Leap of Faith by Cassidy Shay (the giving tree read aloud .txt) 📕

“Well, she was a very strong woman, and she loved God. We all stopped going to church when she was gone because… she’s really the only reason we ever went to begin with.” She shakes her head. “But that really doesn’t have much to do with the letter.”

She clears her throat. “When you and Lisa were born, she wrote you guys a letter. She was going to give them to you on your sixteenth birthdays. When she died, they were given to me, and I was supposed to give them to you.”

I keep my eyes on her as she points to the letter in my hand. “I would have given it to you on your birthday, but I didn’t know where it was.” She starts laughing. “I was so scared when I thought I lost it. But I finally found it.” She stands up and gives me a kiss on the top of the head. “I love you.” I stare at it, wondering how careless she had to have been to lose something so important. I want to be angry with her. What if she had never found it, and this was lost forever? This letter, these words from my aunt, would have been gone, and I never would have even known that they existed. But deep down, I know that being angry with her wouldn’t do any good. I have it now, and that’s all that matters.

I take the letter up to my room and open the envelope. I start to unfold it, so that I can see the top. All I can see is the date – August 4th – and my name. Her handwriting is pretty messy, with lots of letters running into the others. But it’s hers, so I don’t care. I unfold it a little more, but stop before I see any of the words. I can’t do this by myself.

I reach over and turn the radio on. After the song ends, I dial the number for the studio.

“Hey,” I hear through the radio. “How are you today, Amia?”

I take a deep breath. “Um… I’m good. I guess. I just got a letter from my aunt.”

“I thought your aunt was dead.” His answer is quick, but confused.

“She is. My mom told me that on the day I was born, she wrote me a letter that she was supposed to give me when I turned sixteen. My mom just gave it to me now.”

“What does it say?”

I shrug, more for my benefit than to answer him. I’m sitting on my bed, legs crossed, the letter in my lap. “I haven’t read it yet. I don’t think I can do it alone.” When I say it out loud, I want to cringe. I sound so helpless, like I’m nothing but a pitiful little girl.

“Well, you’re not alone now.” I instantly relax, and I feel a smile on my face. Even though he’s not actually here, I feel a lot less alone, just with that one sentence from him. “Are you ready to open it?”

I flip the letter over a couple times. “I’m ready.” But I don’t move. The letter remains folded in my lap.

“Alright, let’s hear it.” His voice pushed me along. It gives me the strength I need to unfold it.

“’My Amia,’” I read. “’You are such a strong, beautiful baby. I know that as you get older, your beauty and strength will stay with you, and there is nothing that you won’t be able to do.

“’You won’t get this until you are a teenager, and I hope it’s not too late. I don’t know what will happen in the next several years, and I hope that nothing takes away that sparkle in your eyes, the smile on your lips. I hope that you remain child-like in your faith, even throughout the years when you’re supposed to know everything. I wish nothing but the best for you, and I pray that nothing happens in your life to take away your happiness’” I take a deep breath. I can feel the tears coming.

“’I can’t wait to give this to you, to see-.’” I stop again as the tears slide down my face. “’To see you grow up into the beautiful young lady that I know you will be.’” I take another deep breath. “Mikey, I can’t… I can’t finish it. I just… I miss her too much. Nothing has turned out the way she wanted it to. And it feels wrong for me to read this when she’s not here.” This letter wasn’t meant to be something that I read as I sit alone on my bed, after she’s been dead for ten years.

The radio is silent for a few seconds. The silence is so long that, for a moment, I get scared that I can’t hear anything anymore. Then, I hear Mikey’s voice. “She wrote it for you to read when you were a teenager. These are her thoughts on the day that you were born, and she wrote them down so that you can read them, no matter what. Even if she’s not here. This is for you.”

I take a minute to compose myself. “I have to go. I can’t…” I break down again, take the phone away from my ear. I press the end button as my tears drop onto my hands.

“This isn’t officially a Christian song, but I don’t think anyone will mind me playing it. I know that there’s at least one of our listeners who needs to hear it. Here’s Rascal Flatts with Stand.”

I put my phone on the desk and the letter in the drawer. I was not ready to read that. I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready.

I go lay on my bed and curl up, listening to the radio.

Mikey takes a couple more calls in between songs, and I listen to all of them.

“Hi, this is Jenna. I just want to tell Amia to stay strong, and know that she can do anything, as long as she walks with God.”

“I’m McKayla. Amia, just know that we love you, and that we hate to see you sad.  Cheer up, say a little prayer, and just relax for a while. You’re strong, and you can do anything.”

“My name’s Brad. My aunt died of cancer when I was ten, and she left tons of letters that she wrote for all of my family. At first, it was hard to read them. But when you’re ready, Amia, you’ll be able to. Don’t be afraid of that piece of her. And no matter what happens, keep your faith. Because with that, you can do anything. Anything at all.”

They all have song suggestions, and I try to pay extra attention to each word. I know that these songs were chosen for me. The words of the listeners just make me cry even harder.

After the show is over, Lisa comes into my room and sits on my bed. “When Mom gave me my letter,” she says, “I didn’t read it for four months. I felt like it was wrong for me to read it when she’s been gone for so long.”

Her hands are in her lap and she takes a deep breath. “But, then I finally decided to go ahead and read it. And it was a strange feeling, thinking that each word had been chosen just for me. And I made it to about halfway down the page before breaking down.”

She shakes her head. “I’m not sure what I’m trying to accomplish by telling you all of this. I guess… just wait. Wait until you’re ready. And it’ll be easier. The words that she chose for you will mean more if you’re ready to read them.”

I sit up and wrap my arms around my sister’s shoulders.

“I just miss her so much, Lisa. I can’t… She was the person who I looked up to the most. I know that I was only six, but I loved her. We were close. And when she died, she took everything. She took my hearing, my dad. And because of that, I lost any foundation that would lead me to have faith in God. I shouldn’t have had to lose any of that.”

“I know,” she says, in a calming, soothing voice. “I miss her too.”

After a couple minutes, Mom comes into my room. “Honey,” she says. “How are you feeling?” I just shrug. “Well, there’s someone here to see you. Why don’t you go wash your face, and then come downstairs?” I nod, but I’m confused. Who’s here to see me?

As soon as the clock hits 5:30, I’m out the door. I stop by the store, grab some hot cocoa. I remember her telling me that her aunt would make hot cocoa when she was sad. Maybe this will cheer her up.

I finally pull up in front of Amia’s house. The kitchen light is on, and I can see her mom at the sink. I grab the can of powdered cocoa mix from the passenger seat and head to the door. I knock twice, and her mom comes to the door.

“Oh. Hi, Mikey,” she says. “How are you?”

I nod my head a little bit. “I’m good. Um… it Amia here? She was really upset and I just wanted to check on her.”

She notices the can in my hand. “Is that hot chocolate?”

“Yeah. She said that when she was sad, her aunt would make her some.” I look down at it. “Um… I guess I didn’t really think it through all the way. I don’t have anything to make it with. I just want to make sure she’s alright.”

She opens the door wider and steps aside. “Come on in,” she says. “She’s up in her room. I’ll get you some milk and a pot and go get her while you get it started.”

She has a smile on her face as I walk past her into the kitchen. She opens the fridge and a cabinet and pulls out milk and a pot. “Here you go. I’ll be right back.”

I turn the stove on and pour some milk into the pot. Now, the only thing to do is wait.

After a couple minutes, Amia comes down the stairs, followed by her mom and Lisa. I can tell that she’s been crying.

“Mikey? What are you doing here?”

I shrug. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay. And I uh… I brought you some hot cocoa.”

She steps towards me and wraps her arms around my torso. She holds on, and I wrap my arms around her shoulders. I feel her body shudder as she takes a deep breath. After a couple more seconds, she lets go and looks into the pot. I haven’t put the chocolate in yet. She turns around to look at me. “Thank you, Mikey. Thank you so much.”

“It was nothing,” I say. “I just want to make sure you’re alright, and you’re not spending your Friday night alone in your room crying. You can still