Author: Neyzielle Ronnicque

When God says no, it means no. I keep telling and reminding myself of this sentence for a week now but then again, I’m asking for an extension.

But He said no.

Last Monday, I should have went home for an interview for a scholarship grant. I didn’t go, and I heard God said “Hmmm.” Came the following days and He showed me the consequences of disobeying.

I cried but then again, God said no.

I took back my resignation letter comes Thursday, because I said, “Lord, I need more time.”

That night, when I was singing my heart out in worshiping Him, I clearly heard Him asked, “Why do you fear?”

So, instead I asked Him for signs. Perhaps, signs that I have known will come sooner or later. Again, I plead. I said I’m going to stay.

But then again, He says no.

Because He gave me the impression on that Friday morning as He says, “You see, child? Devil is not and will never be working with you because I am here. Why do you fear?” And He led me to Joshua 1:9.

I’m writing this tonight because as everyone in the team are now sleeping while I am here in the porch of this resort room waiting for my photos to be uploaded, again, I am bargaining.

I said He knows my heart. And I clearly heard Him say, “Yes. But I said no.”

Maybe circumstances are “working together for my own good.” That I was really supposed to be feeling that dread for thee days for some reasons. That He’s reminding me once again that if it is for me, I will always be included in the plans. That if it’s for me, I should have that peace in my heart.

But then again, God said NO. Who am I to disobey? Much-needed words come unexpectedly on the most inappropriate time and then I came upon Psalm 118.

When God says NO. I say NO.

Disclaimer: This essay was first published on June 2, 2011 on my Facebook profile’s notes. So, the 16-year old me had grammatical errors so now, I’m proofreading my own work. Man, this still brings me to tears.

Days like this bring back the hurting that I have long kept deep in my heart and senses. It was hard, really, harder than my on-the-brink-of-failing algebra and trigonometry.

For in my young age, I was six years old then, he left us; my mother, my two younger brothers, and I. I never really understood him. The same questions kept bothering me for years. Is there a need for him to go away? Why did he do it? Is there something I can do to make him stay?

I had sleepless nights and I cried myself to sleep. No matter how hard I tried not to, it was not that easy. Being the eldest, I needed to look after my younger brothers. I needed to constantly monitor them if they had eaten on time or not, if they had took a bath on time, and I needed to provide some of the motherly care that I knew they need to have at their very young age.My mother is a nurse, and she was not always at home.  And my father? He’s an OFW, and I hated myself for hating him so much.

I realized that he never really left us, physically, yes, but now, I understand better. He did it for him to provide our daily necessities.

My father is my happiness. A mere thought of him brightens up my day. My father is my best friend, my confidante. Hearing his voice completes my day– though he was not there at the times I needed him to. Those times, I knew I hated him because I was missing him.

 I hated him because I got jealous every time I see my classmates being carried by their father, playing with them, making them happy. I hated him because five days a week, I see children being driven to school by their fathers. I hated him because I missed those times when he does the same thing with me.

He was my companion on going to school and every 4 in the afternoon, I will run to him, because I know he is waiting for me outside my school to pick me up.

I hated him because I missed those times that he would carry me home and leave his motorbike in school for I demanded him to do so.  After he left, I became a loner. I never talked to other children, even my best friends. I went home alone, crying in the middle of the road. They understood why.

But after what seems like an eternity, I regained myself. I became the happy-go-lucky girl my father taught me to be.

My father is my happiness. He knows my story. He knows my ups and downs. He knows why I am this way. He knows my deepest and darkest secrets. He is my joy. And though I [still] call him late at night, after his very stressful work, he never gets mad at me. He understands me. He loves me. Now, I became the lady he always wanted me to be [I hope and pray].

It’s been 11 years in my 16 years of existence that I have loved the same man all over again.  As the November breeze caresses my face and drifts me back to the times I hated my father, I am regretting. I just look at the sky, as I always do, and thank God for giving me a father whom I can lean on to; a very loving father who will always be there to guide and protect me; a father who became my best friend; the best father among his three children and a father who became the best husband to my mom.

No matter how that experience kept on hunting me, I thank it for making me who I am now. I will never hate my father again.  I love him and I always will. After all, he is my father– our protector, our provider. He will always be my Hero, he’s the best and he makes me happy.

I am a daddy’s girl, I am his princess. I will always be happy and contented because I will always be his baby.

Writer’s addition: It has been 15 years since he left the family for a greener pasture but there was never a day that I long to see and hug him again because the baby girl is in need of her comfort zone. Yes, because I’m forever his baby.