By Aaron Aroriza:
'God, this pastor doesn't respect Sunday. He spends it doing house work at my girl's, sorry his fiancée's place. He's not a good person. Please do me the miracle of getting him out of her life.' I was still sending this prayer to God when the youth pastor, beaming with a smile asked for my name.
“I'm A……my name is Ah, A…….” Jesus! I was stammering again. The last time I had stammered my name was when a Sunday school teacher had asked me so many years ago.
She was our new Sunday school teacher. My friend William and I had seen her on Saturday. That Saturday afternoon, while playing hide and seek, I somehow ended up in church. As I slithered my way under the pews I heard strange noises emanating from the apse. I craned my head above the pews and saw two figures fall off the altar. Fresh altar flowers came crushing onto their heads, the assailant still tightening his grip on the victim. “You are killing me!” the victim screamed as she writhed in pain. I tiptoed closer not realizing that William – the seeker, had also joined me. He was more interested in what was taking place at the church than in finding me. The victim, in a final effort to free herself, dag her fingers in the assailants back but the muscular man would not let go. His body was now moving uncontrollably as he strangled her with even much more zest. The victim made one last high pitched scream as her arms fell lifeless off the assailant's naked body. She had just died in his arms!
We sneaked our way out of the church before this killer could see us. I didn't see his face but the image of the victim's otherwise pretty face grimacing in pain was burned onto my brain. I only figured out he must have been a missionary of some sorts – that's the style he exuded. But a missionary committing murder in church – at the altar of all places? What insolence to the holy house of God!
For me and William, the game of hide and seek had ended. If our friends waited for us, they sure waited for Godot. We had just witnessed murder in church and the shock was too much for two eight year old boys. There was even no way we could narrate this to anyone. We weren't allowed to play in church.
William didn't attend Sunday school the following day and I wasn't surprised at all when his sister told me he was sick. Me – I was strong in spirit (I had been born again for three years and I still kept my blue book from heaven). I believed God had made me witness the murder for a reason. Ah, the things we believe when we are strong in the faith!
If I hadn't already been told the story of Jesus' resurrection, I would have fainted in shock when I saw our new Sunday school teacher. I still got shocked anyways – who wouldn't? A ghost was introducing itself as our new teacher. That I had seen this person die was bad enough; that I would now have to sit through bible study with her ghost, even worse. To now be the first person whose name she asked for was the ultimate. Shit had just hit the fan!
But my fears soon disappeared since I still carried my little blue book and had also seen my name get into the register – God's register of life. I surmised this was another of God's miracles – resurrection! It was indeed real and my Sunday school teacher was living testimony to it. For had I not seen her, with my two very eyes, die in the arms of a very aggressive missionary styled killer?! Yes, she had died and resurrected at the altar…and if anyone ever doubts we will go and ask William.
Youth pastor was still flashing the trade mark holy smile as he patiently waited for me to utter out my name. The handshake culminated into an embrace when I finally told him my name – Aaron. “Wow, nice to meet you. I'm Moses……..Moses your bible brother!”
Moses? Oh dear lord! My mind raced back to my 'angel Sunday school teacher'. She had narrated to us, in so beautiful a voice, the story of Moses and the Israelites on her first day as our teacher. There are three reasons why I could never forget this story. One, it was narrated to me by God's own angel. Two, I found out, much to my chagrin, that God had punished Aaron with death for – in my opinion – Moses' sin of disobedience. And three, after that Sunday school session, I had spent a whole week looking for that story in my little blue book in vain. I hadn't occurred to me that it was just only a New Testament bible.
The following Sunday, when I had inquired from my angel, she had given me a big black holy book as a gift. When I opened it I sure enough found the story of Moses. It's hard to forget a good touching story like that of Moses especially if you have a namesake involved in it. It's even harder to forget the parts where God seems to be addressing you in person – especially if the book you are reading from has been given to you by an angel. Mine was perhaps Numbers 12: 5-8
“… Aaron and Miriam,” He called and they stepped forward. And the Lord said to them, “Now listen to what I say.”
“If there were prophets among you,
I, the Lord would reveal myself in visions. I would speak to them in dreams.
But not with my servant Moses.
Of my entire house, he is the one I trust.
I speak to him face to face,
Clearly, and not in riddles!
He sees the Lord as he is.
So why were you not afraid
to criticize my servant Moses?”
I asked for a miracle in my prayer. God evidently didn't perform the miracle. But in those verses he reeled in my mind, he had immediately answered my prayer
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