A Pastor's Daughter's Diary

The Letter

Dear Jesus,

"John, I need your help," I said.

"Oh really?"

"Yes, like right now. Can you come pick me up? I have to get somewhere."

"Where?"

"Arrows Children Orphanage."

"Roger that miss." I could almost visualize him saluting on the other side of the line. I smiled.

This is it. My chance to make things right.
~~~~~~~~~~

Skrr. Clang. Scratch.

Uh?

Scratch. Thud. Screech.

Ok, what for crying out loud is that nagging noise doing to interrupt my beauty sleep?

It came. Again and again, unrelenting.

I was forced to leave the cozy comfort zone of my new, absolutely soft, purple themed bed. Hirena laid on the other side of the bed, snoring lightly. Her full brown straight hair was sprawled all over the pillow.

My eyes were still groggy with sleep as I zombie-dragged my feet over to the source of that grating sound.

I traced it to the balcony.
And it wasn't a ghost. It wasn't a stray animal trying to find a temporary home either.

It was Jerry. Poor Jerry who was almost frozen to death, scratching at the glass of the balcony door.

I shivered myself. Harmattan had come full force, heralding the first day, the first Sunday in the month of December. The first of the last, if you get my pun.
Rolls eyes at myself. Why do I even try to be poetic? I suck at it.

It was still very dark. I hadn't the slightest clue what the time was.

I removed Jerry's chain, picked up his whimpering form and went inside.

Armed with the confidence that Hirena had told me yesterday that Jerry was tick free and potty trained, I placed him between Hirena and I and went right back to sleep.

It was the wet licks of his tongue added to the ring ring of my digital alarm clock that awoke me later on. It was 5:30am. Dawn rays, though dim, were already visible. Hirena was no longer on the bed.

I found her kneeling by the swing in that biting cold, seemingly unaffected, praying sincerely from her heart.

I smiled and tiptoed back in, not wanting to disrupt her special reconciliation and fellowship moment with you.

I was so happy. Happy to the extent that I startled Jerry when I bounced on the bed.

Oh Jesus! Thank you.

And I sat back up to pray to you and read my Bible.

When Hirena came back in, she was shivering.

"Brrrr," she said through chattering teeth in mock shiver. She held her hands over her chest in a bid to provide warmth.

"This is almost like winter, only harsher. I feel as if my blood is curdling," she said.

I laughed at her. She wasn't finding anything funny.

We proceeded to have our bath. Hirena and I ditched our lotion and opted for the good old vaseline therapy.

After hurriedly dressing up in the usual fancy church clothes, we went downstairs and met Mom and Dad hovering about, trying to get set for church.

Apparently Aunt June was still taking her bath, for Mom, as we ate breakfast, wouldn't stop reminiscing about how Aunt June, back in those day, would comfortably spend hours in the bathroom all in the name of bathing.
One would think she was carefully peeling off her skin, removing all the dirt and germs underneath it and then carefully replacing layer by layer of her precious skin, Mom said.