A family that prays together…
From somewhere far away, you rouse and awaken. You look at the time. 6.30 am. There is no miracle for this. You will most definitely be late. You look over at your wife who is still sleeping, smiling in her sleep. Possibly dreaming of the other angels she had left behind in heaven before coming to meet you. You wish she had woken you up though. She knew what a sound sleeper you were. But you couldn’t fault her since you had kept her awake last night. You shake her gently. She moans and turns over.
“Honey wake up,” you say beside her ear.
She gets up groggily and rubs her eyes. Then you run into the shower.
“My goodness,” you hear her say over the running water. She obviously has looked at the time.
“‘Let’s try to hurry up dear,” you call out to her. “We might still make it to the office before its too late.”
“Dear, do you realize we haven’t prayed yet?” she asks in that soft voice of hers.
You hit your head with the sponge. Of course! It was your duty as head of the family to ensure that prayers were said every morning. What was that phrase? A family that prays together, stays together. But this morning?
“Honey, are you done? I need to get into the shower,” your wife calls out. You sigh in frustration. You’ve been there for only half a minute. You reach for the towel and skip out of the bathroom.
You manage to cram 3 slices of toast in your mouth with a swig of tea. You look at the time. It is 7.00. If there isn’t too much traffic, you can still make it to the office by 8. But then, your keys decide to get missing. So you search all over the house and waste fifteen minutes before you find it under your pillow. You decide just to be thankful that you’ve found it. Before you can leave though, the wife comes out of the bedroom, all dressed up and sipping tea.
“Honey, we haven’t prayed yet,” she reminds you as she gulps down the remains of her tea. Then she takes hold of your hand. A sigh escapes your lips. This has to be done.
“Father, as we go on our way today we commit ourselves into your hands. Let us have cause to glorify your name at the end of the day In Jesus name.”
Before your wife finishes saying amen, your hand is on the doorknob. 7.30 am. You will never make it in time. You shake your head as you move towards the car. Now, its just the two of you. If you can’t find time to pray now, what would happen when you have kids?
“Darling,” your wife calls out as you put the keys in the ignition. “You really have to work out how we can spend more time as a family praying together. Remember you are the priest of this home.”
“Yeah yeah,” you mutter to yourself as you back out of the driveway. Leave it to your wife to leave the difficult jobs to you. Why did devotions seem much easier when you were single?
P.S: If this scenario exists in Christian homes today, then there might be trouble. How easy is it and realistic is it for a Christian family to always pray together?
Tomiwa didn’t know how much he missed her till he saw again. He heard his name from across the room and he turned slowly as if in slow motion. There, standing before him in all her loveliness was Ruth. He gasped and blinked at the same time.
“Ruth, it’s so great to see you,” he said slowly.
She smiled and held out her hand. “You too.”
He took her fingers when he wanted to take her in his arms.
“How are you?” he asked his voice thick.
“I’m hanging in there.”
“When did you get back?”
“Yesterday evening.” He wanted to ask her why she hadn’t called him but held his tongue. Besides, seeing her now was enough.
“I was actually on my way to the hostel when I spotted you here and decided to say hi,” Ruth said almost shyly.
“Thanks. I appreciate that,” he said as he searched for the right words to say. “I hope you won’t think this indelicate of me but you kind of owe me a date. The one we had was interrupted by a distress call from your friend. This time, we’d have one with no interruptions.”
“I’d like that,” Ruth said smiling.
He smiled back. She was really here.
Peter gasped in suprise. She was here. The short hair, the hands slouched in the pocket of those faded jeans. She was really in the cafeteria obviously ordering rice and vegetable salad. He cleared his throat and walked up close to her.
“Hello,” he said softly. She showed no indication that she heard him so he leaned a little closer to her.
He tried a little louder. “Hello,” he said again.
“What do you want?” she asked him. Her voice was hoarse. It sounded like she had been crying but there was no evidence on her face.
He swallowed before answering. “Your name for starters.”
She didn’t answer him but walked straight to a nearby table. He followed and sat down beside her.
“My name is Ize,” she said as she took in a spoonful of food.
“Ize-spelt as it is pronounced.”
“Ok,” he said slowly. It was an interesting name. He didn’t want to take chances on pronouncing it though in case he made a mistake. He was guessing she was from the middle belt.
“I’m Peter,” he offered.
“Ok,” she said dabbing at her mouth. “Now that we’ve exchanged names, what next?”
Peter smiled. He really liked this girl. She was feisty. What next? Well, now it begins.
“What’s next is that we exchange numbers. And then we become friends.”
The story continues…
She sat down in her office, head in her hands. She needed to find a way. Needed to make him pay for what he did. It was nothing short of despicable. She had told her husband what happened last night and he tried to tell her to let it go. But she felt he didn’t understand. This was more than a personal vendetta. She needed to get him; needed to bring him down. She was not just doing it for herself but for all maltreated women in the workplace all around the world.
She peered at the briefs in front of her but her anger wouldn’t let her focus. It was after work hours, but, she needed to do a good job with these briefs to show the board that she knew the stuff she was made of. What about his wife, she wondered? Did he treat her like she was less than nothing too? A sound startled her. It was the sound of low, muted laughter. It was coming from the direction of Mr. Dada’s office. She was irritated. What did he have to laugh about?
Then she realized it was a female voice laughing. Who could that be? Was it his wife? She crept out of her office to take a peek at the woman who would be brave enough to marry Mr. Dada. She saw them through the open window. They seemed to be embracing. Then the woman turned and she gasped. That was certainly not Mr. Dada’s wife. That was Laide, the receptionist downstairs. She crept back into her office. The board would not be pleased if they heard about this. She started humming a tune as she packed her briefs home. She had found a way to get even.
“How was your day hon?” her husband asked as he slumped into a chair on the dining table.
“It was great,” she said grinning.
“Really? No backlash from Mr. Dada’s presentation?” he asked her.
“Oh, Dada will get what’s coming to him. I can assure you,” she said smiling.
“Darling, we’ve talked about this before. You need to let it go. Trust me. It’s not worth it.”
“Whose side are you on? What he did was wrong and he needs to be punished for it,” she said, her hands on her hips.
Her husband sighed. “Ok. So what do you want to do?”
“I found out something about him today.”
“He’s having an affair with one of the junior workers.”
“Yes, I’m certain of it.”
“Oiza, are you sure you really want to get involved in this? You may end up hurting yourself even more than you realize.”
“He’s doing something wrong. The board needs to know about his indiscretion.”
Her husband said nothing but kept eating his dinner. She felt a little guilty without knowing why, but shrugged it away.
When she saw Dada at work the next day, she smiled sweetly and greeted him. He gave her a curt nod and walked away. She smiled ruefully to herself. He wouldn’t even know what hit him.