I grew up in a family that strongly believes in God. At the corner of my parents’ bed room, stands a small table covered with a white cloth. On this table, lies the Holy Bible, which belongs to my mother. She wakes up early in the morning to pray without ceasing. Sometimes I see her shedding tears in her prayers, when she feels her prayers had been answered or touched spiritually.
Life, to many is sex, enjoyment, doing drugs, rock and roll, then after, you say good bye to your friends, when it’s time to go and sleep peacefully or tormented in your grave. That’s not the meaning of life. Life has a significant meaning or purpose. Watching my mother, each morning, behind the small table, I developed certain interest in seeking the face of God and started following her footsteps.
I read my Bible daily, and tried my best to live to the principle the holy book teaches. Like everyone, I wasn’t perfect, I did many things which I shouldn’t do as a child, but not in my adult hood. As I begin to mature, I started experiencing the miracle of God’s hand in my life. There are times I joke about it saying: Death doesn’t like ugly people, the reason I’m still living.
I was once carried away by the sea, because I couldn’t swim. Like Jonah in the belly of the whale and brought to the shores of Nineveh, after people gave up to save me, they watched as a mighty wave brought me ashore. The impact was heavy and the state of shock I find myself in at that moment, prevented me to put on my clothes. I walked home naked. Till now I’m scared of the sea and can’t swim.