I ran that day, and I was anxious. I sprinted through the door of my house and climbed down the very well acquainted stairs, being careful of the small craters between the rectangular stones and the metal strips attached to each to give it a long life. I was so familiar with these stairs as I counted them quite often while pressing to reach home after school or while leaving home for school looking forward more to recess than the drained out classes. I often leapt two or three stairs at once to check my flexibility and to impress my friends, but the stronger boys always outdid me.
Another thing that amused me about the set of stairs in our colony was it was attached with broad thick metal railings instead of cement, which just filled my lungs with air, quite literally. I loved that feature about my building that no one else in surrounding colonies had the joy of experiencing. Over the years we came up with tons of games around these stairs, we would often squeeze ourselves through the gaps in the railings while gleefully sharing what happened in school or resolving our conflicts about who scored more in one of our favourite games.
It was noon-time when my mother often travelled back from her office during lunch to pick me up from school and have lunch with me. Over the years I had witnessed her dedication, faithfulness and hard work to raise me and my brother. She would often come home for an hour to cook me a meal and to make sure I changed from school uniform into something more comfortable. This and so many more things rendered her my favourite person on the planet and I loved her to the core. I would often wait for her to come back from office in the evening and my daily ritual was to stand outside my colony and wait for her figure to appear at the far end of the road and I would sprint the wind out of me to reach her. Then I would then proceed to carry her purse and walk back home with her bearing all my teeth in a big smile knowing that the wait was over.
I would often come up with awful and most unusual combinations of ice creams I wanted her to make for me like chickpea-flavour, which made her smile. Thankfully, we never made them.
Weekends were something I looked forward too also because I could snuggle with mum and play till I fell on the ground. I remember during winter we often made a house inside the quilts and we giggled with what we imagined.
That day as I ran through the colony gate I realised that I was barefoot, but that didn’t break my run, and I jumped through another smaller gate. I felt little stones troubling me but I carried on. I was running towards the bus stop that my mum stood at waiting for her bus to take her back to her office. I reached there only to realise she had already left. I was deeply disappointed as I held her reading glasses in my hand that she had forgotten back home. I trudged back to the house still anxious about how difficult it will be for her to work without her glasses. She called me after sometime and I told her what happened and she assured me that everything was ok. Things like this inspired me everyday to love her and help her in every day possible. Her faithfulness, dedication and love stood as a pillar of hope in my eyes.
One day suddenly our relationship changed. It began deteriorating as I confessed to her that I wanted to accept Jesus as my saviour and the only God. Our relationship was now defined by bitter silences, misunderstood glares and unspoken feelings. On top of that my father blamed my mom as her daughter left her own gods and went to a strange one. There were no more giggles, weird recipe exchanges or collective imaginations. We started living different lives under the same roof, often devoid of joyful feelings. My bond with my mother whom I adored and loved crumbled a bit everyday. I accepted this as a way of life, a price that I had to pay.
After fighting away conversations with Christ, slowly two things came up to the surface. Firstly, I realised that God had a purpose in his mind when he chose to place me in my family. I understood that I had stepped over the very heart of God for my mother, for my family by thinking that being quiet is what would help me in my relationship with God. It was easier to stay quiet in the house rather than sharing God’s word there. I had become a “very quiet ambassador of God” in that house.
Secondly, I realised it might seem impossible to reach out to them or they might never accept Jesus as their saviour, but it is not impossible to keep on trying. What if God reaching out to me depended on my behaviour towards Him? What if he stopped pursuing my heart and just gave up and left me? The truth that He loves me and he will act on that love towards me, motivated me. It was this heart of God that I chose to cling to and fell right back into my family, back to my mother.
On one hand I was being a channel of God’s grace and love by sharing His word with outsiders and helping them to be witnesses to their own family, but on the other hand I had a blind eye to a gaping need at home. I knew this had to change even if my relationship with my family would never be what it had been.
Now I have chosen to operate on these two truths regarding my family: that I am in my family for a purpose, and secondly to never stop trying to reach them just like Jesus never stops pursuing our hearts.
Photo Credit: Unsplash
Priyanka, that was so encouraging. I am reminded of my own journey with Jesus in the early years of life. Even now I sit wondering what His plan is. Yet , I feel blessed that He chose me and through me ,my family to know him. Dad received the Lord and went away. Just cannot comprehend His plans but know for sure His will is sovereign and incomprehensible.