Chitungwiza — After a lengthy sojourn in South Africa, we dearly missed home. For five years, we were separated from everything — our families, culture — everything.
The relocation had yielded mixed results. We had lost much, including our possessions, though the experience had added lifetime lessons. My family was desperate for a fresh start. We sought spiritual intervention, anything, otherwise...
Back in South Africa, KwaZulu-Natal (KZN) to be exact, we had confronted untold misfortunes. Family members were always sick. The room resembled a mini-clinic, stashed with different medicines.
Our twins, Dudziroyaishe and Davidzoyaishe delivered in 2012, were preterm, coming three months earlier. Each weighed just above a kilo. Without God's intervention, we could have written their obituary.
Each day, I entered the ward, the fear of being greeted by despairing news struck me. But they held on, aided by a highway of tubes inside their respective incubators. After two weeks, they were discharged. For a while, we became a family once again, though our problems persisted.
The birth of the two brought a fair share of blessings. After 17 years of beer drinking, I finally quit. This was an achievement, considering the mishaps that I had accumulated due to the escapades. The favours were momentary though.
Zvikomborero, our first daughter fell from the first floor, fracturing her leg. She was in plaster for a while, missing school for a protracted while. Munashe, the second born was overwhelmed with rare health complications.
He had earlier on recovered from a rare skin rash, that needed substantial treatment to subsidise. On this instance, it was worse, rendering him immobile. I carried him to the hospital, where he was admitted for three days. While my wife nursed the twins, I stayed in hospital with Munashe.
At my work place, the original owner was selling. The new proprietor could not accommodate foreign nationals. That was it. We bid farewell to workmates, after a three-yer stint. Without a defined destination, we had to remain optimistic, especially in an alien venue.
Fast forward to April, 2014.
Our initial encounter with Bishop Apostle Sibiya was an accident. My family was searching for a place to worship. A friend had suggested that we try kwaSibiya — meaning Glory Ministries. After some prolonged inquiries, we attended our initial church service at Bethel Worship Centre.
The atmosphere was inviting. We encountered familiar faces, fostering our trust in the church and its doctrine. The late Elder Pardon Madhedhe was forever in a friendly mood, always willing to usher us into the new home. The sermons were precise. We were coming for more.
A few weeks later, the Bishop invited us to his home, after a deliverance session. We did not know how to react. It was our initial meeting with a man of God inside his home. But the story of Zacchaeus, the tax collector, recounted by Luke came flooding back. On the day of appointment, we trooped to his residence.
Inside the house, he sat relaxed adjacent to a large glass table. A bowl of fruits occupied the middle. The atmosphere exuded a soothing, healing welcome. After greetings, we commenced to chat. Immediately, I was absorbed by his listening ability, a rare aptitude among many. We focused on our family, previous church and our mission in South Africa.
Our discussion continued into the night. By the time we left, my wife and I were convinced we were set for a new beginning. My spirit told me we had joined a home that would revive our near-fading expectations. The elongated chitchat had set the pace for a revival.
After the meeting, it took me short while to showcase myself.
To be continued...!
Written By Derick Matsengarwodzi
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