CHAPTER 3
Journal entry by Karen Delgado- 6/1/2010
‘I had my first opportunity to use a GPS this past weekend…WOW…how comforting to be able to have someone see the ‘big picture’ and point you in the right direction…with such a calm comforting tone. Just enjoy the drive, trust in the technology, and arrive safely at your destination.
As I was thinking it was so nice to have this device- especially when I had no idea of where I was…and absolutely no idea of how to get where I needed to go…I thought about how this was such a good analogy for the kind of trust we need to put in God’s word/His wisdom.
Just knowing that God sees the ‘big picture’…He knows the end of our destination…and best of all, He knows how to get us there.'
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
MOTHER went to church. All too frequently; I often thought- and when she would go, I would mumble some words, along those familiar lines of the words ‘Pray for us’.
It was something we had been taught to mumble cheerfully, a request most people didn’t even remember that they’d acquiesced to while leaving home, school or wherever- en route church.
As one matured, it became as familiar a greeting in our environment, as the regular ‘good morning’ greeting or the unquestioning question ‘How are you?’ which you were definitely expected to reply by saying ‘fine’ or ‘I’m fine’ to.
Mother, before her death, had known her diagnosis; and now that I think of it, she’d known it for close to 7 months before that hospitalization.
Initially, the news had been received with an eerie sense of calm- followed by unbelief, which was swiftly followed by actions filled with so much fervour.
She had gone through the stages of grief- denial, d- but not in any particular order. I witnessed a change, in those months.
Mother would return from her teaching job and would head over to the latest prayer house- it was never constant; Prophet this or Bishop that conducted special prayer meetings on almost every day of the week- and no matter how far, she seemed to muster enough strength to attend.
I had been raised a Christian, and I still am one; yet, one day, after faking a sense of ennui yet watching mother cast furtive glances about, searching for possible evil spirits in her room before she would leave for yet another prayer meeting; which might be converted into a vigil- judging by some of the recent ones, I had burst into tears, tears of anguish.
‘God! Why do bad things happen to good people? What did mother do wrong?’ I had asked, over and over again.
I felt a sense of overwhelming peace, that day; convinced that whatever would happen, regardless of the outcome of this situation, we would be fine.
Before she would die, mother found peace. She seemed to finally find solace, and the God whom she had been searching for, not from one prayer house or another- but at home, in her room. She was no longer strongly motivated by fear and began to smile, instead of casting furtive glances.
30 years in remembrance of the one woman whom I still call mother. 30 years, and I stand in her pointy shoes, with a lump in my breast.
Comments
Post a Comment