Love at War

Measured in seconds, time's algorithm captures infinity within each movement. Worlds change and fragments become relics. Fashioning a new set of rules to profit from your only choice. Tick… 20 September 1995, Pretoria, South Africa. Beaten and worn-out a young Sonia reached the front door of the motel. The usual buzz in the place was eerily quiet. No one noticed the bloody hand palm as she tried to support herself. All the way to the entrance the emptiness extended. Through the grimy glass, the emptiness enclosed the parking lot. The security guard not in his usual place. Blood trailed her every step. Anxiously, she followed the cement path. At the boomed entrance she curled into excruciating pain and collapsed. Her head hid the ground. Immediately grime attached itself to her sweaty forehead but it was the last of her problems. Three things happened in one moment. A cork-like release followed by a blood clot landed between her feet. A woman screamed. Then Sonia fainted. A curse revived her, her view blocked by pedestrians. The sick sensation of the rejected foetus left her paralysed and she adjusted her head to the place he laid. Helpless. Small. Defenceless. He was all she had in this world. Another curse caused her to move once more. A black woman clicked her tongue in a sneer. Her sins under public scrutiny. At her feet blood covered his body - a fist under the cheek. A dark red stain on the cemented driveway. One Jacaranda flower dropped on top of him, just like a heavenly garment. The act so minute, but understanding whispered. He was in a safe place - a better place. Far better than her motherly offering. From there things happened swiftly. People gathered around her. One man's soft, endearing words reached her befuddled mind. The pain only a dull throb, and she was cold. "She must be drunk." "What kind of mother is she!" Her client appeared in front of her. His condescending insolence endorsed the crowd's whispers, and he left with no inclination that he knew her. The next moment they placed him on her breasts. His tiny form blueish, and she shielded him with trembling hands. Sirens filled the air. The faint smell of petrol fumes released an oppressing heat. The merciless sun left her powerless. A shadow shielded her as an uniformed man covered them with a soft blanket. Focused on her son, she burnt every perfect part of him into her mind. He was her courage, the reason she still breathed. Tears formed as she closed her eyes - blackness, her only solitude. *** An eternity passed before she opened them in an altered world. Everything was different, brighter and clean. The sting of disinfectants confronted her and a woman hovered above her. She whistled a well-known song, one she had learnt at her mother's knee. Her compassion stirred her spirit and tears stung a bruised cheek. Enclosed behind a curtained area the bed was soft. "What is your name?" The woman's voice crisp and clear. Startled she looked at her. She could not remember the last time she used her actual name. Brandy, no, that was not correct. She was never a Brandy. "Where is my baby?" The woman lowered herself. "He's in the Father's hand, child. Do not fear. He will look after him." The soft hand brushed her face. "Cry, my child. We will take good care of you. When I come back, we can discuss it." She isolated her with a white sheet - warm, pressed, and clean. More tears filtered into the pillow; stained with regrets and why's. When she returned the day had passed. Night changed into day before pale blue eyes appeared again. "How are you?" A covered plate drew her attention. "Better, thank you." "Eat something. I know it's not the best, but it will strengthen you." The nurse lifted the lid and she inhaled the aroma of the food. Her intensive stare never left as she ate with gusto. The woman dragged a chair closer, her features more prominent in the daylight. She did not imagine the kind-heartedness. "Can you remember what's your name?" The matron spoke when she felt satisfied and placed the spoon on the table. Satisfied, a feeling long forgotten. "Sonia." She cleared her throat and repeated: "Sonia Main." "I am Matron Sally van der Walt. So happy to meet you, Sonia." In the motherly irises she found no judgment. "How old are you? Can you remember?" "Nineteen," she replied uncomfortable under the scrutiny. The last time she had experienced this kind of acceptance, was when her mom was alive. How long ago was that? "What are your plans for your future?" "I don't know," and she pulled the sheet towards her. Her shame hidden. "Today I want you to rest, get stronger and then, when willing, we can talk about your future. God has not forgotten you, my child. You have come to the right place. God's plans are greater than what you can see. Never forget that." Tock … Sephanje 3: 17. The Lord your God is amidst you, a Mighty One, a Saviour [Who saves]! He will rejoice over you with joy; He will rest [in silent satisfaction] and in His love He will be silent and make no mention [of past sins, or even recall them]; He will exult over you with singing. Amplified Bible, Classic Edition