The Calling of Amelia
Amelia always knew she was special, that something inside of her connected with the world around her in a way that no one else could understand. She FELT nature. She called to it and it called to her. It called to her always. Like while she rode the school bus and shut out the noise of the annoying others. Looking out the window, her heart was called far beyond the gossiping chatter of her seat mate. It called as she sat in class, chin resting on her left arm, her right arm doodling mindlessly on her writing pad.
Her mother defended her actions as “eclectic,” a word that made Amelia cringe. “She is an ARTIST!” she heard her mother shout as her father left the last time, angrily slamming the door behind him.
She knew she was odd, weird, different, when she didn’t want to go to prom or try on make up or spend hours on the phone. She knew, but she couldn’t help it. Something within stirred her, calling her to greatness, to adventure.
A little older now, she drove along, hoping to start over in another town. Another place where she would be forgiven, for a while, if she didn’t know her way around the social circles.
Looking ahead, she realized the scenery was mesmerizing. There were tree-covered mountains, in a riot of Autumn color, and her mind and heart swam. It was calling. She passed by a young man carrying a fishing pole in one hand and a mess of fish in the other. It made her smile; he must’ve caught them in the creek that was running parallel to this curvy country road. This area was quiet, quiet like she was. To a casual observer, Amelia, like this valley she was passing through, was easily overlooked on the way to more exciting prospects; but if one saw what was truly there, there was a chaos of life and thought and color and movement, an existence so raucous, you’d be forced to cover your ears if it could be physically heard.
Her eyes jerked to the left where an abandoned, yet tidy, old church building sat just by the road. The chipped white paint, or perhaps the loneliness of it, was incredibly alluring.
Amelia braked hard and let the car come to rest in the overgrown grass parking area next to the decaying building. She climbed out and softly closed the door behind her, so as not to disturb the peaceful busyness of the place. The creek plashed along, the breeze stirred tall grasses, and her imagination.
She took a deep breath and smiled, unaware of a raw and haggard face snarling at her from a window in the church.
……..
Amelia ambled to the creek and knelt down. Pulling out her phone, she took several pictures to ensure she would remember the serenity of the place, then she turned toward the lovely little church. Through the screen of the camera, she saw movement within, a darting shadow.
Her breath caught in her throat. She wondered if it were a trick of the light, but took a step toward her car.
The rickety front door of the church burst open and a creepy, angry figure ran, snatching and snarling, toward her. Instinctively, she sprinted to her car and grabbed at the handle, but was yanked backward. She landed hard on the ground and struggled to push herself up. The snarling angry thing was now yelling, and Amelia, horrified, got a good look at it. It was a man with long, stringy black hair, medium build, and wild red eyes. In a flash she realized he must be on some sort of drugs, and she scrambled to her feet.
The man rushed her, shoved his arm around her neck, and began to drag her back toward the church. Amelia screamed, over and over, and she fought like a mad cat. Her elbows were powerful weapons, and she dug her heels into the ground. The man had some sort of wild strength, though, and muscled her closer and closer to the dark church building.
Amelia dropped suddenly, flinging herself down and using the full weight of gravity. The attacker couldn’t keep his grip and she rolled away, coming up quickly, and headed again for the car. She was nearly there when he grabbed her by the hair and pulled.
Pain flooded her brain and she shrieked and scratched at him, but to no avail. She was hauled backward into the old church building. Amelia was terrified, but somehow retained some amount of composure. The stringy-haired monster threw her on the floor, then turned to slam shut the door. This gave the girl a split second to feel around in the dark and grab something. Her eyes adjusted quickly, and she saw that she was holding an old board, probably from a decayed church pew. She swung it with all her might and it hit home.
“Gahhh!” screamed out the man, but he seemed undeterred. She swung again, this time the board broke across his shoulders. He dropped to his knees and Amelia jumped to pass him by. She reached toward the door, he grabbed her foot and tripped her, and she fell flat, smacking her head on the floor.
Her mind swam. She thought, “I can’t lose consciousness,” but her eyes wouldn’t focus. She screamed. Then the man was on top of her, beating her body like a punching bag.
Her mind swam again, and just as darkness began to crowd her vision, a bright light burst through, bathing her face and the church in the golden glow of sunlight, pouring in through the door. A young man stood there, holding a fishing pole in one hand and fish in the other. Without hesitation, he slammed the mess of fish into the stringy monster’s face, sending the man rolling from Amelia. Her eyes were still not focusing well, but she managed to sit up and push herself to the wall.
The fisherman, meanwhile, followed-up the fish-smacking with his fists, and pounded the man repeatedly. The stringy-haired man screamed, and bolted away, jumping across the threshold of the church and past Amelia’s car, then into the woods beyond the creek. The fisherman ran after him for a moment, then returned quickly to Amelia. She was still sitting against the wall, near the open door of the church.
Panting, the fisherman said, “Are you alright? I’m calling 911.” He pulled out a cell phone and sat next to her as he dialed. Thankfully, Amelia began feeling less groggy and was able to concentrate as he called the police and told them where they were. When the young man said, “Thank you,” and hung up, he looked closely at her.
“Are you ok?” he asked, and she nodded slowly.
“I think so, I hit my head pretty hard, but I think I’m ok.” She was shaking and started to cry.
He let her for a moment, then said, “My name’s Josh. I live just down the road here,” he pointed in the direction she’d been driving, “what’s your name?”
“I’m, sniff, Amelia,” she said, then, “Thank you for helping me.”
Josh smiled. “You’re welcome, and you’re safe now. The police will have that guy in no time, and I’m staying with you until they do. What are you doing here, anyway?”
Amelia swallowed and tried to explain herself, “I, I was just driving by, and something about this place…” She shuddered, the attack so shocking and fresh, she thought anything she said would sound stupid. She had felt so sure that something was here she was supposed to find, something called to her so strongly and forced her to slam on the brakes. She bitterly regretted it now.
Josh looked past the broken door of the church out toward the creek and the mountains beyond. He said, “I know what you mean. It’s a pretty enough view, alright, but there’s something about this place that calls to my heart. It’s why I fish up here all the time. Speaking of which,” he stood and retrieved his fish and his pole.
“Let’s step outside into the light, you feel up to that?”
Amelia nodded and he helped her up. A large rock sat close to the church and overlooked the creek. He steered her there and helped her sit, gently.
He motioned toward the gurgling creek and continued, “Maybe you understand, or maybe I just sound crazy, but I think that God calls to people in different ways. Especially in nature, and especially to those with the right kind of listening heart.”
He laughed and smiled down at her. Amelia didn’t laugh, she didn’t believe in God, or at least she never really thought about it, but something Josh said about a “listening heart” struck a chord with her.
Eyebrows furrowed, she asked, “A listening heart? I wonder… I mean, I often feel like I’m different than other people because I feel like nature, like it is calling to my heart somehow.”
Josh nodded, “Everyone can see that this place is picturesque, of course, but I think that there is something deeper here, and in lots of places, for certain types of people. A quiet, um, sometimes introverted type person, can sometimes feel God calling to them, pulling them to something greater than the everyday nonsense of this world. I think these people can more easily have a meaningful relationship with Him than-”
Amelia interrupted, “Well, I don’t know about GOD, but I do know that I feel something.”
Josh nodded, “Have you ever heard of the famous writer, Cora Mae Brown? She writes a lot of poetry and stuff about nature. She says something like, well, here, let me show you.”
He pulled out his phone again and did a quick internet search, then read: “Creation calls to the listening heart, the one prepared to seek, to feel, to discover: a quiet, a reverent, a thinking heart, and one that is indelibly curious. These, often necessarily introverted hearts, were built for greatness.”
Amelia gave a half smile and a little laugh. “Ha. That sounds a lot like me, ‘indelibly curious, and quiet.’ I do feel like SOMETHING is calling me, why not God?”
Josh smiled, but said nothing.
Amelia said, “Did Cora…what’s her name…did she write more about this?”
Josh handed her the phone and she read: “A heart that is more attune to the whispers in the wind and the myriad colors of a mountain top view, the tinkle and swish of a clear stream, the sweetness of a dewy morning; this heart can easily find the Creator, can almost see Him sitting there on a stump, one ankle crossed over a knee, barefoot beneath the pecan tree. He looks up as looking to a good friend and smiles. “Hello there, kindred heart,” He seems to call, “come and be refreshed and filled with life.”
As she finished reading these words, a siren rang out in the distance. She handed the phone back to Josh and said, “Thank you again, for everything. I can’t imagine what would have happened if…” her eyes welled up with tears.
Josh put a hand on her shoulder, “I’m very glad I was close by.”
A silver patrol car, lights flashing sped around the curve and pulled into the church parking lot. It was soon followed by another and Amelia recounted the attack to two officers. Josh did the same and gave them a good description of the man with the stringy black hair.
The policemen reassured Amelia that they would catch the guy in no time, as they were pretty sure they knew who he was and where he lived. Apparently, the man was a known drug-addict and thief.
Josh walked over to her and smiled. He said, “I’m going down to the station with them now. If you need anything, give me a call.” He handed her a slip of paper with his phone number on it. He’d also retrieved her cell phone from the ground and gave her that, too.
She said, “I can’t ever say thank you enough, it was all so horrifying. Thank God you were there!”
He replied, “Yes, thank God.” He began walking away, but stopped and turned, “You know, maybe you were meant to be here today. Maybe your “indelibly curious heart” is trying to tell you something.” Then he nodded and walked away.
Amelia recovered from her ordeal surprisingly quickly, and she remained curious and quiet. She sought with her heart. This led her to reading scriptures and eventually into a deep relationship with God.
After a few months of roaming, she found a place to live, a quiet community where she could paint lovely scenery, and people who saw her work were transfixed. She poured her love for the Creator into every piece, and the magic of creation was woven into each one.
Many years later, one of her most favorite paintings was hung in an art gallery near a university campus. A young man, studying law, who knew nothing of God and was a devout Atheist, happened to walk past the gallery. Something called to him, something pulled him inside and around the corner to stare at this lovely painting. His indelibly curious heart held him fast in front of it for a very long time. He stared at the decaying church, with white chipped paint, and the peaceful creek that ran beside, and the Autumn decorated mountains beyond. The painting was titled, “God, the Creator, Calls.”
The young man thought, “Something is calling me, why not God?”
