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Sunday, 7 Oct.

'A-ma-zing grace,
How sweet the sound...'

Yeah, we're in church right now.
Dad and I are all suited up.
(Credits: Hugo Boss and Armani.

Hey, Dad always goes for the best).

Marvel's in flannel and jeans, and the distaff side are wearing matching blue gowns and Tectonic-made hats.

As you would expect, Dad and Mom are seated together in front .Martha and I prefer to seat in the middle pew, albeit in different positions on different rows.

Marvel?

He-he!

Bro. is sitting directly in front of our parents so he dares not sleep!

He already dozed twice and sharp kicks on the shin from Mom's right shoe had called him to order on both occasions.

'...that saved a wretch like me...'

Oh, this is my favourite hymn.
It was the hymn that played that Tuesday evening when I answered the altar call, knelt down and gave my life to Jesus.
Over the years, I've built a relationship with him.
Ever since then, despite life's daily dish of problems, it's been pure bliss.

'I once was lost,
But now I'm found'

As I sang, my mind drifted to the things I'd done in the past.
Things I'm not proud of.

Don't get me wrong. I've always been a 'good' kid.

In fact, for the record, I'd only ever been in three fights (W1 L2) throughout my 'kidhood'.
You might think that's too much till you hear about Marvel's thirteen and Martha's—surprising—seven.

Martha's specialty as a wee girl was beating up anyone who tried to bully Marvel or who said unkind things about our family.
It was a big surprise that she grew to be such a lady. She doesn't even raise her voice anymore.

Anyway, the most spectacular fight I ever got into was one in which I fought a girl (and lost).
Wait, wait..

I was a skinny seven year-old and she was a Norbit's wife-kinda-girl. So, don't blame me.

Lemme explain:

I'd been out in the yard playing a football game with discarded bottle-tops.
Playing alone, 'cause Martha and Marvel had interested themselves in riding their Cars set in the living room.
I fondly remember that Martha had been trying to assign female names to the toys, with a milk-teethed Marvel wailing his protest.

Then comes Sandra, flabby-cheeked.
She lived next door.
“Whatchu' doin', Martie?”

I eagerly showed her my 'teams' and explained how I played.
Beady-eyed Sandra just couldn't understand.

“Dumb,”, she said at length, “this game is lame.”

My puerile cheeks flushed.
“It's not lame.”, I defended hotly.

“Just because it isn't about dollies doesn't make it lame.”

“It's dumb.”

“It's not.”

Sandra shoved me. I'd always hated being shoved.

Blinded by anger, I dove at her, my head connecting her abdomen and bringing her down.

That was a bad idea.

Sandra maneuvred her body until she was sitting astride my chest and pinning my arms painfully to my sides with her knees.

I could hear Martha and Marvel screaming for Mom in the background.

To cut the whole thing short, I walked into the house that evening with one tooth out of place, a black eye and sore arms.

That wasn't all.

Mom gave me the yelling of my life as she carefully treated my wounds.
When Dad returned later, I got the belt.

Wait..
Why am I writing this stuff?

Maybe it's because Sandra's sitting right before me in church.
She'd lost some of the childhood fat, but she is still mighty corpulent.
It appears she's a second-year Mass Communication student now.

I wonder what Joe would say if he was here.

“..was blind,
but now, I see.”

***

I love going to church, don't get me wrong.
But there's just a special kinda relief that washes over me when we say Grace.
I just can't explain it.

I just finished my punishment in the yard.My arms are sore as hell.
Martha went with our parents to a naming ceremony.
Martha was so ecstatic, you'd think she was the baby's grandma or something.

What's with girls and babies?


Did homework.
Called Joe, but couldn't get through.

Was hungry and cooked some porridge.
Martha's been trying to get me to be chef-of-the-year, so I've been learning a few tricks.

I going to end this with a quote from Reinhard Bonnke;

“You may feel lost in a sea of people but remember, Jesus knows you by name.
He knows your story. He knows your pain. And he loves you the same.”

—Evangelist Reinhard Bonnke.