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Authors: Melody Carlson

Bad Connection

BOOK: Bad Connection
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What Readers Are, Saying About Bod Connection

“Bad Connection
is a terrific story for anyone who loves supernatural fiction. My daughters are going to be arguing over who gets to read it first.”

—R
ANDY
I
NGERMANSON
, winner of two Christy Awards and author of
Double Vision

“Bravo to Melody Carlson for creating a wonderful, engaging character who is just like our daughters and the teens in our church. Yet, she's gifted with visions from God. After eighteen years in youth ministry, and watching the world present an enticing display of the supernatural, I'm thrilled to see Christian fiction address this issue, letting the teens know greater is He that is in you, than he that is in the world.”

—R
ACHEL
H
AUCK
, author of
Lost in NashVegas

“God does what He wills and cannot be manipulated. This is the sound doctrinal message for Melody Carlson's book,
Bad Connection.
Writing about a spiritual gift we rarely see today was risky, but handled so well, I would encourage any teen (or their parents) to read this book. I was reminded that we are not to be afraid of God's more unusual gifts, but to allow Him to use them in our lives.”

—L
ISSA
H
ALLS
J
OHNSON
, creator
Brio Girls
series, co-author of
A Full House of Growing Pains

Author's Note

I normally don't include a letter in my books, but because The Secret Life of Samantha McGregor series treads on some new territory, I want to make some things as clear as possible. First of all, this book is
fiction
—it's simply a story that's meant to entertain and to possibly point out some spiritual truths—it is
not
a theological study on the proper use of the gifts of the Holy Spirit. While I do believe in the gifts of the Holy Spirit and that God wants all of us to do many wonderful things, I also realize that Samantha's gift, her ability to receive dreams and visions from God, is extremely rare and unique—but it does make for a good story!

Second, my hope is that you won't envy Samantha's unusual gift or seek it for yourself, since that would be totally wrong! Don't forget that God is the giver of every good and perfect gift and
He's
the One who decides who gets what and when it's appropriate to use. If you go around searching for your own gifts, you can put yourself at serious risk. Satan masquerades himself as an angel of light and delights in tricking those who look for gifts in the wrong places. Don't let that be you.

More than anything, I hope that you'll follow Samantha's example by seeking out God and a committed relationship with Him. I hope that you'll desire to walk closely with God every day, to make Him your best friend, and be ready for whatever adventures and gifts He has in store for you. Just make sure they come from God!

And finally, remember that the Bible is our ultimate source for all of life's questions. That's why I've included more Scripture in this series than usual. Also, please check out the resources and discussion questions in the back of this book.

I pray that this fictional journey will draw your heart closer to God and that He will be your lifeline—for today and for always!

Best blessings!

Melody Carlson

A Word from Samantha

The first time it happened, I thought it was pretty weird but kind of cool. The second time it happened, I got a little freaked. The third time it happened, I became seriously scared and had sort of a meltdown. That's when my mom decided to send me to a shrink. She thought I was going crazy, And I thought she was right for a change.

Turns out it was just God. Okay not just God. Because, believe me, God is way more than just anything. Still, it was hard to explain this weird phenomenon to my mom or the shrink or anyone. It still is. Other than my best friend, Olivia, I don't think most people really get me.

But that's okay, because I know that God gets me. For that reason, I try to keep this part of my life under wraps. For the most part anyway

One

T
he wipers slap furiously, whipping back and forth like wild things, but the windshield remains a murky puddle before my eyes. I lean forward and push my chest against the steering wheel as I try to see what's ahead. The curving road is pitch-black—dark and shiny—and the blindingly bright headlights of the vehicle tailgating me don't help.

Why did I take this road? And why, am I driving so late at night? I adjust my rearview mirror io subdue the lights, and then I step on the gas in an attempt to outrun the impatient jerk. Or maybe I should just pull over. But where?

Just when I think I've lost my tailgater, a truck barrels down the road toward me, its lights glaring straight into my already compromised vision. The wimpy wipers don't help at all, and I can barely see as I start to brake because it looks like the truck has crossed the centerline into my lane. It feels like he's hurtling straight toward me—a head-on about to happen!

I jerk the steering wheel to the right and swerve off the road, hitting the gravel shoulder at about fifty miles an hour and totally out of control. Then in the same split second, certain that my car is about to dive into the steep ditch and roll, I crank my steering wheel back to the left and careen
across both lanes of the highway, crashing straight through the end of the guardrail, almost as if it's not even there.

There's this moment of eerie silence as my car, free of gravity, plunges into thin air and total darkness. But when it lands, it's like an explosion. And the jolt to my body is shocking then numbing. I can't breathe. It feels as if someone has a pillow over my face, and my chest and head ache from the impact. Something cold and wet creeps up my legs like the fingers of death. I try to kick whatever it is away, but my legs are pinned to the seat, unable to move.

I free my arms in an attempt to fight off this thing that's suffocating me, but it seems to deflate just as quickly as it came—the airbag. I peer through my shattered windshield. My left headlight illuminates what appears to be water running swiftly all around me. And I remember, yes, the Willamette River runs along this stretch of country road.

My car's not fully submerged in the river yet, although the front end is partially in the water. But I feel the car shift, as if the wheels aren't on solid ground. I force the gear into reverse, hoping that I can back up, but the movement makes the car lurch forward. I prepare myself to be swallowed by the river. Stuck in this car, my death trap. How long does it take a vehicle to sink? How long does it take to drown?

A new rush of adrenaline hits me. I'm not ready to give up. I push the button for the electric windows, but they don't budge. I attempt to force open the door, but it's stuck tight. Even if I got it open, I can't free my legs from whatever pins them down.

The water's up to my waist now and numbingly cold. Or have I lost all feeling in the lower half of my body? I'm not sure if it's the dashboard pressed down against my thighs. Or maybe it's the engine. I don't know. But I know that I'm trapped.

It seems almost silly, but it's as if time stands still, and I o begin to analyze how I got to this place. I made a bad decision tonight. I didn't have to take this road. But don't we all make bad decisions sometimes? Why this? Why me? Why now?

I look up and catch my reflection in the cockeyed rearview mirror. But it's not my face I see. I blink then stare back into the mirror.
Who is this woman staring back at me?
At first she seems old, maybe forty-something, and then she seems young, like my age.

Finally I realize that it's not me at all—it's my friend Kayla Henderson. Her blond hair is pulled back in a ponytail, and her dark brown eyes are full of fear with tears streaming down her cheeks. An image of pure terror and desperation.

And that's when I wake up.

My heart still pounds frantically as I sit up in my bed and look around, making sure that I'm still in my own room, safe and warm and dry. I wiggle my toes. Just fine. Nothing to be afraid of. It was only a dream…just a dream. But an
unusual
dream. What does it mean?

I glance at the clock. It's 5:31 and too early to get up. But going back to sleep seems unlikely too. So I turn on the light by my bed and, out of habit, reach for my Bible, opening it to a very familiar section marked with a red ribbon.

Oh, I know these words already. My dad was the first one to read this portion of Scripture to me, back when I had my first
unusual
dream. And it was Dad who encouraged me to memorize this Scripture as well as others. “Write them in your heart,” he'd said. My dad seemed to be the one person who really got me back then, back when this whole thing seemed to start up. But it comforted me to know that he seemed to understand and even respect what he called my “gift.”

So I read this Scripture now, hearing the words almost as if Dad were here right beside me, quietly whispering them to me.

“That's exactly what God is doing in you, Samantha,” Dad told me the first time I proudly recited this Scripture.

“What do you mean?” I asked, although I felt fairly sure that I knew.

“God's pouring out His Spirit on you. Giving you visions and dreams.”

“But why? Why did God pick me?” ?

Dad just smiled. “He must've known that you have the right kind of heart, honey. And He designed you in such a o way that you could handle something of this magnitude. Just trust Him.”

I close my Bible as well as my eyes, trying to remember the details of the dream that just interrupted my sleep. Why does it seem unusual? Was it supposed to mean something? Some kind of message? Was it really from God?

I get out of bed and walk back and forth in my room, running over the events of the dream, trying to sort it out, to discern whether it's something to be dismissed or something I should pay attention to. I mean, sometimes I have dreams that are simply dreams. Other times…well, those are different.

BOOK: Bad Connection
7.3Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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