19 November 2023🥀

"- Your eyes are burning young Leonardo," Pastor John states in that deep stern way even when he's not preaching. He makes his way towards me in slow steps.

"Burning?"

"Burning with questions." He finishes, his blue eyes holding mine in place.

It's like he sees something that the whole world is blind to.

He's dressed in a grey button up shirt and black formal pants that compliment his pale skin, a serene smile on his face.

I'm a little put off that he noticed me. Especially since I decided to sit at the back corner in church, to breathe a little while Mkhulu had a serious talk with a few of the members of church in the office upstairs.

Church ended twenty minutes ago so there was no one else in here except me staring at the cross that was built in the altar.

"Aren't you supposed to be in the meeting Pastor John?"

He smiles, an easy smile, taking a seat next to me.

"Something tells me I'm needed here," he says softly, glancing at me.

I look away.

"Thank you Pastor John but the service you gave this morning was quite enough. I don't need anything else."

"Of course." He nods, but stays seated.

For a moment I wanted to be alone...

"There's not many like us you know," Pastor John breaks through to my thoughts.

I furrow my brows, glancing at him.

"Like us?"

"Yeah," he smiles, it reaches his blue eyes but it looks more 'pained.

"Mother's who have failed us."

My heart constricts, I look ahead of me wanting him to leave more than I wanted him to leave before.

" It's weird isn't it? Growing up with your friends who all claim to have the best mother in the world when yours takes the prize of the worst."

The tightening in my heart makes it harder for me to breathe, more painful and constricted. Like every breath is a needle pierced into my heart.

"I'm not here to hurt you." Pastor John says, his voice comforting.

"Then stop talking, please. I don't want to think about her." I put my hands over my head trying to block out his voice.

But if I'm being honest I'm trying to block out her voice that still echoes in my head. All the words she said. All the answers she gave. Everything.

'Goodbye Leonardo.'

I feel a warm hand placed on my shoulder, " Son," Pastor John speaks, "
I ask for ten minutes of your time. Only ten."

I pull my hands away, placing them by my sides.

"Why? Will these ten minutes bring my mother back? Will it give me a new mother? Will it change my life? I'm really sick and tired of you giving false hope to matters that clearly have no hope."

"You've given up?" His blue eyes pierce with astonishment.

The shame settles over me.

" Why didn't God give me a mother who loved me. I would have been fine with at least a mother who loved me. But my father's a question mark and my mother's the lady from the game Temple run- always running."

Laughter escapes the Pastor's lips, his eyes crinkling. My lips twitch upwards.

"I've asked that question millions of times." He says, looking up to the church's ceiling.

"Did you get the answer?"

"Yes and no..."

"Well," I prod, sounding a little impatient.

Speaking with pastors can be quite annoying sometimes. It's like they go over every word before speaking to you. Their eyes hold yours with this deep knowing and they only reveal bits and pieces of what they know. It's like if a riddle was a person

Pastor John chuckles, a charming smile adorning his face. " You know when it comes to pain. I realize that most people ask the wrong questions."

"Wrong questions? And how does that answer the question I just asked you a second ago?"

Pastor John simply laughs. " Questions like 'why me?' or 'why did this happen?' or 'how could you let this happen?' All of them are the wrong responses to pain."

"What are the right responses?"

"What do you think they are?" he asks, quirking his brow.

" This is how questions work Pastor John," the smile grows on my face.

"I ask a question because I don't know, not because I want you to ask it back to me and then I'll suddenly have the answer."

His blue eyes gleam with amusement, a smile playing on his lips.

" It's not that God is irritated with those questions, it's that the way in which the questions are brought leave no room for discussion. It's like you're asking a question already expecting a bad response-'Why me?' doesn't that sound so full of grief and absolute resignation that any good could come from this."

"I guess..." I find myself saying, not fully understanding.

" It was after the million and oneth time-wait, is that a real number? Million and oneth." He clarifies, making me laugh.

"It sounds odd but I'm not too sure."

"Whatever," he waves his pale hand in the air.

" It was when I was tired of asking questions that brought no answers because honestly I wasn't looking for answers. Those wrong questions we ask in pain are normally filled with blame towards God."

"..."

" I decided to ask a question that actually gave God space to answer. Am I making sense?" he holds my gaze."

" I think I'm getting it now."

"Good. Anyway, it was years ago when I asked God a simple question to make sense of my pain-' Is this the end of it?'"

"..."

" I was talking about the matter with my mother and how she walked out of my life leaving me with my abusive father."

His jaw tightens, a hard subject for him to speak on but he carries on. Even though his heart may be restraining him he carries on for me. So that I can open myself up to God.

"Sometimes the things we go through. They feel like a done deal, like a scar that will never fade. Like we'll carry this with us for the rest of our lives and that's why we find ourselves crying out 'why me?' throwing blame at God instead of asking-"

"I'm not blaming God for anything." I cut in.

He nods, seeming unconvinced. " Did you talk to him about the recent hurts you've been going through?"

"I have. I've been praying everyday for the past week but she still left!" The anger flares in my chest.

"You've been praying 'Thank you for the food' prayers that don't really need God's input or your heart to be in it."

"I say this respectfully sir but you don't know me."

He stays silent, scrutinizing me under his gaze.

"Asking the question that-" he babbles on and I inwardly groan, tired of this.

What else does God want from me?

I'm a fatherless motherless boy with anger issues and heart issues.

What's there left to say?

To ask?

The truth is for the past few days it's been painful to hope. It's like hoping has become a betrayal to my heart and the hurts it's experienced.

My faith has weakened and although I know that God is very much real and good; this past week I've been wondering where on earth he is.

"...Is this the end? Is this conclusion? Is this the full stop?" Pastor John continues.

The sigh escapes my lungs in hopelessness.

" What do you think the answer is according to the pain you're currently suffering?"

His blue eyes look to me, with patience and care and immediately I feel guilty.

He doesn't have to be here but he is.

Once again I find myself taking advantage of someone who stayed.

"I'm sorry for my mood Pastor John."

"No matter, dear boy." He waves it off.

I smile, relieved.

"So you're really gonna make sense of my pain in the next ten minutes."

"Yes." He replies, confident. " You know how?"

"How?

"Because God gave me the answer just for you-early this morning. The same answer he gave me years ago when I started asking the right questions."

My hungry heart is eager for the word of God . It's at the edge of its seat waiting for something...

"Isaiah 49:15-17 Can a mother forget the baby at her breasts and have no compassion on the child she has borne? Though she may forget. I will not forget you! See, I have engraved you on the palm of my hands, your walls are ever before me."

"... That's the answer." Tears threaten to fall as I drink in the meaning of every word.

"Yes. When people leave we tend to focus more on the one who leaves then the ones who stays. We forget that the whole world could turn its back on us but God stays the same. God stays. God will never forsake us. Never.

"Not only that but he knows our condition. He knows our pain and feels it deeply because he loves us deeply. He knows the details and the reasons why we do things. Our irritability and mood swings. Our sudden bursts of anger. Our walls are continually before him because he's keeping watch on us -staying."

The emotions build up within me threatening to burst out in a cry. My heart constricts still having so many questions...this time for God.

"He's engraved us in the palm of his hand meaning he holds us close in our pain even when we don't feel it. That we are ever before him. He's see's all of us. It means he'll protect us and we're cared for by him we just have to accept this truth."

"I'm trying Pastor John." My voice wavers, pathetic to my ears.

" I just can't control my feelings and I do bad things in my anger and I know that God's my parent but sometimes it doesn't feel that way. And sometimes it doesn't feel like it's enough."

He nods, the pained expression in his blue eyes representing deep understanding.

" I hear you, Leonardo. God's telling me that you let your emotions out on everyone and everything but him..."

The conviction hits me, making me want to recoil. " I don't feel him."

"He's not feeling. He's God. The only reason you're struggling so much is that you haven't opened yourself up to the one that can heal you wholeheartedly. God wants you to take your anger out on him, your pain, your tears -he wants all of it but you keep misplacing it. Hurting yourself and others."

"...I don't know what to say Pastor John." I respond, feeling dejected.

His eyes flash with concern. " It's been hard to receive anything from God lately hasn't it?

"Yep."

"It's because you've hardened your heart. You see pain makes us close up, it makes us pull back."

I nod.

"God gave me this image in my mind this morning. You see how when you reach for a turtle it jumps, and retreats back into its hard shell. Well, that's how God's been feeling lately.... he's been reaching and reaching and reaching; knocking on that door of your heart."

"..."

"Just open up Leonardo. Come as you are to the Lord and lay yourself bare. We cast all our cares on him not only because he cares but because once you surrender something to God it will never be the same. So the answer to pain is always healing but from the Lord. And it's a healing that works all things for our good and makes us better people."

"..."

"As I said before sometimes pain feels like a done deal. Like it will always be like this but pain is not the end. It's not the end Leonardo just stick with that truth. The answer may come today or tomorrow or years from now but it will come."

"Thank you Pastor John...I feel ashamed you even had to tell me all this. It's like I'm a Christian by name and not-"

"No. Stop that guilt tripping. As long you're breathing you can still come back to God and trust that he's waiting with open arms. He's the love that stays."

I smile, a light feeling of peace and joy filling my heart. The hope rising into something new...

"Your grandfather told me you're pursuing a sweet girl."

"That old man. He talks too much." I tease, making the Pastor laugh.

"If you truly want to love her. You're gonna open up your heart to God so he can love you. Because Loved people love people."

❄️❄️❄️

I turn off the lights in my bedroom, closing the curtains to block out the moonlight and when my back hits the bed, I sigh.

It's like my bones and heart are tired.

It's like my soul is tired, sucked out from all life. Like all the tears I've cried this past week have come from the deepest parts of me or were my blood and now I'm left empty, tired and alone.

Left alone.

The silence echoes through my thoughts, and my eyes feel heavy. Pastor John's words come back to me in bits and pieces.

Bits and pieces.

Bits and pieces.

Like some part of me is not willing to accept the truth that God really is with me. That he's always been with me.

And I feel bad, for the words that are on the tips of my tongue ready to lash out at God that he's...

That he's just like my mother.

Always promising to be there but never actually there.

The shame washes over me making me cry into my pillow, sobs that no man will ever share that he's ever cried.

It makes me feel less of a man to feel this deeply. To be in this much emotional pain and not know how to lift myself out of the pit.

It's like my heart is hungry.

I can't explain but my heart is hungry for the love of a parent.

She's probably out there living her life and having fun saying to herself she's finally gotten rid of that burden named Leonardo July.

I had a dream last night.

My mother stood on a grassy hill, as the sun set she lifted her hands in there breathing in and out, an ever present smile on her face. She opened her eyes and they were burden free. It was like she was fiften again but this time I wouldn't ruin it by forcing my way into her life.

I didn't know how to feel about the dream. I don't know how to feel about the dream.

My phone rings and for a moment I feel like ignoring it. Whoever it is probably has a good mother. And that's a really bitter thought.

Just because I have a bad mother... should I wish it on others?

I decide that even if it's a call from the principal who wants to have a chat with me I'll answer it. Anything to get my thoughts out of my head.

I pick the phone up without looking at who it is. " Hello." I rasp out,tired.

"..."

"Umm Hello?"

"Hi," she whispers, an echo to her voice.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah," but her voice breaks at the end, and a whimper escapes her lips.

I sit up, alarmed. " Olivia? What's wrong?"

All my problems vanquish and come to nothing at the thought of her distress. I can bear my pain but I won't let her bear anything alone.

"It's nothing." she speaks, her voice sounding choked up.

"If it's nothing then why are you whispering and why do sound like you've been crying?"

"You sound like you've been crying too," she simply says, sniffling.

"Fine. Don't tell me." The anger flares within me but I withhold.

No one drops the phone. Neither does anyone say anything. I know she's still here because I hear her light breaths.

It's a silent solidarity to the pain we're both feeling even though we don't completely understand.

"... I'm in the bathroom." She explains,"My sister and I fought. We've been fighting for a while now. Let's just say..." she sighs into the phone and it gets so close to becoming a cry.

My heart breaks at the sound, yearning to touch her and comfort her the way she always does for me. Yearning to hold her close and kiss her forehead and tell her everything's alright.

"A few words were spoken. Words that can't be taken back and I feel like if I don't leave this house now. I'll die."

"Don't say that." I scold her lightly.

"It's true. I feel so suffocated here and technically I don't have my own room. I can never really be alone with my feelings...With God."

"... I'm sorry Olivia. You deserve better."

She scoffs. "There's no good guy or bad guy in this situation Leo. I said some things. She said some things. I'm not innocent in this -even though I pretend to sometimes. She's just so frustrating and she doesn't understand me.No one does."

"I could try. I could try to understand you Olivia. Love is learning and I want to know you."

"I'm selfish, Leonardo. You shouldn't love me. You deserve better. You deserve -"

"I only want you my little Olive bean."

She laughs, the softest of laughs and it makes me smile just a little.

"Why did you call?" I ask her.

"...I wanted to hear your voice."

My heart melts at the affection in her tone. At the thought that I could bring my Olive bean any type of comfort like she's given me.

"-And I wanted to hear your voice tell me everything's gonna be alright."

"Everything's gonna be alright Olivia. It's gonna be more than alright."

She breathes deeply. I imagine the tears falling on her delicate cheeks as she sniffles.

"I also wanted to tell you that everything's gonna be alright. For both of us."

I take in her words like honey to the bitterness, my eyes fluttering shut, content in this moment between us.

"Would it be dumb to do question 18 now?"

"Not at all.Anything to take our minds off problems."

"Okay hold on, let me check the question on my phone..."

"Oh," she says a second later.

"What?"

"It's the question, it's not exactly something that takes our-"

"It's fine Olivia. I'm not glass. Just ask it."

"Okay."she sighs, "What is your most terrible memory?"

"..."

"You don't have to-"

"The day my mom left for the first time while we were still grieving my grandmother. How my Grandfather had to beg for her to stay and she couldn't see anyone's pain but her own."

A bitter laughter escapes my lips. " It's funny because it seems like she came back to top the list because maybe the worst memory I have is last week. When she answered all of my questions and couldn't answer some-when she asked me if she could leave. That's the one."

"I'm sorry you had to go through that."

"Don't be. At least now I don't have to spend my life waiting for her. Some part of me always was but now I can accept that she's really gone and never coming back."

"How is your Grandfather taking it?"

"Badly. I saw him cry. No grandchildren should see their Grandfather cry."

"...If I could take away your pain.I would."

She comforts me, making my heart stir with emotions.

"But only God can do that."

I smile, a piercing feeling constricting my heart.

"And yours?"

"I can't really choose one but I think it was all the moments when I felt like dying. Like ending it all and never coming back. Where I couldn't look past my pain and my heart ached painfully."

"Do you feel that now?"

"No," she answers without a doubt in her mind.

"Because I know that because of God my pain doesn't have to be the end."

Her words take me back to everything Pastor John said earlier in the day.

" Olivia, how do you open up yourself to God?"

She's silent for a second. "Well, first off. God only gets whispered prayers from me, like this, because of this suffocating house I live. I sit there and feel my emotions. I let myself cry and be real with myself and I ask God to make me aware of his presence because he's always there."

" The opening part. How does it work?"

She laughs. " Think of it like 36 Questions but this time with God and he's interested to know all your answers to the questions as well as sharing himself if you're willing to listen. It's like that. What we've been doing. Raw and complete honesty with the God who created you."

"I love you."

❄️❄️❄️

It's one am but sleep still eludes me.
Don't get me wrong I am tired to the bone but I just can't sleep.

The restlessness was frustrating me to the point that I threw my pillow up in the ceiling but it fell back down on me in a painful smack.

So here I was on my bed, flipping through the pages of the bible with my back to the wall. I drew open the curtains earlier to let a little bit of the moonlight help me see.I flipped over to the verse Pastor John talked to me about.

My eyes darting to the words and drinking in every detail as it settled tenderly over my heart and I let God speak to me through his word.

Can a mother forget the baby at her breasts and have no compassion on the child she has borne? Though she may forget. I will not forget you! See, I have engraved you on the palm of my hands, your walls are ever before me.

The emotions within me build up and I feel this prodding in my heart asking me to open up.

The silence of the night somehow seems to deepen the pain I'm in.

I look up at the ceiling, hanging on by a thread of Jesus hoping he'll heal this bleeding heart of mine.

"God," I breathe, the emotions choking up my words.

"God are you there?..."

I'm greeted with the silence that stretches on and taunts me-telling me that God's not real and that maybe he doesn't love me as much.

I shake my head, canceling all those tormenting thoughts and stare back at the Bible reading over the words, wanting so badly for it to be imprinted in my heart.

I will not forget you! See, I have engraved you on the palm of my hands, your walls are ever before me.

I breathe deep again. " It's me Leonardo. It's been a while I know and I'm sorry. Here I am now and I'd like to talk to you about ...
everything"

And that's exactly what I did. I talked to him about my life. About Mkhulu and my relationship with him-how I told him that I hated him and the memory still haunts me.

I talked to him about my Grandmother who I hadn't really spoken about in a long while and I found that I still had more tears to cry for her death.

I talked to him about this friend I had in grade four named Thabo who stole my pen.( It was random I know.)

I talked to him about school. The exams and the stress. As well as the pressures that come with being eighteen.I talked to him about my dreams and how excited I was about them.

After avoiding the topic for a while I felt that prodding in my heart and I talked to him about my mother....

Lot's and lots of ugly crying. Angry words spewed and the emotions tumbled out of me in a flurry of broken words. I talked to him about her a lot and as my heart wheezed painful and tightened-I felt this warmth wrapped around and into it like a comforting presence and it made me cry.

It's like my heart was being hugged and held, cacooned in safety.

I talked to him about Olivia and how I wanted to make her my wife.

I didn't hear his voice like I used to before but the immense ease that my heart was in after a week and maybe even years of carrying these heavy burdens -I felt light.

It's like my heart was floating and mending slowly.

And when I took a breath it didn't hurt, feel empty or constricted.

It felt like life was poured into my heart and every breath I took was drawing from deep within that life and making me feel more than alive.

I talked to God like he was the father I've always wanted.

★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

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18.What is your most terrible memory?

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