Chapter Three- Never a time…

They say that some memories last forever. You know, those little fragments of time ingrained in the core of who we are. How true. One such memory for me was one unforgettable Sunday morning in an old Catholic Church in Igbanke. I was seven years old, or thereabout.

Silence fell over the congregation as I moved almost unconsciously across the aisle to the altar. You could have heard a pin drop. 

I had no idea what I would say when I got to the altar. I just knew that I felt something pull me up from the wooden pew I was sitting on. Before I could think, I was already standing on the elevated platform with about five adults, facing the congregation. The distance between the ceiling and the cemented floor made me feel smaller than I actually was. My throat felt dry. For a split second, my leg may have wobbled from the tension.

Everyone was looking at me. It was almost as if I could feel eyes on my skin. They all looked surprised, dare I say even puzzled.

It was Him, the One Who calls men to righteousness.

I didn’t realize it then, but it was Him calling me to Himself. There was never a time when He didn’t know me. As a child, I had heard my parents talk about Him. I had known His name, Jesus of Nazareth. I heard it in the songs we sang during morning devotions. My mum would always raise the song with lyrics that said ‘Good morning Jesus, good morning Lord’. 

Quite frankly, I did not know why we were singing to Him or telling Him good morning when we could not see Him with our eyes. I was not aware of who He was. Nonetheless, I would sing the song with gusto, clapping my small hands to the rhythm. 

We always went to a place they called ‘His house’ every Sunday. Although I didn’t see Him there, I saw kids my age who were fun to play with. I always looked forward to Sundays because of them, the kids.

Then came this Sunday when I felt His touch for the first time in my life.

The night before, I had heard a preacher on the radio speaking about the power of Jesus. It played in the distance as my siblings and I ate dinner.

We were seated at our usual eating spot; the floor by the corner of the dining room. In the center of the room was a large oval dining table with six chairs around it. Cracks of dried eba had formed on my palm as I waited for Omayena to share the meat. He did it every time we ate soup out of the same plate— which was almost every day before he left for boarding school some years later. Right above our heads was a large square wall clock with our faces on it. 

The voice of the preacher on the radio echoed in the room. 

I let my eyes wander to watch the single flame of fire flickering from the wick of a kerosine lantern. The transparent glass globe of the lantern was half clear and half stained with soot. Lantern globes were like a treasure in our house. I remember always holding them like eggs whenever I washed them. The squeaky sounds they made when wet and clean were like music to my ears. 

Sunday mornings were always chaotic. It was either one child looking for the second pair of her stockings or the other rummaging through boxes of clothes to find a matching pair of trousers. I wonder how we always managed to look so organized when we finally got to church. This Sunday was no different. I wore a cream-colored flowery ball dress, famously called the ‘mama tie my belt’ gown. 

I don’t recall what the priest shared during the mass. But I remember when he called for people to step forward to take the prayer of the faithful. I had never seen a child step forward before. So why was I going? What was I going to say? This was probably the question on the minds of the parishioners as they watched in astonishment

I may not remember the exact words I said, but I would later learn that God ordains His praise out of the mouths of infants. I would also come to know that I didn’t always have to know what to say but that the Spirit of this same Jesus, who is always with me, will fill my mouth with the right words.

The years have come and gone, and I’m still thankful that His loving hands have never left me. Now, I can say that I know who He is and the price He paid to purchase me for Himself.

Present Day- February 2022

I had looked forward to this day for weeks, and finally, it had come. A day to proclaim the Lord to my sisters. The zoom call started at 8 PM.

When the seven-year-old me stood in front of that church, I unknowingly trusted God’s spirit to fill my mouth with words. This time, I was conscious that He was speaking through me. 

It was beautiful as always to recount the story of our redemption. 

In summary, it was the story of how man fell in the garden of Eden and how his disobedience paved the way for sin to enter the world, interrupting the original fellowship between God and man. But God had a redemptive plan, fulfilled through the life of Jesus. He was the Lamb slain from the foundation of the world.

Indeed, there was never a time when He did not know us.

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