I've found Joy, Peace, Grace, and favor
And right now is the moment
Today is the day
I've been changed (I've been changed)
And I have waited for this moment to come and I won't
let it pass me by
I won't go back, can't go back, to the way it used to
be
Before your presence came and changed me
In my Christian walk, this song by William
McDowell has always been my anchor when things got tough; I needed those
words today as well…more than I had ever needed them. It was repeatedly blaring
on my portable CD player; my face was buried in my pillow…my pillow soaked with
tears…my tears, uncontrollable as they flowed freely.
My flat-mate had travelled and there was no one to talk
to, my phone had died and I just could not find the charger anywhere.
“My God and
father, I thought your word said anyone in you is a new creature and old things
have passed away? That he who the son sets free, is free indeed…that there is
therefore now, no condemnation for us who are in Christ Jesus.
Why then do I feel
so dirty and so guilty?
Why do I feel like
your blood did not wash everything off?
Why do I feel like
grace is not enough…?”
It was like having a conversation with an invisible
person. I would lift up my head, say things…ask various rhetorical
questions and start to cry all over again.
I did this for over 4 hours…it was the power outage
that made me realize that it was 2am. I wanted to pray but my tongue felt so
heavy for prayers and I didn’t even know how to start praying to a God that
supposedly knows the end from the beginning but chose to do nothing about it.
I continued to question God…I questioned His
faithfulness, His love for me and the forgiveness He gave to me. I questioned
my spiritual sonship (or “daughtership” in my case), I questioned my salvation
and I questioned the Scriptures
“If truly you
have removed my sins as far from me as the east is from the west…why is this
happening?
If truly you are
the one who wipes out my transgressions for Your own sake, And will not
remember my sins…why am I in this situation?”
I continued to do this until I slept off.
I woke up around 8am, it was Sunday but I wasn’t going
to church, I wasn’t even going to charge my phone, I didn’t want to talk to
anyone…not even my pastor; because in my mind, I knew exactly what he would say
and the scriptures he would quote to make me feel better. I needed more than that;
I needed more that clichés and gloss-over Bible verses.
I needed someone to tell me why the promised “easy yoke”
and “light burden” are not working as “advertised” but instead giving me
migraines.
Where I’m from, there is a saying that continuous brooding brings uncontrollable
tears and that was my reality.
Things I thought I had dropped “at the cross”; things I
had worked hard to clear out of my mind…everything came flooding through.
I wasn’t as lucky as most people. I had to claw and
crawl my way through life. I could remember hawking bread as far back as my
Primary 2 days, just to contribute my quota to the family pool.
7 children, a frail/sickly but super-hardworking mother
and an irresponsible father who would beat up and rape your mum in front of you…do
the math and tell me what hope a child from such a family had.
My dad would drop some money that was obviously not enough
to feed the family but somehow, he always had enough to get drunk every single night.
He worked at the secretariat as a messenger and would go from work to the beer
parlor. He drank everything and anything that was strong enough to get him high.
He would come home shouting at everyone, telling the
story of how he was warned not to marry my mum and he is suffering for it now (What?
I would think to myself…you gave birth to 7 children on a meagre salary; you
didn’t need anyone to “do” you).
He would then harass everyone for his food and anything
he considered a delay was met with brutish force. I hated him with every fiber of my being.
His only proud possession was his Suzuki motorcycle. We
lived in a room and parlor like we used to call it then. Whenever he got angry,
he would throw things at my mum; he would beat her with his belt and even punch
and kick her. He would flip over my mum’s stall in anger and ruin the things
she was selling. He would yell at her in front of everyone and call her unprintable names
The first time I witnessed him rape my mum, I must have
been like 4 or 5 years old (and yes, I remember vividly). After beating her
mercilessly, he pushed her and pounced on her and when he was done, he got up
and went to eat his food while mum sat there sobbing.
I could see that my eldest brother, he was about 10 or 11 years old, wanted to do something about it but must have thought it through and realized he would be doing more harm than good...
I could see that my eldest brother, he was about 10 or 11 years old, wanted to do something about it but must have thought it through and realized he would be doing more harm than good...
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