The Day the Bow Breaks

By S. P. Scott

I was told to pray - and I did. Why then was I left disappointed, fearful and broken? The day the bow breaks is for anyone who has had their prayer answered in the opposite direction to where it was pointed. Anyone who, ironically - felt afraid to pray for fear of the battle that may ensue, one they feel no physical strength or mental will, to e

• Language: English
• Publisher: S. P. Scott
• Release date: Dec 12, 2022
• ISBN: 9789692692489

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THE DAY THE BOW BREAKS

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S. P. Scott

Copyright © 2022 S. P. Scott

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

This book was written as seen through the viewpoint of the author. Any names, or likenesses mentioned have been created or changed according to the author’s creative right to do so.

ISBN: 978-9-69-269248-9 (E-book)

ISBN: 978-9-69-269249-6 (Paperback)

Dedication

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To my first child and only son, Ruel whose name means – ‘A Friend of God’, and whose kind, loving and caring nature, is most endearing.

. . .

The Day The Bow Breaks

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The day the bow breaks, the arrow splays – left lonely on the ground

With furrowed brows we then bemoan, the opportunities missed - by its brokenness

But you, whose heart is governed by His, have somehow found a way through the mist

And with a smile, you work – you toil

Then little by little – bit by bit, your cheeky smile – makes it all – all right.

… Your smile makes me smile …

I Love You.

S. P. Scott (Mum)

THE DAY THE BOW BREAKS

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S. P. Scott

One

I

fell in love with him way before the moment I felt him move inside of me. Long before his gender was even confirmed, we bonded - which surprised me greatly. From childhood my plan was for a girl only. One would think I was the master of invitro-gender assignment and that, by insisting on absolutely no male child, it would somehow just happen – well, for someone else maybe.  But my just one – and ‘it must be a girl’ mantra, was not to be realised. That plan was altered by someone … The Creator, who decided I should have a boy first, which later confirmed the common saying, ‘He works all things out for our good’.

And, it is good.

Soon, and my son approached the last term in year five. Then he was granted permission to walk to and from school unaccompanied. Along with his newly acquired modicum of independence, and unfiltered glee, he accepted his first smart phone. His father and I were certain that between tracker apps and calls, his whereabouts – that is - safe arrival at school and home, were covered. Not long and we had an established routine: every morning as he entered the school yard, he or I would call - just to confirm he got there safely and that he was punctual. The ritual was repeated each evening as he exited those gates. Admittedly, nothing lessened my anxious wait, particularly for his knock on our front door, which after accounting for feeding the horses through the fence lining the path to and from school, something many of the children did primarily as they walked back, or gazing leisurely as he chatted with his friends, should be within the maximum expected thirty minutes.

It worked beautifully.

Today, however, being midweek and given the performance of my Hospital Trust the previous day, was set to be one of my busiest workdays - which, thanks to the horrid train journey, was off to an incredibly frustrating start. There was one cancellation after another. Retiring to bed would come easy on a drearily overcast and gloomy day such as this. And as if the train journey was not enough, then came the near stampede, as we all seemed to have alighted at the same station in time to join the already lengthy queue, crawling in funeral-like procession towards the lonely Oyster card-scanning machine.

Being busy for any reason is widely noted to be unconducive to one’s ability to focus and unfavourable to hearing anyone or anything, particularly when compounded by being in the throes of a milieu of this kind. Never mind the scare induced by those running frantically in the opposite direction, determined to get on said train, leaving the rest of us bracing against the rail for fear of tumbling like  dominoes. Thoroughly perturbed by the morning’s shenanigans, I was sad to have missed  mine and my son’s daily catchups for the first time. It was easy to settle on what I thought was most likely the primary contributor to him forgetting our usual call - his wandering mind… when his friends he finds.

Pray for Ruel.

Amid that perfect storm, one would be forgiven for having an attack of schizophrenia - declaring auditory hallucinations, would be perfectly understandable. Any advice to get the queue moving a tad faster than what appeared to be a step per hour, would have been welcomed from any voice - coming from anywhere – one ‘divine’ in nature, even better. But ‘pray for Ruel’, was not what anyone would have envisaged’.

After nearing the exit and delirious from total exhaustion, I made the customary right turn - when just there, I heard it again, Pray for Ruel.

The distance from the train station to my desired destination was normally a fifteen-minute brisk walk. It was a route I knew well, but, as if thrown by the stern directive, momentarily I was a little befogged. I stopped by the estate agent adjacent the station. I peeked in, hoping to buy myself some time. I needed to steady myself – yes, to collect my thoughts. After the tumultuous start to the morning and now the added swell of anxiety induced by the