Ask, seek, knock

I stood just outside the front gate of my home. My eyes were squeezed shut. I was at my wit's end, pushed to the wall.

He had finally said it, my son.

The one sentence that could force me out of my shell.

"Daddy, I want to eat Indomie" he had earlier mentioned to me boldly .

"OK dear", I answered him cheerfully as I threw on some clothes and made for the front door.

"I'll go buy from the mallam", I lied.

I knew I had no money to buy even a sachet of "pure water"  (packaged water in transparent sachets commonly sold in West Africa) from the neighborhood kiosk manned by the usually friendly Nigerien mallam.

Ibrahim was a dependable ally in my struggle against poverty. He always ensured my family never went hungry, especially when we had no cash to purchase much needed food to eat, snacks for my son to take to school, or just tidbits to salve the gloom of our condition.

But every kind gesture must have a breaking point, especially when one was already owing a humongous sum of money for such a micro-enterprise.

Ibrahim had been hinting at his expectations of at least some payment of the outstanding debt and I had been copiously promising to pay. . . . Soon.

The problem was, I hadn't. So I found my frequency at his stall begin to dwindle. The going got tougher. But it just gets to a point when there's no more luck to push. No more rope to spread out. Everything comes to an abrupt halt.

This was one of such times.

My five year old kid was hungry. He had no part in any deal I struck with whatever devil for sustenance. He just deserved to be fed when he was hungry. And that was my duty as a father.

So here was I out my front gate and out of options.

I decided to pray.

"Dear God, I'm in a mess" I mouthed silently.
"Help me feed my child, spare him the consequences of my inability".

After a few more words I walked cautiously down to Ibrahim's kiosk.

Miraculously he wasn't there but a young cousin of his was.

He gave me all I asked, further increasing my "credit line" (though he wasn't aware of my previous exposure).

I never expected not to have to make yet another tedious explanation of my indebtedness to Ibrahim.

I was grateful God answered my prayer.

My son got fed that day. . . . He still gets fed today. I can't help but be grateful to my invisible benefactor who answers prayers when I ask.

Even though, several times I take for granted the propriety accompanying the admonition to "ask and you shall receive, seek and you shall find, knock and the door shall be opened unto you".

I thank him for his unending faithfulness.