful. God had spoken to me through a bottle cap, and while I thought it was a quick jesting reminder, I never thought that I would need it so much later in my life.
That night I went home tired and beat, ready for a long night's sleep. Unfortunately, my parents had discovered something about my sister, whom had been having rough times before. While I wanted to sleep, I was constantly interrupted by the sound of my parent's voices. Once the talk was over, and my sister stormed downstairs, I could finally sleep in peace. The next day was a Saturday, and I had slept in a record time of 10:50, or later. I yawned and got up, stretching as I went upstairs. Nothing could've prepared me for what I was about to see. The look on my parents' faces stopped me cold. It was a look of sad worry, anger, kind of that kicked puppy look you get from a kid after denying him a cookie. When I asked what was wrong, the answer I recieved was like a punch to the stomach.
"Nichole's run away."
Just the thought scared me, but knowing my sister had actually left the note, grabbing nothing on the way out but what she was wearing made me want to cry then and there. Thankfully, I didn't, wanting to stay strong for my parents. My parents were honest with me, telling me everything. My sister had been involved with guys, and more than just a couple. She wouldn't be found for another three days, and even then, she was dishonest with us. She lied to us, slapping us in the face and causing more pain to us than I could bear, constantly leaving in the dead of night without our knowledge, stealing things, and on and on. It went on for a month, though it seemed like a year. Later, after confessing to things we already knew, she introduced one of her boyfriends and claimed to want to marry him. This was the choice: We would let her marry, or she would continue her nightly runs, endangering the younger members of our family to strange acquantances, and so on.
The elders of our church came to talk to her. Our pastor. Our pastor's wife. Our elders wives. Women from our church, my parents, everyone said they could convince her othewise. Everyone was wrong. We weighed it out. My parents decided to let her marry. It was that, or risk having me, or even my little brother raped or killed by some stranger or theif influenced by my sister.
I was upset, but everytime that I remembered the cap that sat on my desk, that simple phrase of, "I'm with ya girl!" I felt comforted. God had given me a blessing in disguise, knowing I would need His reassurance in the coming days. Since then, I've told my youth pastor's wife, who teared up at the story. She told me it was a miracle from God. And it was. God was reminding me He was there with me, through thick and thin, and He'd find some way to talk with me. Even if it was through something as simple as a bottle cap. So from now on, everytime I open up a cap I look on the bottom, seeing if God has something else to say to me. I'll never forget the bottle cap, and I will never get rid of it, remembering always that God has something to say.
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