Hope of Nations
It was another sunny afternoon in the middle of the summer, beads of sweat trickling and a street preacher belching his lungs out oblivious of the heat.
Surprise and I were coming from the grocery store waiting for the public bus. After walking for a mile, after missing the first bus, we were both tired. My youngest son, Aka, lay half-asleep in my backpack, my shoulders were complaining and my back was about to break. Tino, my two year old son convinced he is an adult, refused to be strapped in his stroller, and was busy running around the bus station. I had to keep an eye on him and constantly grab his hand whenever he strayed towards the streets. The preacher stood by the corner of the street preaching hell and fire, bidding people passing by to avoid the wrath of God by accepting Jesus Christ. An enticing aroma of barbequed meat emanated from a Chinese restaurant behind us. Also tired and famished, Surprise kept looking at her phone, checking the time trying to make predictions on when the next bus will arrive. There were no seats, so we had to endure the wait on our feet.
As we battled our restlessness, tiredness and growing impatience, a man in his early forties joined us. More restless and more tired, he strutted his bicycle by a nearby tree and rested his back on the tree. In dirty jeans and a long sleeved shirt, that made it seem he was oblivious of the fact we were in the middle of a summer, he paced around as if to stretch his legs. Something about him, I could not grasp. He had a distant pensive gaze that hinted of inner turmoil, and deep longing. His face was devoid of any fragment of joy, pain and suffering were inscribed all over it. The irony was shocking, a few feet away was a preacher bellowing his lungs out about a God full of wrath, but loving enough to offer His only son, right in front of me was a man who needed to hear the gospel of hope. I did not know what to do.
Finally, my son tried to run to the streets and I caught him before he could go anywhere. That broke the ice.
"How old is he?" muttered the man in a long sleeved shirt. "He is only two and half years. The other one is four months," my wife answered with her award winning smile.
That smile won my heart.
"I have a six year old son and a two year old too," eyes affixed at my two boys, he added with obvious dejection and pain, "But I have never seen my two year old son."
My wife has better people skills than I do, so she did the wise thing and took over the conver