Skip to main content

The missing peace

This is another page from my ninth book called "Dear God". I was inspired to write this book after writing "I am voting for God" on my blog. It continues in that format. Short letters (or prayers) to God. It gives me an opportunity to write more and write to God at different moments in my life.
___________________

Dear God,

It is 212am. I drank a cup of water and I sit in the quiet of the night writing to You. I had a dream and part of that dream was me telling how I had found God and how that helped me. What does it mean to find You? I think it means You were missing, You were missing from my life even though You were always there all the steps of the way. And just like that it started raining at 223am for a brief moment. I can hear the raindrops on my galvanise roof.

I was lost and I found You. It was not an overnight mission for me neither is it a task that is complete. It took several years and small and gradual steps to reach this point where I can say that I found You. Where did I find You? You were everywhere but I had to open my eyes. I had to open my eyes and mind and heart to Your presence. Looking back on it, it is as if part of me was missing. An important part. Like a missing compass. How do I ensure that what is found is not lost again? I think continued prayers is the answer. Prayers as reminders that You are there and that You are listening.

I found this quote and it resonated with what needed to be said in this last paragraph. It goes, "the best way to find love is to find God". We are all really looking for love. And what better place to go to for this love than You. You are the source of all love. You are the source of all things. It makes sense to seek love and connection with something greater than ourselves firstly. You know us better than we know ourselves. It is 302am now and I can hear the rain again. Through God's love we can find the missing piece of ourselves. The missing peace for ourselves.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

A pot of callaloo

Call for Submissions: Archipelagic Entanglements   https://singaporeunbound.org/opp/archipelagic-entanglements When I saw the call for submissions online I was doubtful. I do not know enough history. I do not understand the topic. Then after chatting with my friend Chatty I realised maybe I can be the topic. My ethnic and racial makeup is an archipelagic entanglement. Colonialism meets indentureship meets slavery. My mom is East Indian muslim and my dad is French, Portuguese and Mulato christian and who knows what else. I am an example of a pot of callaloo. Everyone's favorite Sunday lunch. I am what happens when lineages cross oceans and histories collide. I am thinking to myself now, what is the message I want to put forward with my blog post? What is the direction I want to take? Maybe it is this. What can we do when we have such a rich heritage and know so little of our own history? First of all I do not think I am alone with this struggle. I did not realise this until I though...

Cup of coffee

This is a chapter from my latest book called Breezes of Tobago . The cool morning breeze blew the hat off the tourist passing the coffee shop. We sat at the table waiting for our order of coffee and bagels. I had stayed up late writing and was now needing caffeine to stay awake. On entering the veranda of the coffee shop, the sign reads "happiness is a cup of coffee" and "sip your troubles away". This had me thinking about what is happiness? And was the theme of my chat with Chatty as we enjoyed our breakfast in Tobago. I told my friend Chatty that if we could put happiness in a bottle and sell it we would be rich. My friend Chatty then told me that money cannot buy happiness but it was a good idea to make a living. If according to the sign, happiness is a cup of coffee then maybe happiness is coffee in a bottle then. We could call it Caffibean, a taste of the Caribbean in Tobago, a blend of the happiest coffee beans from Tobago. Tobago is not known for its coffee p...

Sandy beaches

This is a chapter from my latest book called Breezes of Tobago . This story begins on a cool Friday evening in May. Fridays are the best days. Already a great start. It had rained earlier in the day and the clouds were moving away and the sun peeking through. I walked from the apartment where I was staying to Pigeon Point beach. Along the way I stopped for coconut water freshly extracted from the nut and straight into my mouth leaving traces on my cotton jersey. They say that coconut water is the drink of God—fresh from the nut, sweet with a hint of salt, a liquid reminder that paradise can exist in small and simple things. They did not say that but my friend Chatty did. It is my friend Chatty's first trip to Tobago. I asked him what he thinks of Tobago so far? He grinned, wiping a drop of coconut water from the corner of his mouth. "Man… it is like stepping into a painting. The air, the colors, the way everything smells after the rain—it is unreal. I did not know paradise cam...