You Don't Know About Me Read Online Free PDF Page B

God’s glory,”she said. “But the most important is to raise you up as a child of promise, a man of the Good Book. You’re the brightest candle God gave me. It’s my duty to let it shine.”
    She’d never talked like this before. It made my insides feel sketchy. I didn’t want to be anyone’s candle. I just wanted to be Billy Allbright, champion mountain biker.
    She looked out into the darkness, staring at nothing, or a million things I couldn’t see. It was so still and quiet that when she stood up the scrape of her chair made me jump. She walked stiffly to the screen door, opened it, and turned back. “When I said things would be different here, Billy, I meant it.”
    â€œDoes that mean I still have to go to Bible camp?”
    â€œYes.” She nodded. “But next summer, it’s your decision.”
    Later, I lay in bed and watched the bats under the streetlight. Remembering how they dove for the spitballs filled me with a weird wonderment. I was awed by their beautiful, darting flight, and by how dumb some of God’s creatures could be. Diving for spitballs, realizing they were nothing, swooping back up, then falling for it again and again. I wondered if the pleasure I got from watching such beauty and stupidity was the same pleasure God got from watching His human creations. Swooping and diving for worthless things, then soaring back up, only to fall for the same trick over and over.
    Stupid neighbors.

8
Everyday Miracle
    The sunlight filling the room surprised me. Mom usually got me up early for Bible meditation. I threw on some clothes. In the main room, there was a box of cereal on the table, along with a note saying milk was in the fridge and that she’d be back soon. I took a bowl of cereal out on the porch.
    I was on my third bowl when Mom pulled up in front of the house. She jumped out of the car and slid something out. She came around the car carrying a cardboard box. She practically skipped onto the porch. The box was filled with junk mail and magazines.
    She was good about having our mail forwarded to us when we moved. The only time she didn’t have it forwarded was if we left a town where we’d broken a law they might chase us for. So far, nobody had sent a posse to hunt us down.
    The only mail for me was usually from homeschool supply places or some ministry. One time, I got a Victoria’s Secret catalog by mistake. Talk about make-you-dizzy “neighbors.” The underwear bunnies kept me entertained for weeks. Whenever I felt like they were luring me to hell, I told myself I was doing a Bible experiment to see what it had been like to be King Solomon with his thousand wives and concubines. The experiment ended when Mom foundthe catalog under my bed and took her wrath out on me and the mailman.
    Mom held the cardboard box like it was a Christmas present. “There’s something for you.” I peered into the box. “Dig down.”
    I fished around till my hand hit something big. I pulled a package out. It was heavy, wrapped in brown paper, and addressed to Charles William Allbright in squiggly writing. Whoever wrote it had a real wonky hand. “There’s no return address,” I said.
    Mom beamed. “There doesn’t have to be.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œJust open it.”
    I noticed a corner of the brown paper had been torn away. Something gold flickered inside. I had a hunch what it was; I suspected Mom knew for sure. I tore off the wrapping. It was a fancy Bible, bound in black leather, with gilt edges on the pages.
    Mom scooted into the chair next to me as I opened the cover. There was no note, no inscription, nothing showing who it was from. Fifty-dollar Bibles don’t show up in the mail every day. “I wonder who sent it.”
    â€œWho do you think? It’s from God, Billy. It’s a miracle.” She was almost laughing with joy. “It’s the sign we prayed