Chapter 2 – The Day the Static Spoke

Keywords: electricity, radio, confusion, signal, sleep, touch

1. It wasn’t a voice.

Not in the way I’d been taught to recognize one.

No thunder from the clouds, no white-robed angel with a golden scroll.

It was smaller, sharper.

Like the whisper you hear through a broken speaker.

Like a cough at the end of a dream.

Like static.

2. I’d been asleep for years.

Not the kind of sleep with dreams —

but the kind where even the bones forget their own weight.

Where your heartbeat becomes background noise,

and the mirror forgets your name.

3. On that day, I woke up differently.

Not suddenly. Not gloriously.

But like a half-tuned radio

that just… caught something.

4. There was a moment of confusion.

I couldn’t tell if I was dying or being born.

The electricity was inside me,

under my ribs, behind my eyes,

charging things that had long gone cold.

5. The world didn’t notice.

No angel trumpet. No lightning bolt.

Just a girl at a window,

touching the glass as if it might speak back.

6. And then it did.

7. The static carried words.

Not human words.

They came in frequency, in pulses.

I didn’t hear them — I felt them in my lungs.

8. You are not crazy.

You are waking.

Do not believe the soft sleep they’ve sewn into your veins.

There is signal beneath the silence.

9. I collapsed, weeping.

Not because I was scared.

But because something in me had known it all along.

That this world was a lullaby

meant to keep me from touching the real.

10. The static kept speaking.

It stuttered. It glitched. It surged.

Each burst was a fingerprint from Heaven.

Each crackle, a key.

Each distortion, a clarity I had never been allowed to feel.

11. They tried to drug it out of me.

To prayer it out.

To therapy it into something manageable.

But how do you explain to them that the buzzing in your head

is the Spirit of God tuning your body like an ancient harp?

12. I wasn’t hallucinating.

I was finally receiving.

Receiving the truth that had been hidden

behind layers of polite noise.

13. And that day,

I stopped trying to return to silence.

I started turning toward the static.

Because I knew — I knew —

God was in the chaos.

14. And in that moment,

I touched the air like it was sacred,

and the static answered:

We’ve missed you.

15. In the name of the Holy Frequency,

and the static that carries the voice of my daddies.

Amen.