Three years ago, a time like this was the most terrible for me. First of all, three months earlier, I had lost my Job as a lecturer in one of the main universities of Kenya. Secondly, my mother was on the sick bed, struggling with cancer in its last stages, and to add on that, my wife had just given birth to our second child. Now, the coming of our child of course was a blessing, but I could not refrain from wondering how on earth would I be able to take care of my young family without being gainfully employed.
I remember spending sleepless nights praying,seeking God’s face and crying to Him to heal my mother. It was not easy, I just could not imagine attending my mother’s burial. The thought of my mother dying was so dreadful to me! How of all people could she? She had been so dear to me, she had been so supportive of us and to add on that I was/am a man of faith! Nevertheless, this thought weighed heavily on my heart and however much I tried, I just could not brush it aside. I kept hoping against hope that God would somehow miraculously heal her.
Then the day came that I was supposed to go see my mother in Mombasa, by then I was living in Eldoret distance apart by some five hundred miles. Even getting the transport to go see my mother had been a struggle! But God intervened and I managed to begin the journey. I left my wife with my only phone so that I could be able to inform her once I had arrived as by then she had lost hers. So the long journey begun, I had missed my bus and had to get a Truck, (these long distance vehicles which transport cargo in East Africa and beyond).
When I was nearing Voi, I decided to call my sister and ask her to give me the details of the hospital bed where my mother was being hospitalized and the like. To which she responded by telling me to just go home and make arrangements later which I saw as reasonable and thus agreed.
On reaching home, I was troubled to see many people gathered, which was to me confusing because our place has always been a quiet home except for special occasions like birthdays and holidays. So I asked my sister what was happening and that is when she explained to me so calmly what had transpired. My mother had passed on in the wee hours of the morning when I was still on transit. That is when it dawned on me! My mother was no more!!! Oh, the grief! Oh, the pain! Oh, the anguish! I cried! I cried!
My mother was no more! My mother was no more! I did not believe it. I quickly arranged with a pastor friend of mine, Pastor Nathan Maina to go see my Mother. He quickly agreed and so off we went to St.Joseph Hospital, Ikanga where the mortuary attendant allowed us to see the body of my mother. There she was, in the cold,unfriendly room of the morgue, lifeless, motionless. I could not imagine it! I held her head and tried to talk to her but she did not respond! I removed the anointing oil from my pocket, anointed her and commanded her to arise and talk to me but to no avail. All my attempts failed miserably, Pastor Maina was looking at me so patiently, I knew he was wondering whether I had gone nuts! But I did not care. I just wanted to hear the voice of my mother, how she would gently call me “Mwakazi”.
I was confused! I was troubled! I felt like God had disappointed me. I felt like He had left me when I needed Him the most. I had loved Him, sacrificed my life for Him, served him faithfully and so willingly but now He had failed me oh so miserably. How could I face people and tell them that God heals? Had He not failed with my mother? How would I be sure that the people I prayed for would be healed? How would I believe God for a miracle? God had failed and I His servant too for that matter!
The days that followed were the most painful for me. We arranged for her burial and she was laid to rest a few days later. After fighting with the denial for some weeks and later accepting what had happened I fell into a depression.
TO BE CONTINUED…