YAH is my Strong Tower
Yah has always been my strong tower, my refuge and rock. The tree I can lean against when the storm is rough. The umbrella that shades me from rain for not all believe in the power of prayers. Some may disagree, while others can relate, and few may choose to argue and debate.
The Creator, the divine, the ultimate one, is like a universal mystery, whereby many of us try not to believe that his spirit lives in you and me. But I am not here to convert or to go through history with you, I am here to share life experiences and true stories with you.
As I have said, in my prayers, poetry, quotes and stories I have already shared with you, I am no one special like you. I bear scars and have been through sorrow and pain, I have experienced death, and through it all, I have overcome.
I was never born a praying woman or man; most of my time was wasted on friends, selfish desires, needs and wants, anger, lust and greed. Quiet moments with ‘God’ were only in times of trouble. In my youthful days, I was one for always doing quite the opposite of what my parents requested of me.
My mother will say, go left and I would go right, ‘I think you get what I mean’ In my childhood, I was known as little Horrid Henrietta. Mischief was my obsession, and my joy came from making others miserable. That was indeed me, little horrid Henrietta, horrid Henry twin.
I recall one Sunday at mass, sitting in the front row of the church listening to ‘Father John’ talk about the importance of prayers. As young as I was, I couldn’t understand what he was talking about as I paid little attention to the service. Most of my interest was focused more on being disruptive as I spent most of the time making funny noises and pulling silly faces at the choir, which sat opposite me. After mass, Father John called both my grandmother and me aside and gave me a right old telling off, and of course, to me, everything went in one ear and came out the other.
‘Mamma’ was quite annoyed, but as a child, I cared very little about what others thought of me; everything was hilarious until the passing of my dear, precious ‘mamma’. She was known as my angel, safety net, cushion, bouncy pillow; actually, she was my mother. She was my mother’s mother, a very rounded, large, red-skinned woman of Spanish, Irish, and Carib descent whom I adored dearly.
As a child, I was known as one of her favourites. I guess this came about because of my skin and bone condition at a very early age. I was given to my grandmother to be looked after as my mother could not have cared for me, as she was a teacher, and my condition needed round-the-clock care. My birth proved that from my very beginning, the enemy was after me as I was sent to fulfil a great purpose.
I grew up with three other cousins, Chris, Cherry, and Andrae. Our childhood was full of great outdoor adventures and fun; there was never a dull moment at my grandparents' house.
We were a very large extended family back in those days; it took an entire village to raise a child. ‘Mamma’s House’ was a warm, joyous home, and every room was overpowered by laughter. At night, after the sun had set and the crickets hummed their NIGHTLY tune, Mamma pulled us close and began to pray. Her prayers started with the ‘Rosary’ and always ended with the Lord’s prayer.
‘Hail Mary, full of grace. The Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou amongst women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death, Amen. 'Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and the Holy Spirit, as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end’. Amen.
‘Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name; Thy kingdom come; Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread; and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us; and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. Amen.
The older I became, the memories of those words and prayers never seemed to leave me. I was sixteen when she passed. It was two days after my ‘sixteenth birthday’, a death I can never forget. Her passing led to my first one-to-one conversation with the Divine Creator. I remember the day she fell ill, I saw her pain as she lay helpless on her bed holding onto her shapla (rosary) as I stood beside her, I saw death written upon her face. I recall feeling a sharp pain at my side as though someone had stabbed me. As I fell to my knees, I ran outside and sat on the swing which hung from the avocado tree, staring into space. I remember asking ‘God’ to spare her life. Her life was never spared, but taken a few days after she died, and even till this day, I still couldn’t understand why my Saviour and friend had taken my angel from me. I may never know the answer, but I believe he has a reason for everything.
Like many, death has never been my ‘Fortier’, but I have learnt to accept death as part of life’s journey. Life is to be experienced and lived to the fullest, as I believe life itself is a treasure, and it should not be taken for granted but rather cherished.
Remember in the early part of Patrice’s story, I mentioned having two enemies: Self and ‘Satan’. If you can recall, I spoke about Self always searching for the quick fix, and Satan seeks to distract, manipulate and bring forth doubt.
Whenever doubt is present, there is room for disbelief, mistrust, lack of patience, dependence on self and others. I can reassure you that relying on self only brings forth destructive behaviour and destructive behaviour causes nothing but pain, anger, conflict, bitterness, resentment, regret and separation between you and God.
When ‘Yah’ and man are separated, who do you think wins the battle? Satan does. Question: Why do we constantly give him the victory? I can only speak for myself, I believe it’s because we want things to turn out our way rather than the path that was directed for us by Yah. I suppose as humans, we enjoy making our own decisions, even though we are aware that our decisions on many occasions are self-centred and not always in the best interests of others. Looking back at Patrice's story, her pain, her loss, resentment and anger towards 'Trish', I can only sympathise with her as I too once suffered such pain and loss. But through 'Yah' and his beloved son, 'Yahshua', I am found and to him I give all glory and praise.
Philippians 4:13 " I can do all things through Christ, which strengthen me".
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