The-Lost-Tear

The Lost Tear

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I was walking along Tom Mboya street, worn out from another rough day at work. Rebecca’s words and Macha’s daily preachings were like incessant noises wailing at a distant. It was a Friday. I was drunk or maybe tipsy. On this particular day I decided to go home early. This was because 5 different people told me of this greatness in me wasted away by my love of alcohol and night life. On this very same day, my boss sat me down commending me of my good job but adding a disclaimer that I needed to stop taking alcohol.

I was not that rich, Ksh. 30,000 was my salary and half of it would go to night life. It was funny that I was never in debt but I had savings neither. I came out of Club Wallets, a small club where a friend was deejaying. He insisted I should stay because he was going to play maad tunes but I insisted on leaving because I needed to have some lone times and reflect on what was said about me. I bought a full bottle of some spirit brand named KC and strolled to the stage. I was shoddily dressed because I had no clean clothes. There was water shortage at my place. I was walking along Kenya National Archives when suddenly I heard a woman shout. Two boys pushed me away rushing past me. I thought something was a miss and I ran forward to shield myself.

It was then that the woman came screaming and shouting. Before I knew what was a miss, blows and punches rained all over me. I felt my ribs break and my teeth squeak. My left eye was dripping with blood when suddenly a woman entered the circle shouting, “Stop! Stop! That boy is innocent, the real thieves have run away.” I was lying there lifeless trying to catch a glimpse with one functional swollen eye. It was then that the woman came closer to me guilty of what she had done. Tears started flowing from her eyes. After taking a closer look, she was bewildered and the trajectories of tears dried up quickly.

“Musyoka?”

“Musyoka is this you?”

I wondered how on earth this elderly woman knew me.

“Your scar, still fresh from 19years back.” She said as a fresh series of tears drained. She was my mum, one who left when I was just 7. One who fled from my late dad’s wrath and continuous beating. Her face was gleaming, she looked healthier, wealthier and happier. Droplets of tears that fell from from her cheeks dropped to my face washing the blood on my eyes. The last drop fell in my eye. It was bitter. I passed out.

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I woke up at Aga Khan hospital. My uncle was by my bedside. I was plastered on both feet and on my left arm. Both my eyes were working right but they were swollen. I asked my uncle why I was in such an expensive hospital and he told me that a certain woman had paid the bill in full.

“But why do you do all these Musyoka? I took care of you since your father died. Thank God you got a job. Isn’t time you now think about your life once and for all? Isn’t time that you now gave your life to Christ because you have no control over it?”

My uncle was a local pastor in our hometown at AIC Kalitiini. I wanted to tell him that I had seen mum but I was taken aback by my eye, one that was dead but healed by her tear. My uncle was the most sympathetic guy I had ever seen. He loved me like one of his own. I hated God, just because he neglected me. I knew the truth buried in me but I decided to ignore it. I knew His word but I decided not to abide because my angry father who patterned my body with scars was no more and my loving mother was on the run. I stayed in hospital for 3 days with the conviction to pray but my pride couldn’t let me. My uncle visited daily and talked to me more about Christ and prayed for me. All was on my head was the lost bottle of KC on the day of my beating.

“Uncle, why do you still pray to this God who cares less about you? You give almost everything to Him, your possessions your time and your energy. Even when He took your first son, even when He took your wife, your brother and inflicted a burden to raise me. When will you ever learn that the abstract guy above controls nothing?”

“Thank you Jesus!”

“For what?”

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“I have always wanted that you for once say something about God or what you believe in. I want you to know something son. I do not worship God for what He does in my life but for who He is. After my brother died I wanted to quit my faith. Life was horrible. I was so poor, bereft of my beloved wife and now I had an extra mouth to feed.”

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“So why do you still hold on?”

“You happened son. After I took you in, doors started opening. The floodgates of heaven rained. I thought you were a burden but you became a blessing. Even with your weaknesses, you were brighter than any of my sons. You are the only successful son in my household, though you use your money in debauchery I can’t stop thanking God for you. I do not worship God because He blessed you or me through you, I worship Him for who He is, because He is sovereign, because He is all powerful and no one is like Him.”

I can’t remember what exactly happened with my inner self because a tear dropped down my cheek. I thought I was too quick to wipe it but my uncle saw it and he started praying. He cried onto the Lord thanking Him for my life. I couldn’t remember the last time I cried but this time round, they had to change my bedding as it was soaked in tears. That night I prayed, I told God to help me, to help me understand Him. I had much relief the following day. My uncle was still with me. I told Him I wanted to receive Christ and he couldn’t resist the tears of joy that cascaded his cheeks. I got discharged and got well soon very quickly. I never understood why my mother was on the run. I never understood why she never hung around but I later came to realize that she was wanted for the alleged murder of my father. My uncle never believed this. She defended her saying that his elder brothers hated her so they fixed her.

My life changed, not in an instant, but I lowered my drinking and took to prayer when I got so much depressed about my mother. It was always hard to read that Bible but watching that movie was a lot more easier. Nothing big happened except that I joined a Bible Study fellowship at a nearby church. I got to hang around with Christian colleagues who challenged me with the word and I got deeper. I talked to my boss about prayer at our workplace every morning and he was so happy about it. Macha never stopped thanking God that he finally evangelized to one who proved hard. All was calm for the next months until one day after the normal morning prayers my boss announced my promotion. Why? I never quite understood. I mean I was a mere diploma holder who had no plans of going back to school, the thought of paying hundreds of thousands as school fees was like skydiving in Mars. I was shocked that I would hold the managerial position as the firm schooled me. I was hated, of course by the many intellects who eyed the position and they planned all schemes to destroy me. I overheard them talking behind my back during tea break asking each other what it is that made me find favor in the firm. I walked in and told them, “I have Jesus.”

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I long for the lost tear, my mum. The mother who is on the run for alleged murder. I longed to see her again and that’s a prayer point I give everyday. I am so sure that it was not a coincidence we met, God had a purpose for that. I am not always amazed by the favor I find every day, No! I am amazed by the goodness I find in Him, the feeling of wholeness I feel when I take each breath every morning. Only this is enough to forever worship Him even if I lose everything. I also learnt one major thing. That I should not put myself down, thinking that I will forever be at the bottom of the food chain but I have equal chance like anyone else. This is because He doesn’t call the best or the learned or those who think that they have it all but He manifests Himself in the most humble, those that are available and those that are ready to be glorified in Him.

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Watch out for another story every Friday

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Siloma Stephen

Siloma Stephen

I describe myself as simple yet complex, difficult to fathom and a hard nut to crack. I am made of unfailing love, one that sails my boat and oversees my flaws, one that binds me not on any law but nourishes my soul. I write from my soul, generally anything I feel I need to get off my chest most of which is based on my own life experiences, talents, and passions.

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About Author

Siloma Stephen

Siloma Stephen

I describe myself as simple yet complex, difficult to fathom and a hard nut to crack. I am made of unfailing love, one that sails my boat and oversees my flaws, one that binds me not on any law but nourishes my soul. I write from my soul, generally anything I feel I need to get off my chest most of which is based on my own life experiences, talents, and passions.

Follow me on Twitter

About Author

Siloma Stephen

Siloma Stephen

I describe myself as simple yet complex, difficult to fathom and a hard nut to crack. I am made of unfailing love, one that sails my boat and oversees my flaws, one that binds me not on any law but nourishes my soul. I write from my soul, generally anything I feel I need to get off my chest most of which is based on my own life experiences, talents, and passions.

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