The Diary of Caleb Carmichael
A select 5 entries Caleb let me share with you.
August 20, 2023 (Entry 1)
I was born a miracle baby—twice. First, 15 years ago when I entered the world like most babies do, a screaming bundle of joy. And again, when I was four, dipped in lukewarm water while my father’s hands held me, and the Holy Spirit lifted me up! I was the youngest member of the congregation to be cleansed in the mercy of Christ, which basically meant I was also the most clueless, but hey, I got membership to the Kingdom of Heaven!!!
I guess this is where I tell you I want us to be friends. Not in the "I have no friends and you're my last hope" way, but more like the "I just can’t spend time with my real friends right now" way. Oh, I’m sorry! I don’t mean you aren’t real, it’s just... you are a diary.
At the Academy, they made us keep these diaries that we had to turn in so our teachers could read them, which I think makes it not a diary. Pretty sure that makes it a journal. I overheard someone at the supermarket once say a diary is a secret a two-way relationship. So, I’m hoping we can be friends. Secret best friends…
The thing is, I haven’t really seen much of my school friends lately—not since what happened to David at the end of last year. It was a lot. I’m still confused, to be honest. Like, why do people mess up the timeline that God has for them? Father says I shouldn’t be sad about it, but I still pray for David every night, just in case. He was a good kid, you know? A friend even. But Father quoted Corinthians at me, the one that says something like, “If anyone destroys God’s temple, God will destroy them.” That’s the kind of verse that just sticks with you, like a thorn in your side, even when you don’t want it to. I didn’t like thinking about bad things happening to David’s soul, but it was an important reminder guidance can always be found in the Good Book.
School’s starting soon, but instead of going to the High School Academy with everyone, I’m going to be homeschooled. For a year or so. Mother and Father prayed about it and said it’s what God wants, especially after... well, after everything that happened with David. They think I need to focus on my personal relationship with Jesus, which, like, okay, I get it. Baptists are big on that, and I understand it’s the most important thing. But it’s hard to focus on Jesus when all I can think about is how much I’m going to miss my friends.
John, Jeremiah, Abigail—even the teachers! Even Mrs. Rose! I’m going to miss their stories, the way we’d all laugh in class when Mrs. Smyth would ask Abigail what she wanted to be when she grew up. She’d always say she wanted to open a nail salon so she could paint nails, play Christian music, and preach to her clients while they’re too polite to leave! Honestly, it’s genius, so funny! Abigail’s like that. Clever, a bit sly, but also someone you want on your side. She’s what my grandma would call “a good egg.” I’m not sure why, but it was her favorite thing to call her favorite Christians. Good eggs. I’m going to miss it. Waking up together, saying morning prayers, learning, sneaking out of Church after Communion to shoot baskets on the playground.
I don’t know how to tell Father that I’m scared, though. I don’t know how to tell anyone. I really can’t. Maybe that’s why I’m lashing out by keeping you, hiding you under the covers. Because I think this might count as a lie, technically. Which means I’m going to have to go to confession every time I write in you. But the Bible says friends are supposed to encourage us to do our best, and I figure if we’re going to be friends, you’ll help me get through this when I feel sad and lonely. I think God will understand.
August 22, 2023 (Entry 2)
Bible Bingo is tonight. It’s this thing Father started years ago, and now it happens on the last Tuesday of every month at a local assisted living place. Honestly, it’s kind of fun! We bring in some laughs, play a game, and anyone who wants to gets communion. Some churches do that, some don’t. I never really know the difference…
Father doesn’t come with me anymore, though. These days, I go with his assistant, Rev. Greene. He’s pretty neat—he lets me read the numbers out loud and hand out prizes! Sometimes he even lets me read a little scripture. Mother’s baking cookies with these vanilla icing crosses on top to bring tonight. I love those. Rev. Greene always lets me sneak one in the parking lot before we head in.
There’s something I like about bringing the Bread of Life to people who can’t go out and experience His Majesty like the rest of us—the trees, the birds, Church, lighting a candle for someone. I don’t know how they do it, being stuck inside all the time. I pray for them with all my might!
I really love this world God made. I guess I just don’t understand people who don’t get it. But then again, faith has been tested since Adam and Eve, so I try not to overthink it too much.
August 23, 2023 (Entry 3)
Bible Bingo was awesome! We even had a pianist show up and play hymns, which was unexpected but rocked! Afterward, Rev. Greene and I took the long way home, grabbed chocolate milkshakes, and ended up at Hitchens Park to look at the stars. I’ve always preferred seeing God’s work during the day—everything feels clearer in the sunlight—but there’s something about the night, especially when guarded by the face of the moon, that makes me feel... safe.
I first got into stars at the Academy, mostly because of Pastor Phil. I’ve had this peanut allergy for as long as I can remember, and Pastor Phil would pull me out of lunch a few times a week to make sure I didn’t end up covered in hives because someone packed a PB&J. He’d take me to his private room in the rectory and he’d always pack chicken salad and an apple for me in a Ziploc. He’s one of the most thoughtful people I know. He also let me have a pop, which was a nice bonus! We’d talk, and after we ate, he’d show me his telescope. It was shiny and gold and made me think of the three wise men. He’d say that with the right angle, you can use a telescope to look at the sky during the day, not just at night, and still see God’s handiwork.
Sometimes, after school, he’d take me out to really look at the stars. I’ll never forget what he said one night: “Stars that clear have been dead for years, but it’s the Light of God that keeps shining.” He taught me new words—illumination and grandeur. And he helped me get over my fear of the dark. He always reminded me that God’s there, day or night, so I didn’t need to be scared. It’s something I still think about when I say my prayers at night and cozy up in bed. It usually helps me sleep, just knowing He’s there.
But last night, even that couldn’t get me to sleep. Mom and Dad were up late arguing. They never argue. I couldn’t make out what they were saying, but hearing them fight made me feel... I don’t know, just sad. Then I realized there was something I could do. I could pray. That’s what I do when God throws tough stuff at good people—I pray for them. So, I got out of bed, got on my knees, and said:
"Saintly God, I thank You for the gift of loving parents. You have blessed me with their unwavering support and guidance. Please watch over them, granting them strength and good health. Fill their hearts with joy, peace, and boundless love. Amen."
Then I got back into bed, grabbed Bear, and tucked the sheets under my feet. They stopped arguing. I fell asleep smiling, knowing God heard me. Even the best in this world need help and prayers sometimes.
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September 9, 2023 (Entry 9)
Before I dive into what made the day so special, let me finish telling you about the field trip. Especially this one important part! We danced in the rain!
The pizza party had finished, and I’d made some new friends. We were all trailing behind Mr. Glanton and Mr. Lombardo on the way back to the bus, when the sky gave us a little warning—a low rumble of thunder that made us giggle. Then, without much delay, the rain came. Not a drizzle, but that full-on, heart-pounding downpour! The kind where you can almost feel a Higher Power grace your skin!
Mr. Glanton and Mr. Lombardo dashed for the cars like they were in some kind of grown-up race, but the rest of us? We stayed. We danced. We splashed in puddles that formed in seconds, as if the earth was laughing with us. Someone started singing "This Little Light of Mine," and suddenly we were all in on it, like a choir of soggy, joyful believers. And then, in the middle of all this joy and celebration, I slipped, falling face-first into the mud. LOL! But before I even had a chance to laugh, I was hoisted up by a very irritated Mr. Lombardo. He dried me off as best he could, muttering something about "maturity" all the way back to the car, his face practically matching the color of his usual red tie. But honestly? I didn’t care. Not one bit.
You’ve got to be a child to appreciate rain!? That’s silly. There’s nothing wrong with enjoying the essence of life when you’re surrounded by fellow believers. I hoped that sparkle in my faith would never dim, no matter how old I got. It was one of those times I was certain the adult was wrong. Ironically, Mr. Lombardo was the silly one!!!
The car ride back was quiet. When we pulled into the driveway, Mr. Lombardo handed me some chores for church that Sunday, but I didn’t really pay attention. It wasn’t that I was rude, I wasn’t, I thanked him, I told him I’d see him next week. But my mind was elsewhere, floating away with the rain, thinking he was stupid, already looking forward to seeing Mother.
She waved at me as I tumbled out of the car, a basket of fresh veggies from her garden in her hands—a gift for Mr. Lombardo, apparently. Ugh. “He loves my eggplant,” she’d said with a little laugh. As usual, she promised she'd only be a minute, but we both knew better. Especially when it came to saying goodbye or running into the supermarket for “just a few things.”
I was headed for the house when I heard her thanking him for taking care of me, though my mud-soaked clothes told the real story. Inside, the sound of something unfamiliar caught my ear. A melody, beautiful and full of strings, but it wasn’t Church music. It filled the house like something sacred, but different. I started tapping my feet before I even realized what I was doing.
“You like this?” Mother asked, smiling wide. Entering the house behind me as Mr. Lombardo left for the weekend!
“Yeah!” I said, my voice filled with excitement. “Who is it?”
“The Beatles,” she said casually, like she hadn’t just dropped the name of the most forbidden band on Earth.
And suddenly, the whole world stopped. I thought of Father. I thought of God. I thought of all the warnings I’d heard about this band, about how their lead singer once said they were "bigger than Jesus." Blasphemy!
“The Beatles!” I stammered, half-crying. “Father warned us about them! He said they promoted a terrible worldview. They’re evil! Why are you playing them?”
Mother just shrugged, muttering something about them being right about being “bigger than Jesus,” and I was so desperate to pretend I hadn’t heard her, I nearly convinced myself. I even plugged my ears afterwards like that would do any good.
Then she said something I’ll never forget. She asked me: “How about you decide for yourself?”
Those words. Decide for myself? I’d never heard anything like it. I was stunned, I didn’t know what to say. She knelt down, put her forehead to mine, and held my hands, her touch soft and warm. “Come with me,” she said, leading me to the kitchen. “It’s the start of a wonderful surprise, I promise. Have faith in your Mother.”
I followed her, still trying to make sense of what was happening. “What’s your favorite thing in all of God’s universe?” she asked. “The thing you can’t look at directly because it’s too powerful…”
I blurted out, “You Are My Sunshine!” which was embarrassing because it’s a kid’s song, I meant to say THE Sun (it’s my favorite star) but instead of teasing or correcting me, she just laughed and hugged me tight. She understood me.
“The sun’s my favorite too,” she said, brushing dirt off from my cheeks. “Now, listen. Not with your head, but with your heart. If you don’t think this music celebrates the love we both believe in, I’ll never play it again.”
She skipped to a new song, and the speakers hummed with a soft, plucky guitar. The melody wrapped around me like a blanket, and the voice? It was gentle. Angelic, almost. The voice was singing about the sun, about love.
“Here comes the sun, doo-doo-doo-doo…”
Before I knew it, Mother and I were dancing, spinning around the room. I couldn’t stop smiling. Neither could Mother. It was like, for just a moment, the world outside of that music and her arms didn’t exist. “Little Darling,” she sang as we spun. I didn’t even think about God, which feels strange now, but it didn’t cross my mind in the moment. The song didn’t bring me closer to Him, but closer to something else, some other feeling I’ve never felt before, and that felt okay.
I wondered why the Academy banned this band’s music. Why parents and faculty said their leader was evil? All I felt was joy. The purest kind, maybe the Holy Spirit was in the music? Maybe He wasn’t. All I knew was that, for the first time in ages, Mother looked truly happy.
Afterward, we watched a movie called E.T. together, and I had just as many questions about that as I did about The Beatles. Mother said she’s been wanting to show it to me for a long time. But even then, even with all the confusion about what was bringing this change in Mother, there was this quiet certainty inside me that all what I’d experienced today with was good. I felt it. In my soul. I just couldn’t think it in my head for some reason.
What a day it was! Bewildering and breathtaking! I stayed up late, thinking about Mother, Mr. Glanton, the song, and everything else that was dropped on my head! Eventually, I prayed. And that felt good. Thinking of a new day in His Kingdom was always the best sleep medicine. But tonight, as I drifted off, it wasn’t the usual thoughts of God’s kingdom that lulled me to sleep.
Instead, I heard: “Sun, sun, sun—here it comes.”
September 21, 2023 (Entry 13)
So, here’s a funny thing: I accidentally fell asleep in Dad’s chair last night, coffee in hand and everything. I woke up with red cheeks, fully prepared to get busted by Mother, but when she walked in, she just... didn’t care? She didn’t even tell me to go back to bed! She just shut the door and carried on with her day. Not the reaction I was expecting…
Then she just left! Usually, she says something when she’s heading out, but today, I just heard the door close and poof! No warning, no explanation or anything. She’s been acting kind of weird lately, as I’ve told you. It’s like she’s both distant and really loving. Anyway, I took advantage of the quiet and kept using Dad’s computer in his office until I heard her car in the driveway again. That’s when I knew I’d pushed my luck enough, so I scrambled to clean everything up and bolted back to my room, spreading out, making it look like I’ve been up there the whole time.
I flopped onto my bed and just laid there, not really thinking about anything. It was kind of peaceful. I hadn’t slept much in Dad’s chair, so I started dozing off until there was a knock on my door.
"Come in," I called, thinking it was Mom. And it was, but she had this dog with her—a fluffy little brown pup, no bigger than my backpack—and it bolted right at me, jumping on my bed like it owned the place and then back down and back up again! Eventually, he said hi. He stayed on my bed and pinned me down, licking my face, and I ended up laughing with Mother.
She tossed a treat down the hall, and the dog, all shaggy and brown, jumped down and took off after it.
“Mom,” I said, “what are we doing with a dog?”
She sat down next to me, all calm, like this wasn’t the most random thing to happen today. “Well,” she said, “with your father off on his missionary work, and your friends busy at the Academy, and everything that happened with Mr. Lombardo... I thought you could use a friend.”
I hugged her—like, a real hug—and we stayed like that until the dog came back, still chomping on his treat.
"Did you tell Dad?" I asked.
She just smiled and said, "This can be our little secret. He’s never liked dogs anyway."
I laughed, remembering all the times Dad went on about how dogs were, like, these evil creatures. Something from the Bible, I think, something in the chapter of Kings? Something about them being treacherous and drinking blood. Wild stuff.
Mom just ruffled my hair. “Dogs have been man’s best friend for a long time. Look at that face.” The dog was staring at us, head tilted, looking ridiculously cute.
"Is it a boy or a girl?" I asked.
"A boy," she said.
"And what’s his name?"
"That’s your decision."
I was pumped. But then I thought about Dad again, and this weird guilt hit me, like he could see me from wherever he was, disapproving in that quiet, Dad way. "Are you sure this is okay?" I asked. "Will Dad be okay with this?"
She looked me in the eye and said, “He’s going to have to be, Caleb. You need a friend, and dogs are great company.”
The dog finished his treat and just sat there, eager for an invite to hop back on the bed. We made space for him, and he curled up between us, all goofy and happy while we rubbed his belly. I started thinking about names—Bible names, mostly—but then I got this warm feeling, like the sun on a spring day, and I blurted out, “Let’s name him George. After George Harrison, the sun singer.”
Mother winced a little, I thought I’d made her sad, but then she smiled, her eyes red. “I love that idea. Welcome to the family, Sir George Harrison.”
George Harrison, being the classy guy he is, immediately jumped off the bed and peed on the carpet.
“That’s one way to make an entrance,” Mother said, laughing as she kissed me on the cheek.
“We’ve got some work ahead of us,” she added. “You’re the man of the house now, and training George is part of the job.”
“I’ll do it!”
Mother handed me a leash and told me to take George for a walk. I was so excited. She showed me how to work the retractable thing and warned me not to go too far. She showed me his crate, and explained he would need to stay in there until he was potty trained. But she promised he’d be comfy, and it wouldn’t be forever!
So, I took George outside, and it was the coolest thing. He’d sniff the air, lift his paw, then keep moving, totally lost in whatever he was smelling! I just watched him, fascinated, thinking about what must be going on in his little doggy brain.
I almost forgot to look up—kind of weird for me, since I love the stars. They were out, twinkling, and I sat down on a tree stump to take it all in while George wandered around. The whole thing just felt... good. I whispered, “Thanks, God. Tell Grandma I said hi.”
George finished up his business, and I got a little nervous because I didn’t have a bag for any, uh, “big surprises,” but it was just a quick bathroom break. I’ll bring a bag next time, though. Gotta be prepared, right? I’m the new man of the house.
“C’mon, George Harrison,” I called, tugging gently on his leash as we started walking home, the smell of Mother’s cooking guiding us back. George Harrison was hungry!
The Diary of Caleb Carmichael remains incomplete. Pages are actively being archived and preserved. Without setbacks, it will be ready for everyone to enjoy by winter/spring 2025
