"Remembering 13th March 2007."

March 13, 2007, was a day like any other for Jacob, an early riser with a strong sense of duty. He was headed to work, as usual, when his life took a sudden, unexpected turn. A collision—violent, unforeseen—left him lying on the ground, gravely injured. His head bore the brunt of the impact, blood clotting dangerously inside, threatening his very existence. 

The next few days were a blur. He had lost his memory, his speech. He couldn’t recognize his parents, the people who had been there his whole life. Whispers spread through the hospital halls—some said he wouldn’t survive, others murmured he might never be the same. But there was one thing that held Jacob steady through the chaos—God.

Days turned into a critical wait. For two days, the doctors hoped the bleeding would stop on its own. When it didn’t, surgery became inevitable. A scalpel’s touch, precise yet harsh, left behind a scar that would forever mark Jacob’s journey. He emerged from the operation, alive—yet transformed. Not just by the physical wound, but by the deeper, unseen battles he had fought in those hours teetering on the edge of life and death.

On the 15th day, as Jacob prepared to leave the hospital, his humour found a way to shine. “Do you recognize me?” he asked a doctor, who had once been a classmate. The doctor blinked, taken aback, unable to see the person she once knew behind the bandages and the exhaustion. Jacob laughed, breaking the tension, “Of course you don’t! Not with this towel on my head.” Laughter filled the room, a moment of lightness amidst so much darkness.

But the real challenge began when Jacob stepped back into the world. The scar on his head, deep and unmistakable, became a symbol of everything he had endured. At first, he hid it beneath caps, shielding himself from the cruel remarks and judgmental stares. “You’re disfigured,” some would say. “Why hide?” others would prod. Each word weighed heavy, pulling at the fragile threads of his recovery. 

The mirror became his enemy. One day, attempting to shave the remnants of his once-full head of hair, he looked at himself and felt broken. The razor snapped in his hand, a symbol of the shattered dreams he saw reflected back at him. His father offered to help, but Jacob, stubborn in his resilience, refused. He had to do this alone.

It wasn’t until Jacob faced his deepest fear—the world’s gaze without a cap to hide behind—that he truly began to heal. He walked into the public eye, scar and all, refusing to cower before judgment. Some people recoiled; others were curious. But Jacob smiled. He had been to the brink and back, and nothing as trivial as a scar could shake him anymore.

“God has kept me alive for a reason,” he thought. The same faith that had carried him through the hospital, through those whispered doubts and critical stares, now propelled him forward. Against all odds, Jacob rose from the ashes, stronger than ever. No matter how many times life knocked him down, he knew one thing for sure—he would rise again.

The scar, once a source of insecurity, became a badge of honour. It was proof that he had survived. More than that, it was a reminder that God had something bigger in store for him. “I will continue to do good,” Jacob said, his heart swelling with gratitude, “because God has a purpose for me, and I will fulfil it.”

Although I'm alone now I know God is with me all the way. He will too will be with you all also.

Although you Mum and Dad aren't with me, Thank You, Mum and Dad, for praying and taking care of me during my accident, thank you always, in life and Spirit.

God Bless Us All...

Jacob M