Sometimes we lose opportunities we could have gotten cheaply not because we don't want them but fear and ignorance get in the way, and we miss both, though we are supposed to sail to a safe land.
My pastor discovered that I'm gifted with the ability to write stories, and he promised to help me. I love writing, and that's all I do that makes me happy. "He smiled."
It happened while I was still in senior secondary school, level two to be precise. I attended our church programme tagged "Discovering Your Hidden Potential."
I made sure I attended the programme as early as possible so I would not miss any moments.
A male guest speaker was invited for the programme who introduced himself as a life coach and an editor. "Everyone on earth is born with a purpose, and everybody has a special assignment to carry out in this world," stated the guest speaker.
He went on and on, and at the end, he arrived at a point where he directed his questions to the audience, "Have you discovered your purpose, your talent, and your ability?"
The words were powerful, and I felt like he was talking to me alone. I knew I loved drawing, painting, writing, and being creative, but I never knew which one to focus on.
After the programme, I got close to my pastor to enlighten me more, and he recommended a book for me; in fact, he gave me the hard copy.
In no time, and with the help of that book, I was able to discover that I had a passion for writing. I told my pastor everything I discovered, and he really acknowledged it.
"How many stories have you written so far?" he asked.
"Just five to mention a few," I responded.
He asked me to bring three of my books so he could read through them. I went home excited that day, thinking I was going to be the youngest and latest author in town.
I edited my books the little I could; I wasn't very lenient with grammar then, but I did my best. My pastor read my stories and even gave them to his wife to read as well.
So, I was referred to a cafe inside town to give them my copies for typing before proper editing.
I did so, but reluctantly. I was so protective of my books that even if you tore a piece of plain sheet from my exercise book back then, I would flare up.
However, I gave one of the female apprentices in the cafe my books to deliver to her boss, as my pastor had said.
One month passed, and I didn't hear anything from either my pastor or the cafe. After about three months, I summoned the courage to ask because my parents also knew about it, but I was being patient with my pastor to speak first.
When I began to complain at home, my mum said I should ask my pastor for the books.
I was very shy to ask; I talk more with my pen than I talk with people.
When we were closing from church on a certain Sunday, I decided to seek my pastor on his way home. I ran up to him at the church entrance when he was about to leave.
"Good evening, Daddy, long time no see," I said shyly. "Faith, how are you? I hope all is well. It's been a while since I last saw you at my house," he asked curiously.
"Yes, Daddy, I was somehow busy at home these days," I lied.
"Are you sure?" he repeatedly asked, and my response was, "Yes, sir, I am good."
After a long silence, as we walked outside the church entrance, I told him I came to ask him about my book.
He was so angry. "I totally forgot. Why didn't you remind me all this while? Why do you avoid my place? Even my wife always asks about you."
I knew I was wrong, but it seemed I wasn't ready for it; that's why I withdrew.
Well, he later made a call to the cafe man and asked me to go get my books to see if they had been typed.
Unfortunately, the man had traveled outside the country. I asked his workers for my books, but they said he had given them to someone for safekeeping.
I visited the person at his house, and it turned out to be one of my classmates who was a relative of the cafe man.
"Do you mean that book is yours? Your stories are so interesting; I loved them," said Sam, my classmate who kept my books.
By the time he brought out the books, they were all dog-eared, rough, and torn. I was upset yet relieved that I got back my book.
Upon getting home, I discovered that only one storybook was given back to me out of five. It was wrapped in paper, so I didn't check it before bringing it home.
I went back to the cafe the following day seeking my remaining books, but they were nowhere to be found. The man was later contacted a few days later, and he sent his PC password to his secretary to check the system, but to no avail.
The man never attempted to type nor has he contacted my pastor since I gave him the books.
I reported everything that happened to my pastor. He was also unhappy about it, yet he put the blame on me for not checking up from time to time too.
I agreed; I'd neglected so many things that I can't even turn back the tides.
Later on, I heard rumors that this cafe man had sold my storybooks before traveling. We failed to trace the buyers because it's obvious he didn't sell them to anyone in my town.
That same month that all this started, my pastor was transferred to another state. It broke my heart. I lost connection and communication with him. Infact, after a fews years when i finally met him in a convention, we only exchanged greetings because he was so busy.
I knew I should have acted fast if not the boat won't sail without me. I kept blaming myself for being ignorant and slow. I wish i could turn back time!
Thanks for reading!馃