There isn’t anything special about me. I’ve never thought so. In school when once we were made to say aloud “I am special”, I didn’t want to at first. I don’t think I believed it. I just went along with it and I ended up smiling because I thought it was a nice idea; to be special. When I was with my mother, she told me I was beautiful. I didn’t believe her. I didn’t think she was lying, but I knew she thought I was beautiful because she gave birth to me. I couldn’t take her word for it. One time, after I washed my hair, I came out of the bathroom with my hair wrapped in a towel. She said I looked like one of those African princess, that I was her beautiful African daughter. I thought she was being silly, that I looked nothing like an African princess, and that I just had a towel on my hair because it was wet. I told her that. She said that I was still beautiful.
I used to pray a lot asking Jesus to come quickly and take the good people with him. It wasn’t fair to them that He was taking so long and making them suffer waiting for him. The church secretary said that the reason Jesus hasn’t come yet was that He was waiting for us to get ready for Him, for me to get ready for Him. I didn’t think that was fair. Why make those who are ready wait just because of me? What’s so special about me that He has to wait for me? Don’t do that. Many people have died already. People are still dying. There are people ready and waiting right now. Why wait for me? Don’t wait for me. Take those who are ready. The other night I told Him again. Don’t wait for me. I’m not that special.
He’s still not here.