T’was just before dinner was going to be served, he turns to me. “Hey Bob,” he says. “You haven’t showed us round your house you know!” “Come along,” I say’s to him with pleasure, “for a grand tour of Bob’s Castle. It’s not a kings palace nor a royal chateau, but it’s my…”
I stop short at my wife’s angry glare.
She pulls me into the bedroom, “You want them to see this?” she asks. Her fingers point to a once spotless ceiling on which a tell-tale stain of last monsoon’s fury says a sorry story. “Or this?” she says as an open bathroom door reveals a broken wooden window. “Maybe,” she says as I follow now meekly to the kitchen, “they would love to see this?” Kitchen cabinet doors hang from old rusty hinges, treacherously allowing her precious plates to balance with gay abandon.
“Come,” says my wife, “maybe the children’s room will give them comic relief.” I stare wide eyed at a crack above that glares wide eyed back at me.
“When?” I ask my wife, later after puzzled guests who are not shown around have left. “did all this happen?” “The stain on the ceiling,” says she, reading from a dog eared diary, “last year, when you swept leaves, clothes line and clothes into the drainage pipe: I guess you were eyeing our pretty neighbour instead of the terrace floor. The kitchen cabinet doors, well it’s been a long time since you paid that room a visit, and broken bathroom windows, even I didn’t know till I realised yesterday, there must be some other way for our good neighbour to say hi than when I was having a bath!”
With hammer and spanner and a new screw driver I start setting my home right. I bang on dem shelves and marvel at sheer will power that till now held my china intact. My wife holds the nails and even kisses hurt finger, as I go about putting my home back in shape.
T’is a few days later as I sit in my castle after painting stains in the ceiling away, I hear someone knock and hear God speak, “Bob, you haven’t shown me around your heart for some time you know.”
With hammer in hand, I look at my God, and say, “can you wait awhile while I do some cleaning?” “No,” He says, “I’ll come in right now, and we’ll just work together!”
He comes in, wading through the muck and filth and setting things right. I watch as the darkness inside me, starts to dimly glow even as I whisper in shame, “Don’t touch that Lord, or that, or that, they’re filthy!” But the Lord doesn’t listen. He wades through the dirt and throws rubbish away! He straightens things inside till they’re twisted no more. Then with dirt on His hands and blood on himself, He stands next to me proudly and shouts, “Anyone else for a good repair job?”
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