My Journey to God

It was the year 2001. I returned from school on that fateful Friday afternoon and was informed that my only brother and one of my younger sisters had become ill. It was rather strange that both of them had taken ill at the same time. There were 6 of us – my elder sister, me, my brother, and my younger sister, who took ill, and two other sisters after her. Our father shrugged it off as nothing serious. Our mother was not known to take chances, so she took them to the hospital. The hospital did the usual tests and came back with the usual result – Malaria and Typhoid. They administered some treatments and told my mum to bring them back the following day and on Sunday till their prescribed doses were complete. There was nothing much to it, or so I thought. I had become accustomed to the nuances of our medical system even as a teenager. I told my sister, “Don’t worry Blessing, you will be fine in no time”. I remember her crying on Sunday morning while my mum was preparing for their hospital appointment. I went to her and calmed her down. “Mum would soon be ready, stop crying,” I said. I had no clue why she was being impatient, I just wanted her to stop disturbing the peace. By the time I returned from the church where I went after they left for the hospital, I met my eldest sister looking dishevelled (because she had been rolling on the ground and there was sand all over her hair), weeping uncontrollably. “What is wrong? What sort of play is this?” I asked her with disbelief on my face. She was 15 and I was 14 and I thought we were rather too old for such. She turned around and looked at me, “Blessing is dead!” She said. I did not believe her. It must be a joke. I saw Blessing this morning. How can she be dead? It is not possible. You see, I knew about death, but I had never experienced death personally. So, I sat there, undisturbed by what I just heard and waited for my mother. The events that ensued after that culminated in the burial of my 9-year-old sister, who fell sick on a Friday and died the Sunday after. 

I got to know about God early. Well, this is true for most people born into Christian homes. We grew up being taught the Person of God, the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. We are told about His limitless power through the experiences and encounters of the Israelites, the people of God. Although we have never seen Him or heard His voice, we are told that He is real and that He is the creator of the cosmos that we can see. We read the Old Testament, and think, ‘Oh! What an erratic God! You make one mistake; the ground opens up and you along with your family go down (Case in point: The story of Achan in Joshua 7).  We read the New Testament, and think, “Awwww! He is such a big teddy bear! He seems too soft. He forgives all, loves all, tolerates all.” But those were the musings of my adolescent mind. I knew about God. Yet I did not know Him at all. In the midst of the tragedy, I realized that I had more questions than I got answers. Why did my sister die? Why does anybody die? I began to search for the meaning of life, the purpose of death and why God, as powerful as He is, would allow it.  It was no longer satisfactory to just hear stories about God, I needed Him to speak to me (…to be continued).