I walk into the bedroom and look at the cardiac monitor. Normal. I walk over to do the normal routine, which is ironic because it has never been normal for a nine-year-old to take care of her dying father. “Dad, how are you?”

My dad uses all his might to say the one word I always hear him say, “Good.” 

It is so weird how he says he is good, considering he is doing bad. My father was diagnosed with heart failure 10 months ago. We were told he has a year to live, but it’s not looking too good. My summer has consisted of waiting for the inevitable. I can imagine all my teachers and friends asking me, “Lorlisha, how was your summer? What did you do?”

“Oh nothing much, just waited for my best friend to pass away.”

I can’t even look at my dad anymore. He looks so sick, it hurts. The person who once took me to the toy store after school to buy a new doll, read me Bible stories before bed, and drove 45 minutes to school to bring me my favorite food, is disintegrating. My mom is more broken than ever before. Soon all we will have is each other, and this house filled with memories of my father. 

My mom doesn’t have a drivers license or a job. My dad took care of everything for my mom and me. This whole summer, when I have nothing to do, I take a nap. If I don’t take a nap, I will continue to overthink about which school I will have to end up going to when my dad passes. I know Adventist education will cost too much for my mom. I occasionally call my friends, but even that doesn’t excite me because all we talk about is my dad. It also doesn’t bring me enjoyment because I know in the back of my conscience that I will probably never see those friends again after my dad’s funeral.

 All I see my mom do is pray. She has not tried to get her license or get a job while my dad has been sick. Sometimes I wonder if we will be homeless when my dad is gone. Sometimes when I see her praying, I think What is the point? We both know the inevitable. If God wanted to save him, He would have done so already. 

On July 23, I take my daily nap and I wake up to the sound of sobbing in the master bedroom. No. I don’t even want to go inside because I know I will find what I am thinking of. The closer I get to the door, the more I can hear the cardiac monitor beeping. I open the door. Time stops. A blur in my vision immediately appears. I can’t tell if tears are flooding my eyes or I’m about to pass out.  I feel my mom grabbing me toward the bed and my vision clears and my dad is the only thing I see. “He’s breathless,” my mom says. I look at Mom and I immediately feel like an orphan. Dad just died, and he’s taking Mom with him too. 

My dad’s favorite song plays on the speaker in the living room. All my aunts, uncles, church family, and cousins flood the entry area of my home. I hear all of those people saying over and over, “How are you?” and “Are you okay?” My aunt Cora is making me grilled cheese. I know I won’t eat it. I’m not hungry. I don’t know if I ever will be again. I take the grilled cheese to my room and breathe in a breath of fresh air. The overstimulation from the living room is overcoming me. For a few seconds, I find myself doing something I did not plan to do ever again; pray. Lord, please help Mom to be okay. 

Soon, my mom knocks on my door and I see men coming in to take my dad away. My mom is screaming, and I hug her, while I can’t even get a word out. We both fall to our knees, in the same perimeters where my dad would kneel in prayer every day. Only tears form in my eyes, but can’t seem to drop. 

A week later, it’s Sabbath. We continue to go to church. My mom looks happy during church. I know she is putting on a strong face for me. Going to church irks me because what has God done for us? Did He not just break our family apart? I hear so many stories of how He saved other kids’ dads but He didn’t save mine! How is that deserving of worship? Soon, I will be going to public school, living in a house where my father died, with a mom who is depressed. I won’t have my dad on my 10th birthday. I won’t have a dad to walk me down the aisle on my wedding day. Church is a place to help us forget what God has put us through. In my opinion, we should never go again. We should remember so that we never speak to this god again. 

After the service, my mom is crying to the pastor of our church, Pastor Elsey. “I just can’t figure out how to do any of this. I have no job, no license, no money, no help.”

Pastor Elsey sighs, “We will figure something out; just keep praying Lorna.”

School is starting in two weeks. My mom is in driving school right now, even though she can’t afford it. I stay at home alone. She calls the church everyday. It is like searching for false hope. I know that they may want to help, but they can’t. Apparently, God can’t even help us. 

There is a public school two blocks from my house. My mom and I plan to head over there to enroll me. The thought of this hurts incredibly; I am going to miss my friends so much. They are the only friends I’ve ever known. I remember my dad telling my mom that he never wanted me to go to public school. He used to say, “I don’t care if we have to eat green beans for dinner every night, I want Lorlisha to have an Adventist education.”  I have to say goodbye to talking about God freely with my friends and praying in class. Not that I want to do that much anymore.  

After two days go by, my mom gets a call from the church. They invite us over to Pastor Elsey’s office. Oh, brother. My neighbor drives us over to the church and the whole car ride I am imagining what they will say. “We have tried everything, but we can’t help you, Lorna” or, “There’s nothing we can do.”

We get to the church and walk to Pastor Elsey’s office. “Come in, sit down,” he says in a welcoming voice. 

“I have some very thrilling news for you two!”

I can already see my mom’s tears forming. “What is it?” Mom says. 

“So I have been working with the conference and have shared your story. I know Lorlisha wants to go to Midland Adventist Academy this year so we have paid her tuition off. “

“I wish she could go, but she doesn’t have a way to get there. It’s 45 minutes from our house.”

“Well, there is a church member who manages an apartment complex called Hampton Woods. It is three minutes from the school. It is in Shawnee, Kansas. If you are willing, there is a job at the hospital near that apartment as well, waiting for you. The church can help you move as soon as possible. We have enough money to give you for the deposit. The principal of the academy lives in that same complex and he would love to give Lorlisha a ride to school until you can drive. Speaking of driving, we also have a car that we want to give you to use as soon as you get your license.”

At this point, my mom is only crying. She looks into Pastor Elsey’s eyes and she can’t get the words out, but Pastor Elsey knows what she is telling him: “Thank you.”

I don’t have an ounce of sadness in my heart. I am the happiest and most grateful I have ever been. I get to go back to Midland, see my friends, live in my favorite city, and even get a new car to ride in. My mom and I hug Pastor Elsey and you can see from his expression that he loves doing his job. This is when it hit me; God saved us. 

A week later, it is Saturday. Move-in day is tomorrow. This past week has been full of phone calls to the apartment complex and packing boxes. We even took a tour of our new apartment. It’s beautiful. My mom also has been on the phone with the hospital which is offering her a job. She starts her orientation on Tuesday. The whole week, I have been praying with my mom. I can tell this is new for her. She normally prays by herself. Today, we are going to church, and I am happy about it. We sit down early for the service and the announcement slideshows are on the big screen. My mom and I watch the announcements on the screen and the most meaningful announcement appears. A slide that says, “Help Lorna and Lorlisha move tomorrow!” with our address on it. My mom and I cry. We are blessed with such an amazing church family. I hug my mom and we cry together even more than we have before. 

The next day, it seems the whole church helps us move. Trucks pull into the driveway at all points. So many people I don’t know are in my house helping us, including the principal of my academy. People are coming in and out of the house and at this point, I am staying out of their way. Soon, Pastor Elsey pulls up in a Chevrolet Impala. He tells my mom and me that this is our new car. Then comes the tears, the hugs, and the prayers. He gives my mom the keys and my mom puts the last two moving boxes into the new car. She has her permit and can drive with Pastor Elsey in the passenger seat. I take my spot in the back. I look all around the car and all I am filled with is gratitude. My mom fixes her mirrors and wipes her tears while she’s at it. We see three U-haul trucks pulling out of the driveway and my mom follows them. 

I look out my window at downtown Kansas City and think of the blessings I have received in such a good amount of time. I look at my mom in the front seat, and it is almost unbelievable that she is driving a car. I think of my dad, and how proud he would be to see my mom.

Even though I miss my father, at this exact moment I realize that I have a Father in Heaven who is always there for me. He is a provider and when I was in a dark spot, He came to the rescue. Even when I doubted Him, refused to go to church, and rebuked prayer, He showed up for ME. I know I want to give my heart to Jesus. He has done so much for me and I am only nine years old. The Lord’s blessings are endless. He will never take anything from me that He won’t replace with something fulfilling. There is going to be a blessing in every trial and tribulation. I love my God. I can’t wait to see what he will do for me during this brand new start. 

Lorlisha Wilson is now a student at Sunnydale Adventist Academy in Missouri.