This is your son. You might find it difficult to read what I wrote because I wrote it with classes to catch and books to read. My name etched at the bottom of this letter might sound foreign to you. No need for you to call for the Book of Life to settle your doubts on whether my name is there. It probably isn’t for now, I don’t know about the future.
I call you father because you sent my elder brother to die for me. Someone who committed no sin, he who knew my name and said, “It’s finished” just for my sake. But I doubt I’m your son. After sending Egbon to die for me, I’ve misused my opportunities. I visit the club like it’s my second home on earth forgetting that in heaven, there will be a gold palace for me. I smoke, puffing it in the air, getting high and enjoying myself, not knowing that cigarettes are the enemies of the lung and soon enough, they will drive me to the cemetery, dig a hole and bury me without a worthy casket to lock me in. That’s if I don’t fall into the gutter one day with a Gulder bottle in my hand with broken pieces of the bottle piercing my forehead and blood gushing out while I stay in my vomit dead.
Sometimes, I see my earthly brethren quote scriptures from your Word, they call it The Bible. Sometimes they recite chapters upon chapters while I find it difficult to remember Psalms 91 verse 1a. Those secular songs are the ones that stick when I hear them in the barber’s shop and dance to them during my escapades to the club. I see unbelievers sleeping on Sunday morning but can’t preach to them because just the day before, we took the shortcut to the brothel together.
Oh! I remember when I used to pray all through the night but now, vigils are my drugs for sleep. Play a movie for me and be sure I won’t sleep. What’s wrong? I don’t know either. I am writing this letter to at least lay bare my heart and that of so many who have wandered away from your presence. You said in your word that you stand at the door of our hearts knocking but are you still at my door? Because every day, I wake up to the knock at the door only to see Jehovah Witnesses clutching their bibles and putting on their best smiles. I slam the door at them by the way, no hard feelings, I just need some more sleep.
I am here writing this letter in the morning hoping that before dusk you will get it. If you don’t, I understand. Because all these could have been sent to heaven through prayers but I’m too lazy or rather praying is for the strong in faith. If you read this and don’t reply, I will understand that I’m far gone. Anyways, I want to tell you that I regret my lifestyle. I know it doesn’t bring glory to your name but I’m scared of what my friends will say. Some will call me S.U, a few will spread rumours of how Christiana has refused to go on a date with me unless I follow her to church. They will see me and call me Christiana’s praying partner.
I’m scared that your facial expression might be hard upon seeing your son in the white garment you bestowed on him as a gift because chocolate stains, blood specks, knife marks now scar my most valued possession. I don’t deserve to see your face, who has seen it anyways?
But what if I could come back? What if my dirty history could be deleted from the Recycle Bin never to resurface and my errors wiped clean from the slate of my heart? What if my name could be written in capitals in the Book of Life?
That’s why I send this letter. Please, provide answers to my heart cries.
Be nice, Abba, to reply. I promise not to run away again from you like Adam and Eve did because of sin but rather run to you because I run away from my worldly friends.
Last but not least, I have never doubted your existence. Some of my friends scoff and exclaim about the Big Bang as our origin and evolution from monkeys as our creation story. They refuse to believe in a Supreme Being we don’t see. Please, can you use the foolish things to confound the wise, in this case, use me to confound my friends? 🙏
From your last born,
PS: This is fiction. Although it may bear resemblance to the lives of many, from the author’s view, it was to stoke the flame of creativity in him. Watch out for more letters😉.
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3 thoughts on “A Letter to Abba”
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