Joe walked into the church premises and found no one there. It was just the security man seated close to the chapel. The rusty breeze had left his lips dry. He walked briskly into the chapel, knelt close to the pew, and prayed inaudibly, “God, if you heal him, I will be more dedicated to you than I am now.” He was crying at this point, he leaned on the pew and groaned.
It was his father’s fourth day in the hospital. He remembered how his father drove himself to the hospital but didn’t come back, the doctor had called him to be in the hospital, and he sped in his car to the hospital silently, he wondered why he had been called to the hospital.
“Your father is dying.” The words kept ringing in his head; he still pictured Dr. UC’s face as he told him.
Even after praying, his mind was still unsettled, he tried not to think about losing his father but the thought overpowered him. He drove down to the hospital at a high speed; it felt like he had already spent too much time away from his father. He cussed at the bus drivers who blocked his way. He never figured out how his father kept that sickness away from him for that long.
As soon as he parked at the hospital car park, he saw the nurse wheeling his father to the emergency ward, he looked closely to be sure it was him in the stretcher, he had oxygen fixed to his nose while another nurse carried the cylinder.
He rushed towards them but another nurse stopped him.
Joe felt like he was in a desert with no water when Dr. U.C. told him his father was dead. He stared blankly for a long time before letting out a loud cry.
That evening, when Joe got home, Aunty Esther, his father’s only sister had already come with a few of her neighbors; she spread her legs on the floor, screaming while two of her neighbors held her. “My brother is gone; who did they leave Joseph for? How are we going to survive?” she asked rhetorically, she made to stand but they held her back.
On the day of the burial, he watched blankly, he was gazing at the coffin. There was a man who lived his life dedicated to Christ, lying lifelessly in a box, at the age of fifty. He recalled his father would cancel a business meeting just to be in a church activity, he had once shifted a prominent man’s visit because he had a pastoral council meeting to attend the same day. He wasn’t perfect but he was everything Christian should be but God couldn’t heal him or at least spared his life till he was old enough. His heart tightened with anger, tears formed at the corners of his eyes.
The house was filled with sympathizers, he sat on a couch in the sitting room, while Aunty Esther and Sandra sat by his side, he didn’t say a word to anyone who came to sympathize with him he only nodded. Joe made up his mind that no matter how hard anyone tried to convince him about his father’s death being God’s plan, he would still not believe there was a God somewhere.
“Excuse me, please.” He stood up and moved towards the stairs. He hurriedly climbed the stairs, he intuitively told him Sandra would follow him, he looked back and saw her walking behind him. He climbed faster, pushed his door open, and locked it before Sandra could get through.
Sandra was their live-in help, she had lived with Joe and his parents 3 years before his mother died.
In the case of his mother, she wasn’t sick, she slept and never woke up Joe could not understand why both parents died leaving him all alone in the world. He thought about his friend’s grandfather who had done the most outrageous things, he still had girlfriends, was 77, and never went to church, yet he was alive and never battled an illness.
Despite Joe’s refusal to open the door, Sandra still addressed him, “I don’t know why you want to withdraw from anyone but make sure you don’t hurt yourself.” She walked back to the sitting room.
Joe didn’t go with his relatives for his father’s burial Thanksgiving, he laid down on his bed ignoring everyone that knocked for him to get ready, they were very sure he was awake because he was humming a song that sounded like Dan Barker, ‘Nothing Fails Like Prayer’. “He will come over it.” Aunty Esther said to Sandra when she kept banging on the door.
It’s been six months now and Joe had completely left the church, he stopped the church members from trying to call him and only stayed in his room.
“You haven’t even fulfilled your purpose on earth, your father did, he was accomplished before he died. He ensured he had enough properties and running businesses to sustain you all your life. Do you know how many children he has sponsored in school and his foundation is still sponsoring till now? If it weren’t for his hard work you won’t comfortably stay in this big house and still afford to eat for almost one year without going outside. Don’t lose yourself trying to fight God.” Aunty Esther kept ringing it in his ears the last time she visited.
The day Aunty Esther left after her short visit; Joe went into his father’s room for the first time after the burial. His room was still arranged like the last time, it felt like he was around. Sandra had done a good job cleaning it often. Joe had instructed her not to take anything out including his clothes, even when his uncles suggested they take the clothes out and burn them.
On one side of the room was his praying alter; on the left side was his wardrobe. He opened the wardrobe, his clothes still had his perfume fragrance, he took a whiff and grinned once more, but his happiness was obscured by his feelings. He felt sad and empty, his heart was bursting with grief. Joe closed the wardrobe quickly and sank into the bed. He opened the side drawer and saw a journal, ‘MY PRAYER JOURNAL’ was boldly written on it, he recognized his father’s writing. He opened it and saw the prayer point his father wrote on the first page, it was dated “10th Oct 1999” and he had marked out 7 out of the 10 prayer points. He looked at the 8th prayer point countless times to be sure he read it clearly.
“Dear God, the Doctor said I have 1 year to live, my son is barely 2 months, I don’t want to die and leave him, keep me alive till he is old enough to face the world.” He read the line over and over again and for the first time, he felt regret for cursing God while grieving. He read the ninth and tenth prayer points and he was sure it was meant for him to fulfill.
The ninth read “Give my son the zeal to love the poor like I do.” And the tenth “Let him live in good health and free from sickness”
He felt guilt building up and for the first time he knelt down and prayed.
He thought about what Aunty said, “You haven’t fulfilled your purpose on earth, your father did,” and made up his mind to face the world again.
The morning he decided to visit his father’s company, the car broke down along the road; he packed by the side waiting for the mechanic to come. A little beggar came close to his car and leaned on it, the car was tinted, and he was sure the little boy didn’t know someone was in it. There was something about how the little beggar gazed at the car, it felt like he was staring at him, he made to open the door and give him money but got distracted by a phone call, he shifted his gaze to another group of beggars that sat in front of the bank, they all had rubber plates in front of them. He knew if it were his father, he would share money with all of them but he hated attention so he dismissed the thought. Suddenly, he heard a screeching sound and a loud bang; it jolted him back to reality. The little beggar was no longer leaning on the window; he turned to where the sound came from and saw the boy on the floor, blood gushing out from his head. Like a speed light, he rushed to the scene picked the boy up, and carried him to his car. He drove him to his family hospital.
Joe’s mind was still tied to the incident, he wondered if it was God that made his car break down because it didn’t show any sign of issue when he put the boy in the car. He stepped out of the hospital. He saw a group of women struggling to get a bag of rice from a truck parked at a corner. ‘RELIEF MATERIALS’ was boldly written on the truck.
He walked a little distance from where people gathered. This time he had stopped thinking about the little boy, he was looking at the people running towards the gathering. A woman had her son wrapped around her back while holding her daughter.
“Hurry up! They are almost done sharing the rice.” Another woman called out she was carrying a bag of rice and a can of groundnut oil she had gotten from the palliative.
The last time he had seen people share palliatives orderly was a day his father bought rice to be shared with every family in his village, everyone sat in chairs and only stood up when they heard their names. He made up his mind he would do better for the poor.
He was distracted by a phone call from Dr. UC, “Come quickly he is alive.” The scream of ‘thank you Jesus’ escaped his mouth; he didn’t realize he was screaming loudly. He ran back inside the hospital, straight to the ward. The little boy sat like he wasn’t close to the land of the dead a few hours ago.
Joe converted one of his father’s houses into a home for homeless people. Maybe till he fulfills his purpose like his father, he won’t turn his face from God again.
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