my mother

I was tired, yes. I was frustrated, true. -those were the first phrases that I uttered as I prayed.

Life has not been easy for my family, the routine was just the same and I wanted to get away, I wanted to disappear. Yet I thought of my mother and my five siblings, her sacrifices for us and her deep love for my father. My mind could not grasp the gist of love at that moment. I wanted to escape, thought I would bring my mother with me..but I was very young. “Where shall I go, what shall I do?” were the questions that bunged my head.

So I stayed. In anticipation that one day, things will change.

At a very young age I voluntarily helped my mother, her creativity helped me a lot. I remember the early mornings to the central market to buy raw materials then staying up late creating good products to sell. No weekdays, no weekends. I mean for other kids weekdays -for school, weekends -for playing; mine was different.

Relentless motivation to finish my work that would result to earnings rammed me. I would screech on the thoughts that those tasks should be on my father’s shoulders, but most of the time he’s not around. My heart breaks every time I see my mother on her knees -silently praying. She would sing her favorite hymns and would always begin her day by putting her hand on our foreheads, begging for God’s blessing.

No one knew the depth of my mother’s prayers, her earnest appeal to God, none among us heard. But God did.

Despite my loathing sentiments about my father; I tried to move on. Years passed and all my siblings did the same as my parents took another leap that gave them ample time together. They went abroad; worked together, stayed together, ministered in churches together. God did His part; my father became a different man -a better one.

Bruises faded away; but I needed to heal. I wanted a talk, I craved for a tight embrace, longed for an act of contrition, wanted to feel the warm clinch from my father’s arms but he was miles away. Words of comforting could not replace the exact things I wished to have. God must intervene.

For ten long years, my father tried his best to prove that he has changed. All I asked was to be with him physically, watch with my own eyes his spiritual transformation, walk with him and tell him about how my mother prayed for him and this new life of his -mirrors God’s compassion.

I envy the letters, articles and cards from everywhere that I read about my father, the great words of honor, awesome stories of experiences, laughter and tears they shared together, encouragement and blessings he imparted to them and the sense of unconditional love that they realized through him. Those letters could have been written by me, had I had my share of those moments.

I waited all my life for the chance to tell him that despite the challenges I experienced in life, I will keep on and that even though I remember them I will never regret because if not for them, I will not grow strong. God’s intervention healed my heart and I wanted him to hear it from me. Through all these I did not remain to be an empty shell.

But like a swift in the air; he left me. He passed away. He was taken from me.

I want to persevere and endure, but where to begin I do not know.