Heaven will not fall

Dear God,

I have a small concern. Not a hard-knock one (so no floods required). Just a quiet worry and observation, the kind that taps at your heart and whispers, “Something is missing here.” I think, somehow, we have misplaced our common heart.

Wait, don’t frown. Hear me out.

I was on my way to a wedding, feeling generous and slightly dramatic, as weddings tend to make us. I stepped into one of those enormous supermarkets, (the kind that steals time from your life and returns it with no apology). After thirty minutes of intense adult indecision, I stood before two very beautiful, very expensive gifts.

I weighed them carefully. (Which to drop…. which to pick?)

Then I did what any respectable African aunty with a good reputation to maintain would do: I bought both for them.

After all, what is money if not paper that likes to misbehave?

Irony, however, was waiting patiently for me.

This giant store (this cathedral of consumption) had not a single gift bag. Not one. Apparently, they can sell crystal without dignity. (Isn’t that cute? Sometimes in life, the people you think have everything – DONT, and the ones you think don’t have – DO). So, I took my treasures to a smaller shop to wrap them nicely. The attendants were cheerful, admiring the gifts, praising my excellent taste. I smiled politely, wondering if that praise would survive if they knew the price tag.

I sat down peacefully to wait. Scrolling on my phone. Breathing.

Then… the atmosphere in the room changed.

Silence fell like bad news. Faces stiffened. The young people wrapping my gifts, who had been bubbling with chatter, went silent. Whispered panic flew across the room with wild eyes and frantic hand signals. The atmosphere thickened, like soup you forgot on the fire.

I thought, Ah. Maybe one of their oyibo-ogas has entered with his holy authority.

Then, two managers appeared. Two serious-looking gentlemen, standing before me like pallbearers at a small, impromptu funeral.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” one began, voice trembling.

“Yes, my dear?”

“There has been… an accident.”

“Okay”. “What kind of accident?”

“We are very, very sorry.”

“Okay,” I said again slowly, putting my phone down. “What. Happened?”

At this point, the staff were looking at me like villagers begging the king not to burn the town.

The panic was tangible enough to tough. I was baffled.

“Did someone die?” I asked. (My mind first ran to my car, did someone bash into a perfectly packed car?)

Finally, bless his terrified heart, one manager found his voice, stammering out the tragic news: “The em…. the…young man… he …em…tripped …. em…while carrying the em…. gift with the…em…with…. em the…. glassware… and it fell… and …. em…. em…it broke.”

He flinched, (I mean, physically flinched), waiting for the sky to fall on him.

I looked around the room. And I was confused.

This? All this fear? For glass? (Well, the most expensive one, yes), but still just glass, was accidentally dropped.

“So?” I asked. “He tripped. And the glass broke.”

Silence.

They were expecting rage. Shouting. Demands. Blood sacrifice. Maybe a Greek tragedy? That I would transmogrify into a fire-breathing dragon and unleash the plagues of Egypt upon them?

“We are so sorry, ma’am,” the manager said. “Should he pay for it?”

Pay? Father Lord!

“Why on earth should he pay for it?” I asked. “Was it intentional? Did he throw it on the floor to express himself artistically? “Please, wrap the other gift, and I’ll be on my way.” I said unceremoniously.

They just stood there, staring. They couldn’t believe it! The thought that I might simply forgive a small, human error seemed completely alien to them.

“Ma’am, it’s very expensive. Our management is prepared to pay.”

“And then take it out of his poor salary, right?” I asked, my eyes fixed on the manager, who’s sudden inability to meet my gaze confirmed my suspicion. (I knew already by their looks that the salary must be peanuts, and if I know the foreign race that owns that shop very well, they are mean enough to make him pay for it or even worse sack him). I had spied one of the oyibo-oga signally from his throne on the 1st floor.

“Listen to me, gentlemen,” I said, leaning in. “It is perfectly alright. I accept the apology. Now, please, everyone, just breathe.”

The immediate, visible rush of relief that flooded the room was a gift in itself. It swept through like rain after harmattan. Then they brought the boy forward.

God… that boy. Pale. Shaking. Carrying the weight of possible unemployment, shame, and broken glass on his back. He bowed deeply, apologizing like someone begging for his future. Would they have sacked him? Really? Was a simple, clumsy trip really an offense punishable by unemployment and debt? The panic is his eyes wouldn’t leave me. I will bet my life on the fact that more that five lives were surviving on his merge salary and losing it was terrifying him.

I smiled at him. “Don’t worry, dear. It’s just glass. Heaven will not fall.”

As I was leaving with the other wrapped gift that survived, the manager insisted on presenting me with a bottle of wine, a gift “from all of us,” because “it’s rare to meet a heart like yours.” After a lot of insistence, I finally took it, because arguing further felt like wasting a good gesture.

As I drove home that day, I wondered. I truly wondered. They were shocked……(Dad, visibly shocked) …. that I didn’t raise hell. They expected rage, recrimination, and a demand for payment. They thought that a simple act of human forgiveness meant that I carry a “rare heart.”

Rare? Hmmm. That word stayed with me all the way home. So, I ask you, Lord: When did empathy become rare? When did mistakes turn into crimes? When did forgiveness become a luxury item?

The boy tripped. The glass broke. Heaven did not fall. (According to my own wise adopted daddy and mentor, TG). Those words he used to say to us then, when we over-stress, or over fuzz on any matter has made a whole lot of impact for me. Simple words, but they hold the essence of “letting go” for me.

If you lose an expensive gift…. so? Heaven will not fall.

If you spill the coffee on your expensive suit… breathe. Heaven will not fall.

If you miss a deadline…. most times, it’s okay. Heaven will not fall.

If you lose that opportunity… calm down. Heaven will not fall.

So why do we crush people over simple mistakes?

Why deduct errors from already dead salaries? Write it off. Heaven will not fall.

Why deny benefits because profits might dip? Approve it. Heaven will not fall.

Why are you dragging a matter to court when a simple sit down and settle it will suffice. Make peace. Heaven will not fall.

Why withhold promotions or raise when people (not machines) carry your business? Choose grace. Heaven will not fall.

Until we start living with robots with no feelings and no children waiting at home, remember this: people are your greatest asset. Be kind to people.

And whether you choose kindness or not… God will still be God. Heaven will still stand.

This is your daughter, Lord. Still believing that k

indness should be normal… not rare and checking in.