People looked at me funny when I told them I had two Dads. After I added that I had two Moms too, they still looked at me funny, that is, until I finally clarified that I was adopted. I have two Dads but none played a pivotal role in my life. One of them died when I was this high. The other (my biological Dad) died when I was seventeen.
He was a quiet man. (The one who died when I was seventeen.) A man of few words, he often stared vacantly into the distance, his mind deeply troubled by a forgotten past, grasping at fleeting shadows and imaginary taunts. There were conspired whispers among the elders about a blood oath which went awry and woe betide those involved in such unwholesome pursuit. Still, none who claimed to know could offer any logical explanation for the troubled melancholy of this man. He died as he lived, in silence.
I was seventeen and preparing for college when it happened. There was no grief to begin with, for I hardly knew the man, much less speak to him, of him or with him. He kept his distance. I kept mine. When circumstances arranged a meeting, he stared at me in silence while I stole curious glances.
At his funeral, I was filled with guilt and remorse for I felt no grief or loss. It felt like I was witnessing the passing of a stranger. As the cortege left for the cemetery, I remembered the one tear I shed for the man.
For duty, duty must be done;
The rule applies to every one,
And painful though that duty be,
To shirk the task were fiddle-de-dee!
- W.S. GILBERT, Ruddigore
After the funeral, I returned to my daily routine and thought no further of the Deceased.
... until a week later.
I woke up hot and sweaty in the middle of the night. My perspiring forehead was strangely cold and clammy. I had awaken from a strange dream, one that I had never experienced before or since. Here is an account of what happened in this dream.
The room was small. On my right was a window which opened into the garden. A sealed coffin stood at the far end of the garden. I was shaken by its presence and thought of my biological Dad inside. Two other person were with me and as they spoke, I looked up at the ceiling. The room was brightly lit by two fluorescent tube. A butterfly and a moth circled the fluorescent tube. The moth landed on my left shoulder and a voice thundered.
I was seventeen, for crying out loud. Romance and marriage couldn't be further from my mind. The raging hormones were taking its toll on my emotional state of mind. Embittered by my circumstances, I was seeking answers for the destiny which brought me where I was.
Yet, the voice thundered on while the moth rested on my shoulder and the butterfly circled the lights endlessly. The words were structured in a poetic form. It brought comfort and a sense of peace. Forcing myself out of this dream, I fumbled to my desk, pulled out a paper and pen to jot down the words, and immediately forgot all but the precious few written above.
It was believed that the Deceased returned seven days after Death to visit their loved ones and that they were in limbo for the next 49 or 100 days so I thought those words must have come from my biological Dad. There was only one thing wrong with this theory. I don't count as one of his loved ones.
The room was small. On my right was a window which opened into the garden. A sealed coffin stood at the far end of the garden. I was shaken by its presence and thought of my biological Dad inside. Two other person were with me and as they spoke, I looked up at the ceiling. The room was brightly lit by two fluorescent tube. A butterfly and a moth circled the fluorescent tube. The moth landed on my left shoulder and a voice thundered.
Do not be afraid, my child
for life will be good to you
Romance and marriage
will come easily to you
yada-yada-yada
so do not be afraid
yada-yada-yada
yada-yada-yada
more yada-yada-yada
... yada ...
... yada ...
whatever you wished to do in life
go ahead and do it
do not be afraid
yada-yada-yada
more yada-yada-yada
Yet, the voice thundered on while the moth rested on my shoulder and the butterfly circled the lights endlessly. The words were structured in a poetic form. It brought comfort and a sense of peace. Forcing myself out of this dream, I fumbled to my desk, pulled out a paper and pen to jot down the words, and immediately forgot all but the precious few written above.
It was believed that the Deceased returned seven days after Death to visit their loved ones and that they were in limbo for the next 49 or 100 days so I thought those words must have come from my biological Dad. There was only one thing wrong with this theory. I don't count as one of his loved ones.
I consulted my aunt who had an answer for every dream. She listened carefully and concluded that the spirit of my dead Dad came to me in my dream and uttered those words.
"It wasn't my father's voice."
"Death have not been fully understood."
"But my father could not speak English."
"After you're dead, you can speak all languages."
"How?"
"Don't ask!"
"Poetry? My Father?"
It did not make sense but I held my tongue. I let it go.
Ten years went by. I left college, found a job and got married. Christ was already a part of my life. One afternoon on a Saturday (Back then, Saturdays were a 9am - 1pm working day.) I was lying on the couch and reading a book. "Murdered Heiress" by Dr Olive Peet Wagner.
The writer gave an interesting account of how she was kidnapped and murdered by her abductors.
"It wasn't my father's voice."
"Death have not been fully understood."
"But my father could not speak English."
"After you're dead, you can speak all languages."
"How?"
"Don't ask!"
"Poetry? My Father?"
It did not make sense but I held my tongue. I let it go.
Ten years went by. I left college, found a job and got married. Christ was already a part of my life. One afternoon on a Saturday (Back then, Saturdays were a 9am - 1pm working day.) I was lying on the couch and reading a book. "Murdered Heiress" by Dr Olive Peet Wagner.
The writer gave an interesting account of how she was kidnapped and murdered by her abductors.
I came back into my body with the sheet over my head. Suddenly the room was full of a voice as if it went from the ceiling to the floor, from every corner of the room. This big voice said, 'I am the Lord your God, I am here to help you and not to hurt you. Do not be afraid.' - Murdered Heiress, Dr Olive Peet Wagner
It was an epiphany of sorts. The passage described the voice I heard in my dream. It was a voice which thundered with authority. The voice said "Do not be afraid." Those were the exact four words which brought me comfort in later years in times of dubiety and dread.
In retrospect, I wasn't wrong. My aunt wasn't wrong. The voice I heard was that of my Father, my Heavenly Father. I knocked. He answered. I did not know it at the time. I do now. As for why it happened the way it did, who knows? They say God worked in mysteriously ways. Why am I convinced?
Well ... listen to my story. There is more to come.
Well ... listen to my story. There is more to come.
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