The River, the Fire, the Words, and the Lord’s Grace That Never Left Me
Some people inherit land. Some people inherit wealth. I inherited words.
Growing up, my father and his brother would often say, “As long as our lives are not lost, we can get back the money and the things we lost.” At the time, I never understood the depth of those words. But life would later reveal their meaning through experiences that shaped my understanding of life, loss, and grace.
Around the 16th of September 2002, the river beside our home rose violently during the night. My parents, my two sisters, my uncles, and aunties were preparing to sleep when the flood suddenly struck around 10 or 11 at night. The darkness turned into chaos as water rushed in and fear filled the home.
At that time, I was staying with my mother’s parents about fifteen miles away. When news reached me that the river had flooded our home, I was shocked. I immediately ran back home, not knowing what I would find. When I arrived, the house was still standing. I still remember seeing my father’s Bible and our hen with her chicks near the edge of the floodwaters, almost being taken away. Yet somehow, nothing was lost.
Years later, in 2010, during the Christmas holidays, I was with my parents in our village after visiting my grandparents when devastating news arrived—fire had destroyed my grandparents’ home. I rushed back overwhelmed with grief. The crying, the shock, and the helplessness of watching everything reduced to ashes is something I will never forget. A home is not just a structure; it holds memories, generations, and life itself.
Then in 2016, fire came again during the Christmas season, this time very close to our own home. We were at church nearly five miles away when news came that houses were burning. At that time, I was in my final year at Unitech, and all my final-year project documents were inside my laptop at home. I remember running home in fear, not knowing what had been lost.
When I arrived, I saw mothers crying, aunties weeping, and uncles standing helplessly as fire consumed nearby houses. Then I saw our house still standing. I ran to my mother, hugged her tightly, and cried. In the middle of smoke and fear, she said to me, “Mon, your laptop and all your school documents are safe.” I held onto her as I watched flames destroy my uncle’s house nearby.
Even today, that moment remains deeply engraved in my memory.
But my journey was not only marked by floods and fire. When I was a child, I became seriously ill with severe stomach pain. It reached a point where a doctor, Dr Marie—a Polish doctor working at our district health centre—told her nurses to monitor me, saying I would not survive more than five days as medicine could no longer help me. The pain was unbearable, something I cannot easily describe. Fear filled the home, but my parents stood firm in faith. Through tears, they prayed and trusted God.
Days later, the doctor returned expecting the worst. Instead, she was shocked. She saw me playing and looked at me saying, “Desmond, I thought you were dead.” My mother calmly replied, “Me and his dad serve a God who heals.” Even today, when my parents tell me that story, I see it as nothing but grace.
Recently, I found myself inside the hospital, staring at the walls as doctors did what they could with my body, thinking everything might be coming to an end for me. At the same time, the reality of treatment was also taking a toll on me financially. In that silence, all these memories returned—the river, the fire, the sickness, the fear, and the survival. And I understood something deeply personal: through it all, I have been carried.
The Lord’s grace has never left me. Through floods, through fire, through sickness, through financial strain, and through moments of fear, it has been grace that held me.
My father’s words now make sense in a way I could never see before. As long as life remains, hope remains. As long as grace remains, we are never alone.
Rivers may rise. Fire may destroy. Life may shake. But grace carries me through it all.
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