I watched my sister’s face on the evening news. They reported her missing. Tears welled up terrified at the thought of what could happen to her.

Four months went by without hearing from Karen. My mother hired a detective, but we had no leads to go on. Each day that passed our hope diminished. We never talked about my sister thinking it would make it easier. I stayed busy with school and seeking the love and attention of my boyfriend.

One day I answered the phone to hear a familiar voice. “Kirsten, it’s me.”

All my pent-up fears flowed down my cheeks, I sobbed, “Karen, you’re alive! Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. I need to ask you a question.”

I tried to pull myself together taking a deep breath, “What?” Standing at the kitchen window I stared at the bamboo hedges surrounding our property that failed to protect us from the outside world.

“Kirsten, do you think Mom will let me come home if I’m pregnant?”

Without hesitation I answered, “Yes. Of course! We want you home. Where are you?”

I promised to pick her up that night, getting directions from her before I hung up. When my mother and my boyfriend got off work we drove eight hours before arriving at the small rundown motel around midnight. We pulled up to the room not knowing what to expect.

Karen answered the door with her suitcase in her hand ready to go. She seemed distant. Her blond hair fell around her sad blue eyes framing her high cheek bones. We quickly put her luggage in the car concerned that her boyfriend might arrive at any moment to persuade her not to go.

As we pulled out of the driveway she pointed to a restaurant like Denny’s. With pride she said, “That’s where I’ve been working full-time.”

Her comment agitated me. How could she serve customers, while I sat home wondering if she was dead or alive? Did anyone consider that my fourteen-year-old sister was a runaway? But standing five feet, nine inches tall Karen looked older. She passed for twenty-one with the fake ID she obtained when she arrived in Los Angeles. 

I was exhausted but relieved to have my sister safe with us. We headed north on the dark highway with my mother and Karen cramped in the back seat of the two-door Toyota, separated only by their resentment. Karen’s abruptness to my probing questions caused tension to build as we drove the eight hours in silence.

Although Karen came home we were emotionally distant. Each of us had made choices that impacted each other and changed us all forever. For every decision has a consequence, good or bad. Family, friends and those we may not even know can receive the curse or blessing of a choice we make. 

Against my mother, my father and many family members Karen chose to give birth to an adorable baby boy who she raised into a remarkable young man. Later I chose a different path. A choice that impacted my family and future generations.

Today my family is restored with Karen back in our lives. Karen made the choice to come home. God protected her. Not every runaway child will make the choice to come home. Some will never be given the opportunity. We need to remember that there are consequences for our choices and that we impact those around us by the decisions we make.