The Little Engine That Could

The Little Engine That Could

God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Psalm 46:1 (KJV)

After dinner, I raced to my bedroom in the second-grade hall of the girls’ dorm, my nerves jangling from the noise of the dining room and the constant commotion of people around me.

Yesterday I had to fly here to Kent Academy, all day, I could hardly breathe, because my tummy felt clamped shut with homesickness. Especially at mealtime. At home, I loved sitting at the table with my parents, brothers, and baby sister. Even though they were annoying at times, my brothers were mostly nice to me.

Here at K.A., the boys were loud and rough. Once, when we sat down to eat, a boy pretended to help a girl push her chair in, but he pulled it out instead, and she tumbled to the floor. Oh no! Will someone do that to me?

Safely in my room, I pulled open the big drawer under the wardrobe and picked a book from home, The Little Engine that Could. Tracing my finger under each word, I read out loud. “I think I can. I think I can.” The brave blue train chanted that short but comforting phrase to herself as she struggled up the steep hill.

Tears filled my eyes. Two nights ago, I read this sweet story while lying in my comfy bed at Egbe. As I brushed the drops from my cheeks, I sat up straight. No more tears. I’ll wait until lights out, so no one sees me. I think I can get through this.

Soon my roommate and I changed into our jammies, put on housecoats and flip-flops, then headed down the hall toward the bathroom. Not all the kids had arrived, so the place seemed extra dark and quiet. Since the light was out in the room next to us, the shadows of the big bunk beds loomed large and spooky, and I worried something scary was in there.

I think I can get through this. We scurried past.

The hall turned left, through a short passageway. To our right was a small room with three toilet stalls. To our left was a large, well-lit room with showers and sinks.

We reached a screen door at the end, where a cool breeze blew my bangs across my forehead. I tested the handle, and the door swung open. Quickly, I pulled it shut when I saw several older kids heading into the nurse’s bright office across the patio.

Privacy Please

Standing as still as a bunny watching for danger, I bit softly on my upper lip. “Can those big kids walk right in here?”

“They aren’t allowed down the second-grade hall,” my roommate answered.

“But I heard junior highers can go anywhere they want,” I said, chewing on my favorite fingernail.

We turned around and stepped into the narrow toilet room. I chose a stall, swung the flimsy wooden door shut, and flipped the latch to lock it. But I felt anxious that someone might peek through the cracks around it.

I wish I had a bathroom like at home where I can be private. I sighed softly. Well, I think I can get through this.

After flushing, we stood in the doorway and peered out the screen door. Two boys left the nurse’s office and walked past our wing toward the playground.

I let out a panicked squeal and dashed across the hall to the washroom. “Do you think those boys saw us in our jammies?”

“I sure hope not!”

Cold water gushed out of the faucet. I quickly skimmed the toothbrush around my teeth, wiped my mouth on the back of my hand, and headed into the hall.

Back in our room, I heard kids laughing outside the nurse’s office. They sound happy, as if they like it here. I’m not having fun at all. My shoulders slumped. I sat down on the bench under the window with the same thought, I think I can get through this.

The curtains were closed, but a tiny gap showed in the middle. Suddenly, my roommate shrieked. “Someone’s peeking in!”

I raced to the foot of my bed, my heart pounding with fear, and yelled, “There’s nowhere to hide!”

My brave buddy reached toward the window, pulled aside the edge of the curtain, and peeked out. “Well, nobody’s there now. We’re fine.”

Nighttime Fears

I crawled up to the top bunk. This bed was a little smaller than my first grade one and more rickety. After lights out, as I lay under the covers, several worries drove ’round and ’round like train cars in my head. When will I see Mommy and Daddy again? How will I last ’til the end of the year?

Finally, the bulging dam that held back my sadness all day burst open, and I cried big gulping sobs. Tears flowed down the sides of my face and tickled the inside of my ears.

After a few minutes of sobbing, I sat up. “I need some toilet paper,” I whispered into the dark room.

My roommate leaned on one elbow and said in a quiet, stern voice, “Shhhh. Do you want to get us in trouble? You know we’re not allowed to get out of bed after lights out.”

I lay down and wiped my nose with the corner of my sheet. My pillow is all wet and yucky, I thought. I’ll try not to cry anymore because I don’t have any T.P., and I sure don’t want to get a spanking. I think I can get through this.

Longing for Home

For the next little while, my fingers fidgeted with the covers, and my tummy twisted into a knot as I tried to figure out what to do. All last year, I felt lonesome in the dorm without my family, and the schoolwork was too hard to understand. Even though I had managed through first grade, I told Mom and Dad I didn’t ever want to go back.

Now here I was again, on a top bunk, in a lonely room, down a dark hall. At least I know how to read a little bit, I thought. My stomach relaxed when I remembered the library had lots of kids’ books.

Every time I read a good book, I feel like I’m the girl in the story. I smiled to myself. When I curl up in a chair, I’m happy, and I don’t miss my home or worry about this noisy place. So, I’ll find a good book to read every day.

Then I thought of Mommy reading to me when she tucked me in bed. “The little engine didn’t think she would make it up the mountain,” Mom said. “But she tried her hardest, and she did it!”

My eyes closed, and I wiped the last few tears, as I pictured Mommy bending over to give me a soft kiss on the cheek.

Could I make it until Christmas vacation?

A determined answer chugged through my mind. I think I can. I think I can.

Looking Back

I don’t know if the hall was truly dark, but in my memory it seems dark. Behind our window were two large spreading trees and behind them another wing of the girls’ dorm that housed the nurse’s office. That outside area was forbidden to little kids even though it was directly behind our hall. Thus, it seemed nebulous, dark, and scary. Especially at night.

Much later, some friends of my older brother confessed they often tried to peek in my room. No wonder I was scared. Unfortunately, no one gave credence to my reports or provided comfort for my fears at the time.

I learned to take care of myself, pull up my bootstraps, and get on with it.

What I Know Now

Writing these stories drains me emotionally, because I spend two weeks immersing myself in the memory. I dread the start of each story. In my mind, I go back to the boarding school and I write a few paragraphs, reliving the sights, sounds, and smells. Then I wonder, Can I keep this up? Should I continue writing?

After I’ve finished editing with the help of several trusted friends, I have a huge sense of peace. I’ve finally walked entirely through the dark memory that had previously lain crumpled and covered, in a back corner of my mind. Brought into the light of truth, the scary event no longer lingers formless and foreboding in my subconscious. I’m freed from the fear of it.

Then as I share my stories, I connect with folks who read them, and I receive comfort from many who went through similar experiences. I realize I’m not alone and don’t have to do everything on my own. I’m no longer ashamed that I felt great distress over what others dismissed as little things.

Yes, I will keep writing – with God’s help, I know I can.

Link It to Your Life

When have you felt like you had to do everything on your own? How have you been able to find strength and refuge in the midst of confusion and chaos?

Diving Deeper

Is there a part of your story you’d like to write? How would you begin the journaling or writing process?

Father God, thank you that you comfort me in all my troubles, and you are my strength. Through you, I will always be the little engine that can.

You can read how I came be living in a boarding school on my About Page.

What do you think? I would love to hear from you!

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