Letter to God… #WWQWC

Extraordinary people survive under the most terrible circumstances and they become more extraordinary because of it.
~ Robertson Davies

Dear God,
Maybe writing this is such a foolish idea but I’m human. So human with a knowledge so little compared to yours.
You have the blueprints of every life on earth and you know the end from the beginning. I don’t understand why my life and that of my family hasn’t been any comfortable. Yes we’ve had our joyful moments which were few and far between, however I must confess that I’m tired of all these!
I love you despite and in spite of all these! By ‘these’ I mean the whole financial difficulties my family has ever encountered. Where are all the promises you made to us? Why aren’t they fulfilled?
The news about the landlady’s threat to throw my family out is so disheartening. My heart melt with fear and worry. When are we really going to be free?
If there is joy in serving you, then show it and let me see. Most people I know go through hard times but not as tough as that of my family; it sure ends at some point.
I wanted a celebrated birthday. I never had one. Just when I would get one, problem rises and sweeps the money away. I know we are simply clay in the potters hands but should the clay be used and over used without being pampered a little? This hardship wants me to give up on what men call achievements, a house, a car, a company, a husband etc. Of what use is life if it is used in sorrow and pain.
Please I beg of you, take all this away, it is ENOUGH.
Even if you don’t, I’ll still be here with you, believing, serving and hoping… Hoping you look on us someday and take this reproach away.
Signed,
Deborah.
*****
I wrote this letter on my phone last year. There was no mailbox to heaven, I’d sent it straightaway as long as the post master tells me he would get it to the throne room. I had prayed and it seems like the prayers weren’t working. I wrote that letter, angry and frustrated as the tears flow down.

My concerns got worked out and that was surprising. I sent my meagre allowance to my parents at the time and my birthday that was fast approaching and could not be celebrated. Apart from the foodstuff, I had no money for anything extra. I love parties and any reason to celebrate is a very good reason. My last year birthday came and I didn’t know my friends planned a big party for me. For the very first time, I was celebrated in a grand style.

On my To-do-list, Birthday Party was done. Left was How to sustain our home.
I returned home (Lagos) from Anambra in July with mixed feelings. I had cried, I have prayed, I have worried and now there was nothing left. No more tears or worries. I did care about losing our rented apartment but it was not bothering me anymore. Finally in August 2015, we were ejected. My siblings were in the University I was the only one with the parents. Our move entailed a lot of pain, tears, it made us experience ridicule, we slept in an open church one night (almost like sleeping in an open field); the church had no gates or wall, it was the only available spot but in the midst I started blogging last year. It wasn’t such a good time to start blogging and sometimes when I read those first posts in those days, I can see my raw pain and bitterness in those few words.

The accommodation problem got sorted out in November. The journey between August to November was filled with lots of sad moments but in between I found solace in WordPress, the assignments at Blogging U, going to teach (though I had to trek fifty minutes in the morning and fifty minutes in the evening) and chatting with my rock friends on WhatsApp.

I went through the hard times, though this is just a scratch on the surface but hey, I survived. Now I can talk about it and relate with other people going through pain because I know what it feels like.
This is one of my survival story, I’ll share another one with you some other time.

Until next time,
Blessings!
*****
In response to the Writer’s Quote Wednesday Writing Challenge brought to you by Silver Threading and Ronovan.