If you really followed me from the start of this journey, I'm sure you enjoyed it. So from the last part, "Boy-girl"....
I was driven to the office that afternoon. All through the journey I kept making
supplications in my head that my dad doesn't do anything too rash.
I didn't even know what to expect - Would he baptize me with slaps? Will he give me
holy strokes?
I just kept pleading with the LORD to have His way. The Bluetooth player in my ear was
in conformity with my predicament; it kept shuffling the perfect songs for the moment.
Getting to the office door, I heard dad's keyboard playing loudly and he was singing Don
Moen's “I will sing”.
Dad had this beautiful baritone voice. I am sure the result would have shocked him if I
didn't sing well. I can never forget days in church he would just sit on the keyboard and
sing...and GOD's glory would fill the whole church, blessed memories indeed.
I knocked. He didn't respond. Then I knocked again and he opened up. He was smiling. I
didn't know how to react to that.
I surely didn't reciprocate the smile. I simply followed behind him as he walked back to
the keyboard.
He struck a chord.
"Sing me that song by Tee Zion...Live again", he said, still having his eyes on the
instrument.
I started singing.
I did the first line and he stopped. "I would take the key one time higher. I feel you are
too comfortable. Now, sing."
I never used to like when he said I was too comfortable singing, but it had brought out
nothing but the best out of my vocals. I started again.
"Sometimes...I wish I could just die
I've had my share of pain
I've had my share of heart break, heartache
'Times, when I look in the mirror
I don't see who I should be
All I see is hate.
Yeah Yeah... "
"Hey! What’s that? Have you been eating frogs", dad screamed. We both laughed.
I didn't hit that note correctly. He got up and moved to his seat. I was standing, that's
how sinners do, right?
"Sit.", he instructed with his sweet smile that got me scared.
“I want to discuss with you, my dear son..."
(I know dad. Go ahead. Finish me. Lay me down)
"But we would do something first. We would eat. I'm hungry and obviously you are."
Eat? If he was not my dad, I would have suspected he had plans to kill me. I had just
brought shame to his name and all I see is my favourite food served in front of me.
I was already salivating as he got up to serve both of us.
(If this food could kill, dying won't be a bad idea.)
We ate, quietly, except for him humming the chorus of Live Again as he ate. I really
rushed my food. Hunger had a grip on my soul. I chunked down mine and his too.
"There's this story about two women I would love to share with you..." he started.
I loved his stories though they always came whenever I did something wrong. The last
time I heard a story, I had broken the glass pulpit on the altar while playing.
"They lived close to each other," he continued, "and it was just a fence that demarcated
both compounds. One of them reared animals in her compound; goat, sheep, cow and
all that.
You know what she does? Everyday she takes her animal dungs and throws them into
the other woman's compound.
I believe you know why she does this; to start up a quarrel with her neighbor and all that
but she didn't get that.
Do you know what the other woman did?"
I didn't answer. I just had my eyes fixed on him. I shook my head though. "She prayed
for her enemy..." I said to myself.
"She had this big garden in her compound, so when the dung decomposes she uses it as
manure for her garden where she plants flowers.
So, one day she plucked very beautiful flowers, put them in a vase, wrapped it and took
it to her neighbor.
The woman was so excited to see the gift. The one who brought the gift sat the other
down and told her:
“We give what we have. You gave what you had, animal dung, and I am here to give you
what I have, this bouquet of flowers”
Of course you should know the effect this will have on the neighbor..." He paused again.
I was patiently waiting for the rhema.
"I believe this should remind us of our relationship with Jesus. What we gave HIM versus
what HE gave us in return.
We condemned HIM to death. We flogged HIM. We spat on HIM. We stripped HIM off
HIS clothes. We nailed HIM to a stake. We pierced HIM on HIS side and we killed HIM.
Somehow, it wasn't our fault. It was all we had to give. We gave what we had, just as
the woman gave dungs.
But for all the stripes we gave JESUS, HE made for us healing.
For the crown of thorns, a crown of glory.
For the bitter water, HE gave us the water of life.
And even when we killed HIM, HIS dying destroyed our deaths.
When HE arose, HE restored our lives. HE gave us His life that we might live forever.
HE never reacted to our ignorance and stupidity. But HE gave love and HE expects us to
offer to the world what HE offered us.
If people do wrong to you, take it that that is all they have to offer. You, what do you
have to offer? Evil? Or love?
This is something I want you to hold on to all your life..."
That story was deliverance for me. After that story I genuinely gave my life to CHRIST
and received HIS life. Dad laid hand on me and I was baptized in the Holy Ghost and for the first time I sincerely spoke in tongues. It was a life changing experience. I felt my life
started that day.
He pulled me up and hugged me tightly. I was in tears. He kept saying “I love you”, and I
believed every word.
If I had known that would be my last talk with him I would have asked him more
questions.
The following day was the day he took the journey of no return. Nobody got to see his
corpse.
But his last words became my daily declaration. He said: “Let no one despise you. Let no
one define you. You are not ordinary. You are soaked in red, your conscience washed
with pure water; you live in the Holy Ghost. You are not a regular boy; you are “Another Kind Of Boy”.
Beautiful things happened to me afterwards.
I started loving. I started writing.
I believed more in myself.
To be continued...
