Wednesday, August 26, 2009


As hard as I try to forget, painfully I remember, as the night transcended to morning I was filled with thanks that my flesh was from the mosquito’s sting rescued.
My Step-mom had whipped up a bowl of rice stained brown by the twice as much beans it contained, gleefully, with my father I prayed over the food: those morning prayers mattered much to my father, for though he was a Christian, even I who was a Muslim practiced more of Christianity’s ideals: as he made us believe, he worshipped with the Grail land: the Grail land is a heavenly place: a wild expanse of land with beautiful colorful animals littering the expanse. I would blog on the Grail later, for now; my thoughts should not stray…

As we eat, I turned to him and asked the most innocent, honest question I remember asking all my young years,

‘How come you hate my mother so?’

This question should not at all sound to you strange, for once, he met my mum, she greeted and he very rudely ignored: for one who grew in a household were the man was absent and the woman combined his responsibilities with hers and easily shouldered them, his act was to me childish and somewhat stupid, irritating even...

For a long second, he dropped his spoon and sighed. Adjusting his ring

‘You know I can slap you with this ring and leave an impression upon your face…’ he asked, his voice low as though he were complimenting and not scolding.

‘… You weren’t there when I started to love your mum. Why should you now question me for hating her?’ By this time, he had raised his voice. I bet he could see me shaking: fear rattled my bones, more than ever before, I wished the concrete floor would mysteriously open and consume me

‘Sorry sir…’ I continued, but he also continued with a raised voice, I didn’t hear most of what he said for I was too scared to hear.
I continued ‘… I know you’re my father, you only wish the best for me…’

Then he shocked me. He was silent, and calmly said

‘You’re not my son’ Fear escaped me. I gained composure,

‘If it’s not you, then who is it?’ I asked, and then he truly shamed me, shamed his generation, his father and his fathers father .

‘Go ask your mother…’

he said looking away from me. Then my heart filled with hate… I wished I could drain every last drop of his blood from my veins… for me, this was a huge deal: for I cried and cried. My first impulse was to pack my bag and then call my mother. I imagined leaving his house, begging him to disown me. But for the intervention of my aunt Jummai, I would have cried till my eyes dried of tears…

All of this is past now, not knowing ones identity is unholy, scary, frightful beyond anything: I saw him as my father, but now I know better, with my salvation, I realize and remind myself daily that he’s only a guardian, my real father is up in heaven… the Lord God Almighty…

even now, I thank him for that day, for if he didn’t deny me and render me fatherless, I wouldn’t have sought my real father, my heavenly father… one who is not bound to me by just blood, but by love, by the spirit, by sacrifice, by mercy… One who despite my imperfections loves me perfectly. Life is exceedingly merrier with him as my father, for even as I mistake, he is faithful and just to forgive me. And as he forgives, he blesses me still.
I realize daily, we are sojourners on this Earth, bound to complete a journey whose destination is heaven. As my life I restored to Christ, I swore to leave earthly things for earthly men, as now I am a new man in Christ. A restored son. One blest beyond anything I can imagine or see.

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