Runyararo
Present
God is real. This thought rang loud in Runyararo Kuchiva’s mind and heart, as she sat beneath the warmth of the sun in the garden of the home she shared with her father and her brother, Clemence. From the time that she was young she had always understood this to be true.
She had grown up knowing all the famous Bible stories; her mother had read them to her from a well-worn story book every night. She had gone to Sunday school at Presbyterian Church every week from the time that she was very little, and then when she was a few years older she had attended the church her father had founded at their home. God had been a huge part of her life.
She even remembered the first time she had prayed her own prayer, days after her mother’s funeral. It had been a simple prayer; a child’s cry. But she still remembered what she had felt then. It had been a dark night but she had felt peace flow through her like a river of light, filling her up and strengthening her inside. She had never forgotten that moment. She had carried that experience with her ever since.
She had remembered it through pre-school, through primary school and all the way to form six. She had remembered through the disappointment of having her dreams of going to university in Australia crushed by her strict father and the crumbling economy. She had remembered through the uncertainty of bond notes and riots and coups.
But now as she sat on one of the plastic chairs, her Bible open, waiting for people to arrive for the church service, she wondered where that feeling of peace had gone.
Runyararo sighed and that sigh expressed all her discontentment. She felt so dissatisfied. The feeling was so strong it was almost a physical ache in her chest. It wasn’t just that she was stuck in a home full of strife; her father and Clemence were always arguing. But church, the one place she felt she could connect with God just…wasn’t the same anymore.
She didn’t know what had changed. But more often the people who came to the meetings were grating on her nerves.
The people who attended her father’s church prayed loudly and sang even louder, during the service. They shouted their “Hallelujahs” and “Amens” and “Ponda Satans” but when the hour had passed, they would stand around the tea table and gossip.
‘Have you heard about VaTonderai’s son? Apparently he is living in Borrowdale with some girl from Zambia. And they are not even married.’
‘How about Mai Rumbidzai? Nezuro vakatadza kutenga chingwa. Chingwa here? Apparently she is broke. Broke? When she has been driving around in her Prado like she is the First Lady? Hede!’
Sometimes she had tried to draw the conversation to other things, asking them What had they thought of the service? Did they think that people should be living by the Ten Commandments now? Questions that she had hoped would draw them to talk about God with her. But they would always answer with a rushed ‘Oh very very good. It was nice. Your father is very good.’
In those moments frustration would rise up within her, tingling in her throat. She had grit her teeth to keep from shaking her fists at them and shouting that surely that was not all they had received from the sermon?
God is real, she thought again. But He is not in this place.
She did not mean that He was not there physically; God was everywhere after all. But, she did not think that the people who came to these church meetings carried Him in their heart. But then, who was she to judge? Maybe they did, but were just falling short as all humans did and backsliding into futile conversations. They weren’t perfect and neither was she. But…she wanted more.
More than once she had found herself thinking of leaving, of simply going to another church or not coming to these meetings altogether. She was hungry for the Word.
Whilst she didn’t always understand what it said and sometimes it would be like staring at a blank wall. Other times, she would feel the words spark like a fire inside her heart and she would know clearly what was being said. She wanted to feel that spark more often; to understand. But no one here would help her to.
Yet, even the thought of not attending, she knew, was taboo. And to leave would be blasphemy. Well, according to her father anyway.
If she even mentioned that she was unhappy with the church meetings he would be far from pleased. If she even hinted at not attending he would furious. It was important to him that his children attended these meetings.
Runyararo shook her head. It was bad enough that Clemence didn’t go to church, and her father was always fighting with him about it. If she was to voice her thoughts there would be more strife in their home than there already was. She was in an impossible situation.
She lifted her head when she heard the sound of the gate opening. It looked like the first church goers were arriving.
Runyararo sighed and leaned back in her chair. She needed just a few more minutes. She let her gaze wander and rest on the leaves that canopied above her. They were a beautiful, rich green colour and glinted emerald when they caught the sunlight. Mwari, she prayed, as she looked at beautiful work of His hands.
I know that you are real. I have felt Your presence in my heart so many times. But I cannot feel you here. Please, Mwari, how can I find You? I want to know you in a deeper way than I feel I am getting to know you here. I want to leave, but you know my situation. Please, may you send someone who will teach me more about You. In Jesus’ name I pray. Amen.”
There was no audible voice from heaven, no whisper in her ear, but Runyararo knew that God had heard her. She took a deep breath and picked up her Bible, then standing, prepared herself to greet and usher in people before the service started.
