Woman, Thou Art Free

Freed by prayer

“Why the heck do these perky ideas land in my head? Have they nowhere else to go? Anywhere but in my head? Don’t they understand that I’m scared of executing them? If only they would.” Daryl whispered bitterly as she rolled over. 

Sleep had divorced her leaving her staring an imaginary figure posing on the wall for hours.

Thou Art Free

It was her fortieth birthday; one that she wanted to spend quietly. She was worn out from her mind’s torment and wasn’t in the mood of participating in her kids’ pre-planned birthday gimmicks. If only the day would pass without the hullabaloo. Better still remain dimly lit by the passing moon like her room.

Previous birthdays were celebrated with more than enough noise. Her children had made sure that she felt the impact of being their mother. They forced her to do enough silly things that she got tired of lamenting and gave in. She took the torture like the woman they knew she was. She rode on a motorbike halfway through the estate, wore her shirt inside out and walked in stilettos for a whole hour in a supermarket just to please them. Deep inside, she enjoyed every bit of the game!That was then.

It was the family’s tradition to compete wishing a happy birthday to whichever member had their birthday. Dean, her husband had lost miserably on all the others. He was always the last to wish her well.

As she tiptoed out of the bedroom for morning prayers, he rolled over and whispered, “Happy Birthday Daryl. You are the most beautiful girl in the whole world.”

She posed and turned back surprised that he was up so early. It was unlike him. 

“Thanks Dean. It’s 3pm. I didn’t know you were awake.” She quipped feeling guilty that she had woken him up.

“You spoke in your sleep sweetness. Is something the matter?”

“Something is always the matter with me. My head is full of equations. I wish I knew how to solve them though.” Her voice was heavy with grief.

As she knelt down to pray, away from everyone else in the house, she felt her eyes tearing.

“Dear Lord, I am lost.” She murmured.

The house was quiet and so was the surrounding environment. She stared at a particular tile on the floor. No one in the house knew her worries better. She imagined that beneath it lay all her secret prayers. 

The praying woman

Every morning for the past two years, she knelt at that particular spot in her house and prayed. Sometimes she felt relieved, happy and ready to change the world. Other times, she was felt like a timid little mouse; lost in the busy streets of her mind with no abilities at all.

“It makes no sense. I have ideas that change people’s lives while I am lost in the woods. Why do you burden me with these thoughts? I have given them out to the world; each one of them. Why am I too confused and scared to apply them in my own life? Why can’t I change my own life? Am I living this life for everyone else except me?”

The Breakthrough

Suddenly she felt a warm touch across her shoulders. It was an unfamiliar touch from a hand that felt much bigger than her husband’s. Who else would have known that she was up praying? Scared to find out who was with her in the dimly lit room, she shut her eyes tight. To her surprise, her heart was calm. It was unlike her to be calm in uncertainty. Was age catching up with her?

Every beautiful idea that she had shared with her family began to flash in her mind. The thirteenth cheque formula that she had developed to help her family save up for a holiday lingered longest. Dean wasn’t keen to hear it. Who was she to give him advice about saving while she brought no income to the family?

She was too ashamed to share it on social media, something she was dying to do. Perhaps it would help somebody in another part of the world; one who didn’t know that she didn’t have a constant salary. She had applied it for a whole year to save enough money for her son’s coveted birthday present; ‘Bash-on-a-boat’. That didn’t banish the shame she felt when Dean showed no interest in participating in ‘dare to save for the holiday’ using her formula. He earned more, bought her everything she wanted even when she had no guts to name it. She felt owned; her ego and all, like a pet.

There was not a day in her life that she didn’t pray for a stable source of income. She wondered how Dean managed to service the family’s needs and wants; especially the wants. If only she would take care of the kitchen budget; it was only a third of their expenses anyway. She had created a clever worksheet with pie charts and bar graphs to help her understand how they spent Dean’s hard earn salary. He knew nothing about it.

The warmth touch was turning into a tight grip on her shoulders accompanied by heavy breathing. It felt masculine; beastly unkind even. A hairy hand stretched alongside her right hand. Then the grip loosened from her shoulders as another hairy hand slid against her left. She felt the width of the being’s chest lying against her upper back covering and overflowing beyond the extent of her shoulders. She couldn’t feel the rest of the being’s body. Then she noticed an unfamiliar woody scent floating in the room to the extent of choking her. Her body contorted with the being's weight sending sharp pains equivalent to labor pains through every vein. Was she going to die?

Prayer of deliverance

Beads of sweat began to build on her forehead. The urge to identify the being surrounding her was mounting fast. She began to tremble, her teeth chattering with the drop in temperature in her chest. The contrast was life-threatening. 

The being’s breathing pace sped up. A scream formed in her chest yet couldn't pour out. Her mind raced between the being’s presence and the crazy ideas she had but never implemented. The torture!

“Who are you?” She shouted, finally opening her eyes and violently pushing the hairy hands away from her own. Struggling to shake off the being from her back, she heard a loud shattering noise. She was free but still couldn’t see who the being was. The floor was covered with glassy ice blocks and the air with a chill.

On her favorite tile, she noticed a familiar handwriting; her own. She bent over still shivering from a mixture of fear, relief and exiting pain to examine it.

“JUST DO IT” She read out softly. “JUST FREAKING DO WHAT IS IN YOUR MIND.”