A Pastor's Daughter's Diary

Dad's Back

Dear Jesus,

Thanks so much for bringing my dad back home in one piece.

He returned home today. I was so excited. Relief was so evident in my mom’s demeanour.

Hardly had he gotten down from the car did we bombard him with squeals of delight and tirade of questions.

And that notwithstanding the fact that we always spoke to him everyday for the past two weeks he had been away, ever since his miraclous escape from death.

After we prayed together, he settled down to catch his breath. I sat beside him like Mary sat at Jesus' feet while Mom (who was the Martha in this scene) served his favorite meal—pot roast and gravy with a chilled bottle of chapman drink for family celebration.

I didn't want to be rude, though. I had to eventually help her out in setting the dinning table. Dad took a quick afternoon shower while we were at it.

As we began eating lunch, I began breathlessly pouring tales of what occurred while he was away to my amused dad. I left no tiny detail out and even added gesticulations to make my points clear. Dad had to, at a point, tell me to slow down.

I recounted all that had happened while he was away. How we almost had panic attack at that awful news. How members of the church, who didn’t know the details of the event, were spreading rumors that he was dead but it was being kept a secret. How Mom decided against telling them the whole story in view that he would be back to share the testimony himself.

I also told him about the revelation I had prior to the incident, and my quest for the infilling of the Spirit.
He encouraged me with scriptures of your promises.

Dad took time to tell us the outcome of his mission trip in South Africa.

“He that God has blessed won’t know until he loses it. I saw grown up men and women, most in despair, and even some children, who had no hope of food per day, not to talk of shelter or clothing. We helped those we could and witnessed Christ to those who were willing to listen. Many gave their lives to Jesus. Some remained adamant, saying that a loving God won’t allow them to go through such torture. I pray it won’t be too late for those ones,” Daddy said solemnly.

Mom and I chorused 'Amen' with great feeling.

In short, we spent hours just talking and talking, making up for the time we had not spent together for over a week.

As for the rest of the day, I simply took time to read some books and pray alone in the secret place. I didn't feel like going out at all.

Jesus, I’m in desperate need of the Holy Spirit. It’s getting more and more difficult to keep battling with temptations and lukewarmness.

More so, I need a comforter with me at this times.

The mild persecution at school is already escalating.
Just the other day, I narrowly escaped sitting on glue that an anonymous person had intentionally placed on my chair. I don't mean to make any claims or to accuse anyone, but Kathlyn and I strong suspect that that ploy was orchestrated by Genevie and her clique.

I’m really happy that I didn’t fall into that snare. It would have been horribly humiliating. My uniform, which cost my parents a lot of money to buy, would have been permanently ruined, not to talk of the disgrace and pain I would have gone through that day.

As in, did whoever it was expect me to go skirtlessly naked for the rest of the day? *Shudders in consternation at the thought of that*.

Thank you Jesus, my hero, for saving me in the nick of time. Please forgive them, because they don’t understand what you mean to me. I hope they see the light. And soon too.