Loving God

Every Sunday he preaches to his attentive parish about forgiveness and love. He reads from the bible and sings to the families gathered about, he sings songs of honoring mothers and fathers, about giving your love to Him. At 5’6”, he was handsome and I was happy that Older Sister caught such a good catch. Wild and unconventional, Older Sister became pious and motherly, after her vows were exchanged. Her days, it seemed, revolved around her husband, his family, and their church. She tried to convert us, but our belief in the spirits that guard and protect our home was much more deeply rooted than her belief in God.

It was the summer of conversion. Somehow, Older Sister talked Younger Sister and me into spending the week at their annual church camp, somewhere in Baptistland in the South. At 17 and 16, we were impressionable and not quite lost yet. You’ll have fun, you’ll see, her eyes bright, she persuaded us. One word of advice, she cautioned. Don’t pledge if you don’t really believe. It’s one of the worse sins. And I was reminded of Evangelical Billy Graham.

Stand up, all of you believers, a voice from the distant podium spoke to volumes in the stadium-packed seats. Was it really Billy Graham? Slumped in the uncomfortable chair, surrounded by devout believers, I opened my fantasy book about a boy and his quest to find the true gods and filtered out the Words of the Lord. Older Sister tapped me on my shoulder. Her glare was so sudden, so brief, I thought I had imagined it. Get up! Give yourself to God! Renew your vows to Him. I glanced around. Everyone but Little Sister and me, it seemed were up on their feet, swaying to the commanding voice from below. Some people were crying, their eyes closed and faces upturned towards the sky. I nudged Little Sister and we both stood up. I leaned close to Little Sister and whispered, We shouldn’t have come. Stand up only if you believe, really believe, the voice boomed through the microphone. If you’re standing up because the people beside you, behind you, in front of you, are standing up, then don’t stand up. Stand up because you truly believe in magnificent Him and give yourself, rededicate yourself to Him. Little Sister nudged me. Older Sister was giving us the look. The look that said, what are you doing? Sit down! We waited, seconds, minutes, and then I sat down. I expelled a slight breath. Little Sister soon joined me.

We left non-believers in their faith that summer, and returned non-believers. There’s no way I’m converting. I confided to Little Sister. It’s just way too intense! I declined Older Sister’s invitation to church, declined the invitations to their church holiday party, to the bible camps. I believe that there is one God and that people just have different views of who God is. I once told Older Sister as she and Brother-in-Law drove me back to college. Buddha, Allah, God, Christ, even the spirits Mom and Dad believe in, it’s all just one thing, one true God. The rest of the trip, Older Sister lectured me about the sins of those who believed in Other Gods. They’re not going to heaven, she defiantly motions with her head. I can only nod and pretend to listen.

Older Sister and Brother-in-Law invite us to their home – it’s their first home and we’re happy for them. Our family arrives and we’re the only guests. His mother is in her room. In the kitchen, away from the prying ears of Older Sister, she tells Mother to have a talk with her daughter. It’s jut not done. Mother knows what she must do. She pulls Older Sister into a corner. What are you two doing? Where is the rest of his family? I will not eat this meal – you have disrespected me, your mother-in-law, and most of all, your father. Older Sister, tells Mother to go home. Leave if you want. You don’t have to stay. Brother-in-Law steps in and tells Mother, We already had a gathering for my family. Mother shakes her head. These two kids don’t understand. It’s just not done. Mother leaves, while Father enjoys the meal lovingly prepared by Older Sister. He doesn’t understand the fuss Mother makes over tradition. It’s our daughter, he tells her. They know God. Stop being difficult. Mother never takes Father’s advice. You eat, she tells him. You stay. You’ll see. If you don’t curb it now, you’ll see.

You don’t respect my husband! Older Sister shrieks on the phone. Father is stunned. A man of few words, he cannot think of a quick reply. I sit in the kitchen chair and watch his face slowly turn red. The color makes its way from his neck up to the roots of his hair. His nostril flares and he become short of breath. He looks as though he’s ready to explode. What did you say? He utters. Mother presses the speaker phone option and we hear my sister continue her tirade. You show up at our house without calling. You’re impolite Dad. But most of all, you disrespect my husband. It’s not your house. You should know better Dad, you’re like a kid! Older Sister hangs up. Mother pulls Father by the hand and leads him to the couch. She touches his cheek. It’s warm. Lucy, get your father his medicine.

That night, Mother placed a call to Brother-in-Law. He refused to answer the phone. Refused to return Mother’s messages. Older Brother calls and tells Mother and Father about the visit he just had from Brother-in-Law. Father, Mother. What happened? Brother-in-Law stopped by and said you’ve been harassing them? He said that you, Father, disrespect him. He said he doesn’t understand why you can’t call them before you show up at their doorstep. He wants to be a good host and provide you with water and food when you come. Mother tells Older Brother, your home is our home. Our home is your home. We’re not strangers, she continues, that we have to call you before showing up at your doorstep. We’re family.

She was 7-months pregnant when she lost her baby – only two days after she told Father he disrespected her husband. For 10 years they had been trying to conceive and even though she never told Mother and Father she was pregnant, never let them share in her joy, Mother and Father were still happy. Mother often tells us that a woman isn’t complete unless she has children. It’s about time your sister has a child, she says. Father is happy too, though he doesn’t say much. As long as he loves her, Mother says, it’s okay that she doesn’t come visit us at all, or call us to see how we’re doing. I can tell it hurts Mother and Father, and can only nod in agreement. She’s forgotten, I muse. She’s forgotten what it means to be one of us. What it means to have a mom, a dad, to have a family. We’re no longer her family. I write in my diary. He is her family now.

It’s 7 p.m. and we’re sitting down for dinner. Baby, Mother tells Younger Brother. Why don’t you say the prayer tonight? He groans and hurriedly thanks God for the meal, asks God to let me have more time to play games with him, tells God it’s not his fault he broke Bibo’s CD – it was an accident! He continues and thanks God for Mom and Dad. Please let my Mom and Dad not be so angry all the time. He pleads. Thank you. Amen.

Bibo laughs under her breath and Baby kicks her under the table. Stop it guys, I reprimand. Mother cooked a hearty meal – Dad’s favorites by his side, and ours near our side. The phone rings and Baby picks it up. Mom, he hands the phone. It’s for you. Mother gets up from the dining table and goes to the side of the room to talk. We dig into our food as though it’s our last meal. Mother doesn’t approve – don’t eat like peasants, she warns. But we are our Father’s children after all, and with our spoons clinking against the overfilled bowls of Mother’s delicious cuisine, we hurriedly fight over who gets the best meat. Father laughs and tells Bibo and I to give it to him and Baby. Bibo pouts and then says okay, with a bright smile. Always the devious one, she knows the best piece is still on the stove.

Mother hangs up. Her face pale, she tells Father, She lost the baby. She’s been in the hospital since 8 in the morning. His older brother just called. Everyone’s there – except for us. Father doesn’t respond immediately. He chews his food noisily and takes a large sip from his glass. Well, he looks at Mother. I’m not going. They didn’t see fit to call us until now. Let them take care of her. He continues to eat. I urge Baby and Bibo to eat as well and tell Mother that I’ll take her to the hospital. Even though she obviously doesn’t want us there, Mother tells me, her voice cracking slightly, I’m her Mother. I know why her stillborn won’t come out. From the time Older Sister’s baby died in her womb in the early morning as she readied to go to work, to the time her brother-in-law called Mother during our dinner meal, the stillborn was still in her womb. There’s nothing worse than that, Mother sighs. Don’t take me, she says. Your presence will only cause undue conflict. He hates you, you know. And she probably blames you for the death of their child. Your Dad too. Let me call Older Brother and see if he can take me. I nod, though I feel sad. I know he hates me. He’s hated me since the day he married my sister.

Mother arrives and rubs Older Sister’s tummy. In a gentle voice she tells her dead grandchild to come out. Shhh...she whispers. Her fingers making circles. Come out, Grandmother is here. Don’t do this to my child. I forgive her so be good and come out. Don’t take my child away from me. Even though she doesn’t honor her father and me, it’s okay now. I forgive her, so be good and come out like a good child. Twenty minutes later, Older Sister finally gives birth to her stillborn. Mother isn’t there to see. Brother-in-Law bars her again from their lives. Leave, he said as Older Sister’s contractions started. Yet his mother was in the room with them. Mother left without seeing her stillborn grandchild.

Worried, Mother calls the next morning to check on Older Sister. She’s sleeping, Brother-in-Law informs. When will you have the funeral? She asks. Soon. He replies. I’ll let you know when.

We heard they cried a lot. At the funeral. We heard his entire family was there, including his parishioners. Older Brother went because Brother-in-Law invited him. Are you going? He asked Mother and Father. No. They replied. They obviously don’t want us there, or they would have called us by now. It was the morning of the funeral. You go, Mother tells Brother. They still think you matter so go.

When friends and relatives talk about Older Sister’s miscarriage, Mother tells them she doesn’t understand why Older Sister and Brother-in-Law cried so much. My daughter is dead and I don’t even have a grave to go pay my respects, to cry. She says. At least they have a grave to go to. To say goodbye. I raised my daughter for 20 years. I held her in my bosom when she was sick and hungry. I nurtured her back to health when she was near death’s door. I clothed and fed her, loved her as best as I could and she died. She died and I don’t know where to go, don’t know where to cry. Mother hasn’t forgiven Older Sister and Brother-in-Law. She prays to God. Let them have children. Let them see what it’s like to be in our shoes. Let them feel the hurt when their child tells them they’re bad parents, when their child says, I don’t want you in my house anymore.