Wednesday, 2 September 2020

Thought Picnic: In triumph beyond the memories

An ordeal called life
I called the matriarch for a chin wag just after work and what a conversation we did have all down memory lane into streets and avenues I never knew existed. Paths and tunnels couched in stories that have probably never been told to anyone else, the wealth of experience in a world where the loved have the darkest hearts known to man.
The things I learnt were hair-raising leaving me tingling with sensation that the saints lain under tombstones long ago were anything but, the evil they perpetrated lives in the tales that get told in remembrance of them.
At a point, I thought, should all these reminisces be jotted down and then told for if not one for non-fiction, it exuded the elements of fictional thrillers, but for the grace of God, here we stand, and they are long gone.
Grace and enduring peace
Then you wonder about the inability of people to capture the zeitgeist, the things said in jest that have become the definition of people in whom we once laid trust. They have forgotten taking umbrage at strained relationships they in their careless talk forsook.
Yet, in not any one of them have we been left blinded or in their shadow, for in the deliverance of great favour and fortune with the goodness of people as angels we have risen. We would tell stories of amazing triumph that leaves the slights way behind in the completely forgotten, for we have been blessed and that prayer has been a living stream from the mouth of the matriarch.
For all her faults even amongst those who have sought to besmirch and assail her, she remains faultless, navigating the strangeness of this world with premonition and insight, guided by the divine through the many valleys of the shadow of death to new still waters beside green pastures, her soul restored, her peace enduring. I smile thinking, I do love my mum.

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