So it has been six weeks since I pulled out my virtual paper to write anything. There has been a lot going on, but the right words to express my thoughts elude me. I have been going through what some writers call a block but for flukes like me, it is just plain ol’ laziness – nothing sounded right, as I loose my train of thoughts before I can scribble them down. Hope this suffices as an excuse for my mini hiatus.
Now unto the story.
They had been on their way back to Lagos from the village. Chudi, his parents and 2 other relations in his dad’s pathfinder truck. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion for papa Chudi- the driver. One minute they were all lip synching to the new Paul Nwokocha tune, the next minute the car brakes developed a mind of its own while the steering went stiff from fear. Frightened, he swerved hurriedly to avoid hitting the oncoming motorists and found himself in a ditch, a few kilometers from the expressway.
Him along with his two relations and wife escaped with bruises here and there, and guilt the size of the trojan empire. But Chudi, he died on the spot: the doctors said ’twas from shock.
Chudi was my friend’s only sibling: no two people were closer. From the first day of school when Dee and I met, I heard stories of her brother; the day her dad caught him midway through his wanking session, to the faeces that required a stick to weaken the bonds before it was flushed away. In my little way I knew him and felt the loss deeply.
I also knew he was suppposed to travel to Canada a month after his demise for further education.
My heart bled when I got the call that day in January 2009. They had fixed the funeral rites for a week after the accident. There was no point delaying the inevitable.
The day came bringing with it dark clouds and a heavy downpour – as if the heavens mourned with us. After waiting without results for the rains to abate, my cousin and I set out for Dee’s village. Nothing, not even nature could stop me from paying my last respect to Chudi: I was finally going to meet him.
Dee’s dad swore off driving and employed a chauffeur after the incident.
Her ma took their case before the sovereign. Before this time, she had longed for more kids but fate had given her just two children. Mama Chudi was a prayerful woman and took her lose as God’s will while challenging his words and promises.
Dee had to be strong for everyone, especially herself: a fact all of us were aware of and understood. She needed space and we excused all the silent treatment. Med school was no less stressful, yet she bore it all: even came top in the fifth mbbs exam. It was not just anybody that died. She lost her best friend.
Two months ago, a little over two years after Chudi’s death, mama Chudi gave birth to quadruplets: three girls and a boy.
Tears filled my eyes and my heart when I heard the news. Mother and babies are doing well. Dee’s ma was past menopause. A classic case of hoping blindly and defying medical odds.
God has never forsaken his own. They say delay is never denial, I say delay is like a relay competition: the five seconds you allow a competitor overtake you, gives them an edge.
Your problems are the competition…#notetoself.
You have to kill your need to whine and complain, to curse and frown, to grumble about the ‘should haves’ when you can dance about the ‘I haves’.
Truth be told he listens when you cry: the only reason you do not get an instant response is because your faith might not be able to carry your miracle.
I write this article pressed to the window of the molue I boarded from Obalende to Oshodi, where I will take another bus home. I started writing with a heavy heart- I felt God had let me down. Now I understand I let God down by sulking about his will. He knows best and his name must be glorified in all situations. He is the overseer.
Are you like me? Do you pine for answers to questions that are here to demonstrate his awesomeness instead of sitting back and glorifying his steadfastness? You need to know God hears you.
I know he hears me, it’s just sometimes I get fidgety while waiting for feedback.
That said, I am proud of my status as a born again. I am not ashamed of being a daughter of a minister of God- her prayers keep me afloat and fill me with hope. The bible even states clearly: he will not allow the children of the righteous suffer. What this means is, even when I fail to pray and frolic with sin unabashedly, he will look upon me with mercy because of the prayers of one of his flock. I am quite aware of the fact that most of us laze around, prayerless and faithless depending on people like my mother. You will only become an easy prey for the dark lord and his posse.
I believe in prophets and prophesies, in unmerited favour and divine guidance. I believe in dreams and visions, in the principle of tithing and first fruit offerings.
I believe the time has come for the manifestation of the children of God, if only we believe.
What do you believe in?