Keeping Faith in the Messiah

Doctors and nurses were milling about as busy bees. It never failed to surprise her how diligently they worked, always on their toes for their patients. If her mother had been here, she would have said, ‘Doctors are Gods on our land, you must respect them’. Her memory stays now, as do her teachings.

She traced the familiar path to room number 84. “Hey, Dad.” She peeked in. He smiled and it was enough of a sign for her to enter. She placed a frame on the nightstand– a young picture of him, laughing as he flew kites with his friends. The doctors didn’t promise her anything, but she hoped against hope, that he’d be alright.

“Could you get me the pot here?” he whispered in his feeble voice.

She was staggered to find the peonies she had planted in his balcony, fresh as ever. She wondered if his nurse tended to it. Carefully picking up the pot of flowers that were her father’s favorites – symbols of wellness, prosperity and honor – she walked towards his bedside.

Plucking out a peony, he held it out to her.

“My time’s up, darling. Your mother said God saves but well, here I am, having to leave my little girl all alone. You’ve always been the one that brought me honor and now, I surrender my honor to you for safekeeping. You’ll take care of it, won’t you?”

Her lips quivered; eyes shut, blocking tears that threatened to spill. She clasped his scarred hands in her warm ones.

“I know the situation is not as good as we anticipated, but Dad, hear me once. There is something so much more powerful than us, than the world. The eye that sees all. You just need to believe in it the way you believe in me.”

The nurse entered, signaling her time up. She sniffled and took the peony from her father’s hand. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said, pecking his forehead.

As she turned, he saw her silhouette against the blinding light of the corridor.

He looked at his hands. The scars were gone.