That
Time
I Lied
to
GOD
Libby Hudson Lydecker
W
hen I was in fourth grade, I talked
to God all the time. I never spoke to
anyone about it, nor did my 10-yearold self give it much thought. It simply was, in
the same way that I was a girl or that I went
to school. I checked in with God for a continual
connection to what I knew to be something
far bigger than school-bus bullies or mean-girl
popularity contests. It wasn’t as though I was
hearing a voice speak back to me or having
visions of guardian angels, just that there was an
innate sense of peace and guidance.
My home-room teacher assigned us an essay:
“What I Value Most.” I thought about this for a
long time and quickly rejected the answer of any
material possessions. I remember thinking about
it as I walked to the school bus one day and was
engrossed in cloud formations in the sky, and the
answer came very clearly to me: my imagination.
Somehow my understanding of all that was