Finding Alice Read Online Free Page A

managed to shelve the dog-eared shoebox and nearly forget it.
    But today I get up and am energized. It’s as if the air is charged with power and light, and I believe I am having a true revelation. I amamazed at how I tumble out of bed and head straight for that box, almost like I have radar in my fingertips. I open the orange box to discover the Bible on top of some other religious books that my mother assumed I couldn’t live without. I rub my hand over the smooth-grained cowhide cover and breathe it in. It smells just like Sunday school. I open it to find the pages soft and feathery—almost edible. This Bible was presented to me in third grade, and I remember how proud I was to stand at the front of the church with the other third graders. Our whole class filed by, one by one, with solemn maturity, except for Timothy Bevins, who wet himself and had to be excused, as we soberly received “God’s Word” from Pastor John.
    Naturally, I hadn’t read the Bible for years, not since I quit going to church with my parents shortly after my high school graduation. My second form of open rebellion. My father didn’t react as strongly as I’d expected, but then I think perhaps he, like me, was beginning to question some things as well. My mother was beside herself. I’m sure she checked the sky on a regular basis to see if a lightning bolt was aimed toward our house. I know that she and her church friends prayed for me daily, probably with sackcloth and ashes, which is not an exaggeration.
    It was such a relief to leave Warren and escape the heavy oppression of Salvation Center. I’ve become quite an expert at reasons for not going home. Other than my father’s funeral and my brother’s graduation from high school, I’ve managed to keep a safe distance from my old world. I always take a few summer classes and work summer jobs just to avoid it. Even now, I find myself somewhat amazed and slightly frightened that I am actually handling this old Bible again and without being forced to. But the pull is so strong.
    So I open it up, on this golden morning of revelation, allowing the pages to fall as they will, like waves when Moses parted the Red Sea. I know I’m in the Old Testament, the book of Jeremiah. And I know from years of Sunday school and church that this man is a prophet. But I don’t remember much more than that. Sheltered by my walls of boxes, and with my window shrouded against the rising sun, I begin to read.
    I quickly discover that this is unlike any reading I’ve ever done. Suddenly everything is crystal clear. Inspired . The meaning seems plain to me, incredibly obvious—as if God is speaking to me personally. As if he’s standing before me and holding out the golden key of complete and perfect knowledge. He is giving me the secret of understanding it all.
    I begin to record all my profound thoughts in my computer word-processing program. I sit there for hours and hours, just writing line after line of the prophet’s true meaning and how it relates to the state of the world at present. There’s so much that has to do with the Middle East and our lifestyle in America and many symbols of water, fire, destruction, and rebirth. I write page after page, creating new documents as needed, and a whole new file system to contain them—all safely stored in my computer under a secret name with a secret code that only I can access.
    During the days to come, this writing becomes my obsession. It is my calling. I no longer attend classes. I have no need to further my education. I now hold the key to all knowledge, to all that is important. God is giving me the answers, and I intend to write them all down. I am certain that my words will be published someday, probably within the month, and then everyone on the planet will knowthe real truth. And they will also know that I am special —chosen . I imagine myself being interviewed on the Today show.
    But one morning my computer suddenly freezes up, right in the middle