It was time to rest in advance for my big day. The hustle and bustle of preparation for me was over. No outing sprees nor over excitements I had been told. My big, black leather box lay gently at the corner of my room. The room was as cosy as always and warm from the rug’s presence.
I lay face up in bed. I wished in my heart to do so much more. After all, it was my own big day, nobody else’s. I had wanted to see all my things at the store and pick them all by myself. Wasn’t I the one to put them on? I had sullenly asked in my heart. Well, so much for being a sickler, I mused. There had to be a limit. Anyone who saw me panting knew I had to rest. Whenever my eyeballs looked even more yellowish than it always is, it was time to double up my hydration spree. So much for being a sickler, I had thought, unhappily. But, there was one thing giving me joy yet. My day was coming and for that, I was so joyful and entirely grateful.
It was only a week more and every one around me have been hammering and slamming same four lettered word into my ears. I was just as tired of hearing them as a dog gets tired of its worn out bones!
Everyone says rest and yet they themselves weren’t getting any rest because of me. They were all getting prepared for my occasion; but I, the rightful owner of the day was always asked to cram up in bed and rest each day off. It was boring!
It had caused so much fury in me, when my choice of cloth for the engagement ceremony wasn’t as colourful and attractive as I had wanted it. I hissed quietly as I observed the material gotten for me with irritation. As much as I was angry, I had understood everything.
It was all for me, after all. I often had fallen into a bout, I reasoned. Whenever I stressed myself shopping around. There was often one pain or the other tugging at my joint and wanting me to scream out.
Most times, it left me grinding my teeth as if to chew off the aches, and clinging desperately to anyone beside me, as if begging for some temporary relief.
Yes, that was what a crisis meant for me and sometimes way worse than that. It even meant sleeping at the hospital sometimes and getting nauseated at the pungent smell from antibiotics, disinfectants and every kind of drug greeting my most active sensory organ. I was by now used to them but annoyingly so!
I crawled out of bed and walked to my box solely filled up with my bridal wears, accessories and shoes. Checking and feeling them made me anticipate that treasured day with gladness.
I definitely knew my Bobo wasn’t wanting me merely for my great looks, it wasn’t just for my friendliness, even though that had been an initial driving force; neither was it merely for my “brains”. He loved me truly, deeply and genuinely. How many men could really see a challenge as such and stay? A few really. For there are still men who listen to God, follow his leading and know that His plan for them is nothing less than the best.
My Bobo was one of those few, who could identify God’s voice and not chicken out when the storms arose, knowing fully well that God was always in each and everyone, always!
To describe Bobo adequately is to exhaust every positive adjective one could possibly muster… God-Loving, handsome, caring, graceful, sweet, jovial, friendly and so much more. The last of it being occasionally naughty. After all, who isn’t?
I bounced out of my rapid and racing thoughts and as I did, all I could mutter were words of gratitude to Jesus for gracing my life with such a wonderful man who loved God dearly and me inclusive.
It was indeed a blessing.
One after the other, I checked my wedding gown, laces, ear rings, beads, shoes, bags, veils, hair pearls…I suddenly breathed a comforting sigh. It was always exciting to do so.
The nights passed and the days dawned. It was the engagement day…