I clung to the bathroom floor
and wailed.
I threw myself against the wall,
hoping the pain in my body
would drown out the ache in my chest.
I had no more tears,
but I kept screaming
wishing someone,
something,
would save me.
Wishing the pain would stop.
I thought,
if I emptied every ounce of strength left in me,
maybe it would hurt less.
But the more I screamed,
the deeper the pain grew.
And in that moment,
I remembered.
How I had spent the better part of my university years
praying about this one thing
and now,
I was living my worst fear.
My body was betraying me.
It wasn’t the first time.
I had become a statistic.
And I wondered where God was in all of this.
He had let it happen to me.
He had watched me
live out the very thing I begged Him to keep away.
And I was so sure
He would say it was because
I had the capacity to carry this pain.
But I couldn’t.
I wanted to rip my chest open.
I kept asking,
“Where are You?”
And in that moment
He gave me hope.
I rose,
like the daughter of Zion I am,
and I began to declare:
This is the last.
I didn’t care what medicine said.
I knew I had Someone greater.
Far greater.
Somehow,
the screaming became prayer.
The anguish became declaration.
And slowly,
the pain loosened its grip.
I stood up.
And I knew
the battle was won.
Sometimes,
we don’t get what we pray for instantly.
Sometimes,
it takes a longer, harder road.
But as long as we believe,
God always comes through.
My testimony is here.
With Love,
Ayo