Barren Soil This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine.

     I stumbled upon God the summer I was five. My father had finally grown too sick to get out of bed, so the heat and nervous tension that permeated the air inside the house made it impossible to breathe. I would escape by squeezing under the front porch and curling up in the cool, forgiving darkness where no one would think to look for me. All manner of creatures lived there, but I mostly ignored them, with one exception - a little frog who, every time I crawled under the porch, ceased movement and stared at me with great, golden eyes.

In late June, the frog finally moved. He hopped toward my arm and stared at me, demanding eye contact. Once he had my attention, he opened his wide mouth and said, “Hello, Sophie.”

I should have been shocked, but for some reason, I wasn’t. Perhaps at five years old, I was more receptive to something that defied the laws of nature. Perhaps something in those golden eyes had already told me that this frog was unique. At any rate, I was not startled that a frog could speak. I had a more pressing question.

“How do you know my name?”

The frog blinked slowly. “I know everything. I am God.”

Silence. The slants of light where the sun shone through the strips of porch shifted positions. Finally, I spoke.

“You can’t be God. You’re too small.”

His eyes sparkled, and then he chuckled with his head thrown back, and I could see his white underbelly shaking in small ripples.

When his laughter finally subsided, he extended a long, webbed finger. He was pointing to the edge of the porch’s shadow - to the spot where the rich soil became dust in the sun. My mother had tried to grow flowers there for years. She had stopped trying when my father’s condition worsened.

“Look there,” commanded the frog, and I stared as an exquisite white flower unfurled its petals as if stretching its limbs after a long sleep. In my five years, I had never seen anything so magnificent. Its scent was as sweet as honey, and I wanted to bury my nose in a field of these creations too delicate and extraordinary to be called flowers.

“You see?” God asked, and I nodded.

God and I became good friends that summer. I spent every day under the porch, talking to him. He never wanted to leave the shade, though, even when I offered to carry him in my pocket where he would be safe from careless feet.

Sometimes I asked God questions. Sometimes he answered. Once, I asked him where Heaven was.

“Heaven,” he said, “is where I live.”

“But you live under my porch!”

God just smiled.

In August, my father’s illness had progressed to the point that I was sent to my aunt’s house in Virginia so I wouldn’t be underfoot. I told God I would be back soon, and then waited in Virginia for my father to get better.

Six months later, I came back home for my father’s funeral.

Death is very confusing for a child. I didn’t understand what it meant to die; all I knew was that my father had been lying in his bed when I left, and now when I came back, he was nowhere to be found. He must be hiding somewhere, I was sure; people couldn’t just disappear, especially without saying good-bye. My mother told me he had “passed on,” but I thought she meant he’d traveled to another town. When I continued to press her for a literal meaning of her euphemism, she told me he was in Heaven.

Suddenly everything became clear; I knew exactly how to find my father. I ran on chubby legs to the front porch, my heart sounding loudly in my throat. I bent down to shimmy under the porch - but I had grown during those six months in Virginia, and I could no longer squeeze into the shadows. I sat in front of the porch all afternoon, calling for someone to answer me. No voice came. No father returned from the dead. No frog peeked out of its hiding spot. I was too big to talk to God, so I started to cry.

My husband is sure I imagined speaking to God. He says my loneliness as a child manifested into my belief that a frog could talk to me: a solution for my need for company. You may agree with him. I don’t. I believe that if I look hard enough, I will meet God again. I have to believe that. He wouldn’t have left me without saying good-bye. Sometimes I even catch glimpses of him out of the corner of my eye: in the sun sparkling on the water, in the breezes rippling through the grass, in the white flowers - delicate as clouds - guarding my front porch where no other flowers dare to grow.

This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.

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This article has 12 comments. Post your own now!

paigeswifka This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. said...
Aug. 9, 2013 at 11:50 am
I love the voice in this piece. It's so innocent and it really gives the child character.
RarelyJaded This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. said...
Mar. 9, 2013 at 11:11 am
This was so creative and touching! I can relate to it so much :P
Dolly9471 said...
Feb. 15, 2013 at 4:44 pm
A highly creative story!
Ariel E. said...
Feb. 15, 2013 at 8:17 am
This is such a great story! Your content is very well done!
In_Love_with_Writing said...
Jan. 2, 2013 at 11:07 am
I'm Christian and personally I didn't like the way you put the Almighty God in the metaphor of a lowly frog. God can come into any form He chooses to talk to us, but I feel that if you want to talk about Him, put Him in the VERY BEST LIGHT OR POSITION. Sorry for the rant, but I feel very strongly about this :)
RarelyJaded This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. replied...
Mar. 9, 2013 at 11:11 am
Jesus came as a lowly human. God does magnificent things with the small.
In_Love_with_Writing replied...
Mar. 10, 2013 at 10:03 pm
Good arguement and I agree.
Sam_Dawn_Richi This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. replied...
Aug. 14, 2013 at 3:30 pm
I agree with RarelyJaded on this. The story is really beautiful. God put himself in a position the little girl would understand and be able to comprehened easier. The author wrote a very good story and I don't think she's trying to humble God at all--rather tell of how much he means/meant to her. You have a point though, In_Love_With_Writing :)
Sam_Dawn_Richi This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. said...
Jan. 2, 2013 at 10:14 am
Wow. I love this piece of work! It is magnificant to think that God could appear to us in any form that makes us comfortable... and to the character, a little frog. How unique! Very inspiring. I rated five stars.
Isabelle_ said...
Dec. 10, 2012 at 2:54 pm
I loved this piece, its incredibly moving and creative!
AmnyR said...
Sept. 5, 2009 at 8:16 am
great story. you can always talk to God though, dont worry about being too big. He's always there.
summerpoet817 said...
Jul. 23, 2009 at 11:42 pm
This is AMAZING!!! I love the metaphor of growing too old and too big to go back and talk to God. This story left me speechless.
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