Rachel's Raft Excerpt
Fall 2013
Again, and hopefully for the last time, I got in my car to go to the church in attempt to reach school’s staff and book author visits. It was a wearisome routine activity for me, and I had no heart left in the effort. But I desperately wanted to help out, so I packed my laptop and headed out the door.
When I arrived at church, I glumly walked down the all too familiar hall to the Gleaners Sunday School classroom. The teacher’s vinyl seat and the small wooden table looked the same as it did last time--cold. Plugging my laptop into the wall, I pulled out a sheet of paper for notes.
"Okay. Let’s see. What schools have I not yet tried,” I thought to myself. “Hendersonville area. I’ll call them.”
“Good morning. Pleasant Heights Elementary.”
“Hi. My name is Rachel Kelley, and I am a children’s book author. I was wondering if I might speak with your librarian about a possible school visit.”
“Yes m'am. I’ll put you through.”
“This is Mrs. Daniels. Please leave a message.”
“Ah, voicemail,” I thought as I left a message.
“Next school,” I said as I scrolled through the online lists from the Nashville area.
On and on I went for two hours--leaving messages and speaking with people who didn’t seem interested in what I was offering.
And as I was writing down the schools I had called I heard,
“I want you to share your story.”
It was so clear I actually wrote the words on the list of schools that I had tried to reach.
“This is really going nowhere. I’m done. And empty.”
I picked up my laptop, curled up the cord and shoved it into the case. Digging into my purse, I found my keys that would take me back to the same situation, the same house, the same prison of weariness.
My case swung over my shoulder, my purse in my hand, I walked down the unlit hallway. And from the depth of me I asked God three things,
“God, if you still love me, if you still care about me. . .if you are still in this, I need to know. I need to know today.”
Pulling into my driveway, I knew that I was at an all-time low. I walked in through the back door where I found Michael dressed with his hair wet from showering. The kids were running from the parlor through the kitchen and the baby was in her Bumpo chair, crying.
“Hey! Mason’s called and said I could come in this afternoon. How were your calls?”
“Not good. No one was interested.”
A pit growing in my stomach.
“Well, I’ve gotta go. Andy’s coming by in a minute to take a look at the house. Let me know what he says,” Michael said.
And with that, I kissed him, told him I loved him and watched him close the back door.
Fall 2013
Again, and hopefully for the last time, I got in my car to go to the church in attempt to reach school’s staff and book author visits. It was a wearisome routine activity for me, and I had no heart left in the effort. But I desperately wanted to help out, so I packed my laptop and headed out the door.
When I arrived at church, I glumly walked down the all too familiar hall to the Gleaners Sunday School classroom. The teacher’s vinyl seat and the small wooden table looked the same as it did last time--cold. Plugging my laptop into the wall, I pulled out a sheet of paper for notes.
"Okay. Let’s see. What schools have I not yet tried,” I thought to myself. “Hendersonville area. I’ll call them.”
“Good morning. Pleasant Heights Elementary.”
“Hi. My name is Rachel Kelley, and I am a children’s book author. I was wondering if I might speak with your librarian about a possible school visit.”
“Yes m'am. I’ll put you through.”
“This is Mrs. Daniels. Please leave a message.”
“Ah, voicemail,” I thought as I left a message.
“Next school,” I said as I scrolled through the online lists from the Nashville area.
On and on I went for two hours--leaving messages and speaking with people who didn’t seem interested in what I was offering.
And as I was writing down the schools I had called I heard,
“I want you to share your story.”
It was so clear I actually wrote the words on the list of schools that I had tried to reach.
“This is really going nowhere. I’m done. And empty.”
I picked up my laptop, curled up the cord and shoved it into the case. Digging into my purse, I found my keys that would take me back to the same situation, the same house, the same prison of weariness.
My case swung over my shoulder, my purse in my hand, I walked down the unlit hallway. And from the depth of me I asked God three things,
“God, if you still love me, if you still care about me. . .if you are still in this, I need to know. I need to know today.”
Pulling into my driveway, I knew that I was at an all-time low. I walked in through the back door where I found Michael dressed with his hair wet from showering. The kids were running from the parlor through the kitchen and the baby was in her Bumpo chair, crying.
“Hey! Mason’s called and said I could come in this afternoon. How were your calls?”
“Not good. No one was interested.”
A pit growing in my stomach.
“Well, I’ve gotta go. Andy’s coming by in a minute to take a look at the house. Let me know what he says,” Michael said.
And with that, I kissed him, told him I loved him and watched him close the back door.
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