Scandal of Grace

1

°Listen to "The Last Jesus" by Kirk Franklin for this chapter.

"Rejoice with them that do rejoice, and weep with them that weep." Romans 12:15

*

Sure, everyone's got a story. Everyone's got things to say, you know, about their pasts, their present and what they expect of their future, maybe.

My own story had been a real rollercoaster ride and I was sure it would experience, yet, another change.

I was used to change. It was like a constant, the air I breathed, anything essential for survival.

Sometimes, they were beautiful. Most times, they weren't. That meant ugly, horrible, plus everything distasteful.

The day I supposedly clocked fifteen, my parents, especially my mom, were a little hysterical about the add-up. I practically screamed when I came into the sitting room that morning. It was a Friday. The whole place was decorated, beautifully.

My mum had gone all out to invite kids from my class and folks from church, behind my back, for a "mini party" at our house.

When I thanked her after the celebration, she told me it was a mini party for her baby girl. Her small voice as she said that to me was fragile but excited enough to shut me up. I couldn't ruin her happiness. Her definition of 'mini' was clearly different from mine.

All the family pictures were taken off the wall and two of my pictures were on opposite sides of it. I most likely did not have more than that. I hated taking pictures. It could damage me, my life and even people around me.

Mum and Dad had forced me to take those two while assuring me that cameras didn't bite. Of course, I knew they didn't. I only didn't want to know what bitter consequence would come after.

When I stepped into the kitchen, different sorts of food and drinks-nonalcoholic-were available. Three large cakes, two smaller ones and a large pack of cupcakes were there, sitting calmly on the counter top. Outside, I was met with faces I couldn't recognise at my own birthday party. The compound was filled to its capacity.

"Everybody should get to eat and drink satisfactorily. It's my baby's day!" Mum squealed, when I asked her why there were so much edibles.

I was the only child left for them, so the whole excitement could be excused.

Sunday came around. And that meant church. It was the day we would go fellowship with other worshippers of God.

My father headed the Gospel Life Bible Church we attended, a grandiose edifice towering over the street across the cul-de-sac where we lived.

This particular Sunday morning, I checked the clock on my bedside table. It was past six am. I had to get up and prepare for Church before I ran us late. The service would start by eight am and if I didn't stand up now, I could sleep off again.

I rubbed my face, as if rubbing the sleep from my eyes. I gently pushed away the colourful quilt that warmed me up through the night and suddenly missed its warmth.

I hissed in response to the cold that ran its course through the uncovered parts of my body, awakening goosebumps on my usually smooth brown skin. I stepped out of bed, almost shivering.

"Why is it this cold?" I wondered aloud, my voice a little hoarse from sleep.

On my way to the bathroom, I did a bit of lip thrills to help clear my voice before quickly brushing my teeth. I didn't want to greet my parents with my hideous breath.

After brushing my teeth, I stepped back to my room, grabbed a wrapper from my wardrobe and tied it across my chest over the nightie I was wearing already. I slipped my fluffy slippers on and proceeded to my parents' bedroom. It was some steps away and I met dad at their door.