6 FATHERLESS

6 FATHERLESS

He had died the day after her thirteenth birthday. Now, as she neared her twenty-third birthday, almost six months after her arrival at the hospital, she thought more and more about him.

He had been one of Sri Lanka's most prominent faces, a man renowned and respected - and rich. He had found wealth in the chambers of the law, and he had built his estate carefully and wisely, as any crafty lawyer should. He was a judge in the city of Batticaloa, where Nita and her brother were reared. He was her father.

Nita loved her father as she would love no one else. He taught her to play tennis and to swim. She had been afraid of the water - she would only put her toes in - until the judge rescued her from everybody's taunting and teasing and lifted her up on his shoulders. Together they strode out into the Indian Ocean. There she was, four-year-old Nita, dangling her legs in the water and kicking and squealing with delight. She wasn't afraid any more; her daddy was the rock. At the end of that day they had to drag her out of the water because she was having too much fun to leave it.

The Edwards were fifth generation Episcopalians, proud of the Anglican Church, taught to be proper in every facet of life; they were clean, orderly, and educated people - nothing less would suffice. Social graces were high priorities, and the "dignity" of the human being was emphasized.

Nita was engrossed in her education at a proper school on Sri Lanka's west coast when her father had his first heart attack. He was a dynamo, always joking about dying in harness. "You never know," he used to say with a chuckle, "I might just pop off suddenly someday." And Mrs. Edwards would always return with, "Dad, don't say that. You were a fatherless child; I was a fatherless child. God will never let that happen to our children." But .. .

He was driving fifty miles to his chambers each day and the pace was wearing. At the end of a typical return trip, he collapsed on his bed, complaining of chest pains. At the hospital, his condition was labelled critical, and the Edwards family flew in all the best cardiovascular specialists they could. Two days later the judge suffered a massive, thumping heart attack. The specialists wrote him off. But he was still in harness - he refused to die.

For nearly three weeks he hung on. His wife sat by his side nearly around the clock, sponging him and shaving him herself, sometimes refusing even to break away for a shower. She gave him every injection, administered the bedpan, and stood watch at death's door.

Slowly he regained strength.

Very early one morning he began tossing restlessly.

His wife got up and walked toward him.

"What time is it?" he whispered hoarsely.

"Two."

The judge smiled, "It's our daughter's birthday, then."

In those wee hours, Judge Edwards dictated a cable:

"Loving birthday greetings to darling daughter. May God's sheltering wings protect you and guide you all along life. With love and kisses, Dad and Mother."

Usually Nita had a huge birthday party at the hostel in Colombo where she lived while she was in school. But today there was no party planned. Mrs. Edwards wanted to impress the children with the gravity of Father's condition. Nita's aunt, her mother's twin, was to come by the hostel at nine o'clock the next day to take her home to spend a day with her cousins - a substitute for the cancelled party.

At eight, Nita lined up with her mates for daily inspection. Her locker was in order, her shoes were shiny black, and as she stood erect, waiting for the matron, a slashing abdominal pain doubled her over. She dropped to her knees and clung to the bedpost, praying. The pain grew more intense every second for a full twenty minutes, and then finally it stopped as suddenly as it had begun.

Nita waited soberly in the foyer until her aunt came. They drove to her neighbourhood and walked toward the house. Coming to meet them was another uncle - not this aunt's husband, but the husband of her father's sister. He had come looking for Nita's aunt.

Nita smiled broadly at him, but he ignored her.

"Hm! The old boy doesn't even greet me!" she teased.

The uncle walked up to them and looked squarely at the aunt.

"They want the children to come home," he said grimly. "The judge is ill."

Nita stopped with a jolt. She knew instinctively-her daddy was dead.

The next hours were like a whirlwind. Nita wept in anguish, unaware of how she was being transported across the country to her parent's home. Her uncle and aunt tried to walk her up the drive, but her legs refused to function. She could see the big double gates swing open; she could see the many cars in the driveway; she could see that all the lights were on in the house, but she couldn't face any of it. She threw herself into her mother's arms.

"Mama! Why did God let this happen to us?" Her mother was silent in her own sorrow.

Nita was shattered. She cried out for her daddy in her sleep for several nights. She stumbled numbly through the funeral, as her brother Ted stood beside the casket like a block of wood, showing no emotion. Her mother wept constantly and repeated, "Our God could never make a mistake; our God never makes a mistake."

As Nita gained some control in the weeks and months that followed, a taut bitterness drew across her heart. "Daddy's gone to be with Jesus," people told her as they consoled the family. But Nita just sneered inside at the meannness of anyone - Jesus included - who would claim to love her and still take her daddy away. Her family's status meant nothing to her; she had never been impressed by wealth. The comforts of life were conveniences to her, and nothing more. Nothing compared to the love she felt for that man.

Now he was snatched away.

Life changed in dozens of minute ways, all of which added up to grief for Nita. Now her mother walked into the bedroom each morning at six to say, "Time for prayers." Daddy had always sneaked in or hopped in or bounded in. And he always dug up all the bedsheets and blankets and searched for her tiny toes, wiggling them and ho-hoing as Nita giggled. And he always carried her down to the den for prayers.

There were no more hunting trips. Nita always rode on her father's shoulders, carrying the gun, until he spotted the target. He taught her to shoot. Every game she knew, she had learned from him. He was the only person she shared her most precious secrets with.

Now it had all soured. When she heard "God is love," she rankled. It was a ridiculous idea to her. She saw the phrase painted on the wall of a Pentecostal church, and she felt herself flooding with animosity. Her mother took to quoting Romans 8:28, "All things work together for good to them that love God," and Nita grew annoyed by the obvious blasphemy of it. She was alone in the world, and she decided to fight back with bare fists.

To get back at God, Nita began a campaign of deliberate disobedience. When her mother advised her to study, she neglected her studies. Although her mother paid fifteen dollars an hour for tuition, Nita skipped classes to go to the movies. When she could escape, she ditched church services. She poured herself instead into her sports. If she had a fever and her Mother sent her to bed, she waited until her back was turned and then grabbed the tennis racket and took off to rejoin her crowd of rowdies. And she would stay out as late as she liked, thank you.

Her mother was suffering too, since the judge's death, but Nita had no idea. Now, with Nita rebelling in this way, her mother's heart was shattered. Still, she stood her ground in a quiet way, never forcing decisions on her daughter, only advising as gently as she could. Nita refused it all, and went her own way for three years.

But behind her locked bedroom door, Nita's tough exterior gave way to tears of weakness. She was confused. She did not know how to cope without the foundation her father had provided. And she did not know what to do with the horrible empty longing for peace that she felt every day of her life - a longing she had never revealed to anyone.

She began attending various churches in Colombo: Catholic, Presbyterian, Episcopalian, Methodist, Lutheran, Baptist and even Pentecostal. But in every place she found something to sneer at: a misquoted Scripture, an undignified worship format, whatever.

One night, Nita was restless and unable to sleep - unusual for her. She jumped out of bed and decided to raid the refrigerator. She had just stuffed her mouth with good English candy when she heard groaning in another part of the house. She walked toward it and came to her mother's room. The door was ajar, so she stuck her foot in, then her head.

The clock on the dresser read 2:10. Her mother was kneeling at her bedside, her face turned upward, tears drenching her face.

"Lord, I don't ask for fame," she cried. "I don't ask for wealth. I just ask that my children will turn their lives over to you, and live for you all the days of their lives. Please save Nita."

Nita's stony sixteen-year-old heart began an inexorable melting. She tiptoed back to her room, the chocolate having gone tasteless in her mouth.

But the Holy Spirit was quietly at work from the outside as well. A group of Pentecostal young people kept pestering Nita to attend one of their monthly youth parties. She always said yes and then failed to show up. Pentecostals were not her cup of Anglican tea. This loudmouthed hallelujah shouting was a bit barbarian as far as she was concerned. Nita preferred dignified worship.

The invitations kept coming, though, and finally Nita resolved to go just once to get the pests off her back. She was surprised to find it a pleasant evening after all. They served cookies and cake at someone's home and showed a movie about a drug addict getting his life straightened out. They sang choruses and prayed - which seemed a little pious to Nita - but all in all they were quite a jolly group and she enjoyed herself.

The love she felt in the presence of Christian young people finally snared her completely. The classic verse of Scripture, John 3:16, hit home one day without warning. Suddenly Nita realized that God loved her enough to give up His own precious Son ...

She thought back to her own father's love, and through that comparison she began to realize the magnificence of the Heavenly Father's love. Shaken, thrilled, and filled with awe, Nita determined to take hold of this Heavenly Father and never let go. She soon settled into the Pentecostal church that her new friends attended, and within the year she was gloriously filled with the Holy Spirit and baptized in water.

"Father, even if it costs me my last drop of blood," Nita vowed on November 16, 1968, "I will live my life for you.”

It was a solemn covenant, but as a busy, enthusiastic Christian, Nita soon forgot all about it. God, however, had placed it on file. It was best that Nita could not see ahead eight years, to the day she would lie scared and helpless in a hospital bed, when her Heavenly Father would call up that old covenant again.

Nita roused herself from her memories.

That was all so long ago. She was strong and vibrant then, and she had taken it all so lightly. Now she was a dying cripple cut down senselessly by some strange quirk of fate. It would almost be better to die. But death too seemed paralysed. She was in some strange time warp. Day folded into dreary day and the only thing she really knew was that she was sliding inch by inch into some horrible death - waiting, just waiting.