A stiffed moan from the little being laying beside me, woke me up.
My 8 months old baby, Amanda, made that sound.
She was darting her head effortlessly, left and right. I watched her for minutes, so I could understand what was going on.
Firstly, it was slow, rythmic, left, right. But now, she darted her head more fastly, pressure filled. Quickly, I grabbed her and held her in my arms.
“What is happening?” I asked myself.
I was utterly confused. Then it happened. She stopped turning her head. I was glad at first, but wait. Something wasn’t right. Amanda had stopped breathing.
No. No. No. This couldn’t be happening. Where would I start from?
I checked the time. It was 12:00AM, dot. I couldn’t cry for help, neither could I take her to a hospital. It then dawned on me. My daughter just died right in my arms. A cold shiver ran down my spine.
“But while men slept, his enemy came and sowed tares among the wheat and went his way.”
I heard those words like a soft whisper. Somebody spoke to me.
Quickly, I fell on my knees and started praying. It has been a long I did that. I was a Christian, yes. But I rarely prayed. I simply believed in his existence. I wasn’t hot nor cold. I was a lukewarm Christian.
“Whatsoever seed that was not planted by God, I uproot”. I kept on praying until I drifted into a deep sleep.
No. Trance. . . My Amanda could walk!! How come? But she’s just 8 months old. She was with an unknown man. He held her hand and they were both walking towards the river.