One afternoon, I was tidying up when I found a bag in the corner of the landing. My Mum often complained about that bag being left there, but as we each assumed it belonged to someone else, no-one had touched it. Eventually it became buried beneath baskets and boxes and was forgotten about, until this afternoon. I picked it up, and carried it to my bedroom, curious as to what was inside. I’d just assumed it was old computer wires, nothing interesting really, but when I opened it, I found a time capsule. It was a bag of random things I’d owned and lost at 14 years old. There was make-up and broken phones, souvenirs from school trips, a black bandanna with pink skulls, great big neon pink hoop earrings (they were totally in fashion!), and at the bottom of the bag, a sparkly green and yellow bracelet. I held the bracelet lightly in my hand, thinking back to the last time I had been reunited with it.
When I was 10, I lived in the old house, where my bedroom was much bigger and had these long, white shelves going along the width of one wall. There were three of them, but I couldn’t reach the top one, it was too high for me. I had come up with different creative ways of getting things on or off of these shelves, but one day I decided to climb up. I had lost my beautiful sparkly green and yellow bracelet several days before, and I could not find it anywhere. Eventually I had given up searching, but not before scouring my room from top to bottom. I don’t know what I was doing climbing up those shelves, but as I stood on the lowest shelf I heard a voice telling me to get down and turn around. I was deeply confused, the voice was clear, but I wasn’t sure it was audible. It wasn’t angry either, but it was firm. I climbed down and turned around; at my feet was my green and yellow bracelet. I picked it up, and wandered out of my room, looking for the source of the voice. There was no-one around, no-one who could have spoken. I was alone. I had thought that maybe it was a guardian angel, or a friendly ghost, but as I grew older and more accustomed to hearing God’s voice, I recognised it as God.
I sat on my bed, holding the bracelet that I had once again found, and wondering if it had all been real. Had God really spoken to me at 10 years old? Or did I have some sort of psychological disorder?
I decided that if God was real, then I was going to find him.