BEGINNING OF THE END.

.1.

10:16 PM

I knew I wasn’t supposed to be there, but I couldn’t help it.

I was smiling from ear to ear as I peeped into my parents' bedroom from the doorway and watched them. I’d certainly be dead meat if Daddy—Archbishop Powell—saw me, but… no risk, no story.

My parents were sitting huddled so close together on their king-sized bed. Mummy was in her favourite violet silky nightwear, and Daddy? He was in regular clothes.

Aww, it looked like Mummy was crying. Her head rested on Daddy’s broad, accommodating shoulders. Then she looked up so tenderly into Daddy’s eyes and whispered something. She shook her head softly as her beautiful, glittery hair cascaded over her shoulders. She sobbed quietly. Her delicate, beautiful hands rested on Daddy’s muscular, strong left thigh.

Mummy was the definition of femininity—so much of a woman. She was soft-spoken and just so graceful. In her appearance, in her attitude, in her walk, in everything she did, gracefulness was evident.

Growing up, I had watched her. She was so submissive to Daddy! Mummy was literally at the service of Daddy’s command. Daddy seemed to be her second master, after the Lord she so faithfully served.

When Daddy said, “Lie down,” she did so gracefully. When Daddy called her from wherever she was, she hurried to him. She listened to Daddy speak without interrupting. She trusted Daddy’s wisdom so much.

If there was anything she disagreed with Daddy on, she made her opinions known firmly but softly. Then she gracefully left Daddy to do what he deemed best.

This was what happened every time Daddy returned from somewhere and Mummy was already home.

Mummy met him at the door just in time and gave him a warm, rejuvenating hug. She took whatever Daddy was carrying from him.

She then let Daddy settle down, washed his feet, wiped them clean, and brought slippers for him to slip his feet into. If Daddy wasn’t fasting, Mummy served him something delicious. She never behaved as though Daddy was her coequal.

Such a woman! The Proverbs 31 woman. No wonder she was the wife of the Archbishop, who oversaw one of the largest church memberships and the largest church building in the country—Daddy, of course.

I knew Mummy depended on the leading of her first husband—God. She lived by what the Bible said, and surely, the Bible talked about wives submitting to their husbands.

At that moment, Daddy planted a kiss on Mummy’s forehead. He looked down at her sweetly, brushing away hair from her face. Oh, how he loved her! I watched as he took Mummy’s hand and interlocked his fingers with hers.

His deep bass voice was low but resonated in the room.

“Honey, God is faithful. He really is.”

As if Mummy didn’t know that.

How lovestruck these two opposite people were! Their love was as fresh as it was when it began, 25 years after the loss of Daddy’s first girlfriend.

I said Mummy was feminine, right? I didn’t know the word to describe my father. He was simply a MAN. Physically, spiritually, emotionally.

A deep bass voice, tall, well-built, and strong. It looked as if he had been hitting the gym. I had heard people say he looked like a commander of an army—a great soldier. His skin was smooth like velvet, brown like coffee with milk. A commanding presence he indeed had.

Phew, spiritually? What could I say? I found it a heavy burden to have a Daddy as spiritually on fire as mine. He had encounters with the Living God. Daddy was on fire for God; he was powerful. He could literally call the heavens down. On countless occasions, God had revealed future events to Daddy, and he, in turn, prayed against them, such that the signs appeared, but the unpleasant situations never manifested.