Written by: Melvin Isaacs
Article source: JOY! Magazine
I am 63 years old, the fourth child of eight – right in the middle. I don’t remember much from my childhood, and it wasn’t until I was about five years old that I began to understand what a mother or father was. Sadly, the two people I feared most in life were my mother and father. My engagement with them was sparse and almost non-existent, and they felt like strangers in my early years.
Encountering God early in life
Despite these challenges, I think I was a happy child. When I was eight and a half years old, God called me to salvation and faith in His Son, Jesus Christ. My late father became a Christian the year before I was born, and he often testified that he had prayed for my mother for nine and a half years before she gave her heart to the Lord. Even after she became a Christian, my mother remained a hard woman. As children, we would sometimes witness her beating my father while the car was idling in the driveway before he took us to school.
An upbringing marked by duty
I don’t recall having meaningful conversations with my parents – communication was always one-way, filled with instructions. By the time I reached my teenage years, life at home had changed considerably.
We were forced into house duties, despite my parents employing a maid. Every day, we were required to tend the garden, run errands, scrub floors, and wash dishes. I couldn’t understand why this was necessary with extra help in the house.
I never invited friends over. I was too afraid my parents would make them uncomfortable. When I was 19, a friend came to visit, and my mother chased her away like a dog – she never came back.
Physical and emotional wounds
At 20 years old, my parents threw a party to celebrate my father’s 50th birthday. While the guests were gathered, I was sitting with a friend when my mother called me into the kitchen. Without warning, she began beating me with her fists, right in front of relatives and young church members. She demanded to know why I was not in the prayer meeting instead of at the party. Helpless, I stood there as she hit me and then sent me to the scullery to wash the dishes. This was just one of many moments when she displayed hatred towards me – a bitterness that extended into my marriage and through the years.
Longing for acceptance
As time passed, our relationship became estranged, and I saw my parents less and less. However, there were moments when I longed to visit them. During these rare visits, my mother would offer me stale bread and tea, knowing I would decline. I later discovered that, when my siblings visited, roast beef and chicken were served. My parents showed no interest in my children – their grandchildren – but openly loved and cherished my nieces and nephews. They never acknowledged my birthdays or sent wishes to my children, nor did they invite us to family functions. Despite becoming a successful businessman, my parents did not share in my joy or celebrate my achievements.
A decision to forgive
When my father passed away in 2010, I made a decision in my heart. Despite the way my mother treated me and my children, I would care for her. I quietly contributed to her stay at a frail-care centre, though she never knew. In recent years her health deteriorated and she developed dementia. When I visited her, she was distant, and our interactions felt like mere duty.
One day, during a Bible study on the 26th of June, we discussed forgiveness. As others shared their stories, I listened but felt distant, thinking I had no need for reconciliation – I considered myself a good Christian. But that night, God stirred something in my heart. He impressed upon me to visit my mother. I had always told my children that if my mother ever asked for me, it would mean she wanted to make things right.
A moment of reconciliation
On the morning of 29th June, I went to visit, not knowing how to approach her. At 92 years old, she was frail, but when she saw me, her face lit up in a way I had never seen before. “I asked your brother, where is Melvin?” were her first words to me. She didn’t specify which brother, but God heard her ask for me, and He sent me to her. We chatted about small things until I felt the Lord urging me to address the deeper issues between us. Forgiveness can feel insurmountable – perhaps easier to move a mountain than to address the hurt we carry. But God’s grace is sufficient for these moments. I asked her if I could pray with her, and she reached out her hand. Emotions flooded me as I held the same hand that had caused me so much pain.
God’s healing touch
I prayed aloud, asking God to forgive me for my bitterness and to forgive my mother for the pain she had inflicted on me. I asked Him to cleanse our hearts from injustice and resentment. As I prayed, my mother wept – not from sorrow, but from joy. When I finished, she looked at me with a smile that I had never seen before. In that moment, joy and peace filled my heart. God was healing what had seemed impossible to mend. For the first time in my life, I felt an overwhelming desire to do anything for her. As I left, the nurses arrived to tend to her. I turned back one last time, and she waved goodbye, blowing me a kiss – the first time she had ever shown me such tenderness. And it was only then that I noticed: Mommy had green eyes.
Joy in the midst of loss
Six weeks later, my mother passed away. But I am filled with joy at the forgiveness and reconciliation that God granted us. This was not something I could have done on my own – it was a divine work of God’s grace.
This article is featured in the December issue of JOY! Magazine, which is now on sale nationwide! Pick up your copy from any leading supermarket, or read a digital version of this issue here: https://joygifts.co.za/product/joy-magazine-december-issue-2024/
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Date published: 15/12/2024
Feature image: LEFT: Sybil Isaacs. RIGHT: Image for illustrative purposes only.
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