Overnight Success
At the depth of the night, the darkest worries come. During the day, life makes sense and there are reasons to be cheerful (1,2,3 as Ian Dury grovels into the microphone), but in the night, the demons of concern, the devils on the back of the shoulder that whisper nastiness into your ear, have a feast with your breaking will. Desperation comes, followed by tears. Tossing and turning, no more sleep, till the day encroaches your imagination and you have to rise, for no other reason than this is what people do and what is expected of you. You know that routines are important, but nobody minds if you don’t stick to yours: there is nobody watching.
Today, there has to be good news. Wipe away the tears, drown out the voices of the night. Stand up straight, face the challenges.
A glass of water before breakfast, then a shower. Cup of coffee, slice of toast loaded thick with butter and jam. Homemade jam, the last glass stolen from Mother’s shelf back home.
Your inner sun is rising, you can feel it in your bones. Maybe not your bones directly, they don’t seem to hurt or feel anything right now. You feel it in your heart, your inner voice tells you that today is the day. But then, the demon of worry is back and throws another bucket of tears at you. But now you are awake. Now you have the weapons and you cast him out. It is not easy, he tries to wriggle his way back in, but you are gaining strength as your inner sun approaches its zenith. No more tears!
10am and most of the morning is past. The emptiness in the apartment echoes in your head and your mind wonders what to do next. The settee is so inviting, the TV remote is calling your name. But you are better than that, you ignore its snarling, enticing voice.
Instead, you open the laptop and go online. Three emails: Spam bidding you to invest in that exclusive apartment high-rise on Dubai beach. Yeah, right, as if! The second one from the bank. The first line already so hateful and demeaning, you don’t finish reading and hit delete. With no job, no money coming in, what can you do about it? But there it is: an unexpected email with a job offer you no longer hoped for. The closing date is … COB tonight. Decision time is … immediately.
Panic.
The heart beats faster than Usain Bolt can run. You see flashing lights, the beginning of a migraine. This is the job you wanted, this is the one you need or you might as well jump off the nearest cliff (by the way, where is the nearest cliff? You ponder a long lonesome minute, but then realise that you have better things to do).
You need to submit the resume … make sure you send the latest one. There are so many on the desktop by now … which is the one you mean to send, the finest, bestest, most formidably worded and formatted … right, found it. Cover letter? What can you say, other than ‘I am the best person for the job? I am so desperate, you simply have to give it to me?’ What else? No, nothing else. This is all they want. But no way can you send it now.
Pastor picks up on the second ring.
‘I need you’, the words almost choke you as you force them out of your mouth.
‘How many?’ At times in need, Pastor is a man of few words.
‘As many as you can find.’
‘When?’
‘As soon as you can get here.’
And you know he is slipping into his shoes as he starts to call the first two names on the list.
45 minutes later, an endless stream of brothers and sisters beat their way to the door. The receptionist downstairs has stopped calling up, announcing those arriving. The door is wide open. People turn up you don’t even know. But this is it, this is what family does.
Pastor stands on a stool.
‘Are we all here?’
‘Sister Patience is missing’, someone calls out from the corridor.
‘Fool, I am here!’
‘Sorry, Sister Patience is not missing’, the same voice again.
Someone has brought a keyboard (Reasons to be cheerful, 1,2,3). The music starts, Pastor raises his hands to the heavens and with his voice on full volume invites the holy spirit to join.
A multitude of voices sing the first song together. By the time they finish, the spirit has well and truly arrived. Pastor calls for everyone to pray. The laptop sits in the middle of the table, the email not yet sent.
It starts with a low murmur. Every so often, a voice rises, talking in a tongue only the angels understand. The spirit ebbs and flows like the ocean tide. It grabs and lets go as it visits all those compressed into the small apartment, one after the other.
As if by command, they all link hands. I stand amidst them, in awe of what is happening.
As if a switch is turned, they all stop. The demon of worry has lost the battle.
‘Do it’, brother Sola demands.
The email is sent, it leaves the laptop through the ether, winging its way to the heavens and the satellites out in the stratosphere, being kissed by the angels on the way before it is bounced back to the Inbox of the receiver.
Pastor nods and slowly, they all disappear.
Left alone, overcome not with worry but tremendous joy, I sign off and put the laptop to sleep.
At the depth of the night, the darkest worries come. During the day, life makes sense and there are reasons to be cheerful (1,2,3 as Ian Dury grovels into the microphone), but in the night, the demons of concern, the devils on the back of the shoulder that whisper nastiness into your ear, have a feast with your breaking will. Desperation comes, followed by tears. You command the demons to hide, they have heard the prayers of the multitude in the apartment earlier. Tossing and turning for a short while, but sleep comes, till the day encroaches and you have to rise, for no other reason than this is what people do and what is expected of you. You know that routines are important, but nobody minds if you don’t stick to yours: there is nobody watching but the spirit that yesterday left behind.
You know that the news is good even before you open the laptop and log on.
‘blablabla … we welcome you to an interview … blablabla.’
Overnight success: Praise be God and his host of angels!
You call Pastor.
He answers after the second ring.
‘When is the interview?’ He asks.
He is a good man.