When the time came
It was the early nineties. I lived and worked in Belgium, where life in that quiet, orderly European country had settled into a comfortable rhythm. But the world was shiftingwalls were falling, borders opening. Then, out of nowhere, came an offer too good to refuse. London. A new project. A future full of promise
At the time, I was working on my dissertation in biomedical engineering, designing devices that could detect the bodys biopotentialslistening to the heart and brain without incisions or needles. The future of medicine seemed within reach.
But this offer meant moving. I hesitated for days before telling my mother.
She sat in her old armchair that evening, fingers tracing the beads of her rosary. I gathered my courage.
“Mum I have to tell you something Ive been offered a job. In London.”
Her eyes lifted to minedeep, clear, but shadowed with weariness.
“Thats far, love,” she said softly. No reproach, only quiet sorrow.
“Its an opportunity I could finish my research, work with people who understand the field”
She was silent. Only the faint tremble of her lips betrayed her. Then, tears pooled in the corners of her eyes. I frozenever in my life had I seen her cry.
“Youll leave and what of me?” she whispered. “Im turning eighty soon. My strength isnt what it was.”
I pressed her hand to my cheek.
“Mum I wont abandon you. But I have to think of the future too.”
Her gaze sharpened, almost stern.
“Remember this, my girl. The Lord doesnt waste a single thing. If He opens the way for you, youll go. If not then He means for you to stay.”
From then on, strange obstacles arose.
First, my request for academic leave was denied. “Your defense cannot be postponed,” they said. I came home in tears.
“Another refusal?” my sister asked, meeting me at the door.
“Yes!” I tossed my bag onto the chair. “I dont understand why! Theres no reason it cant be arrangedI spoke to the professor myself!”
My sister squeezed my shoulder.
“Perhaps its a sign?”
I scoffed.
“A sign? What nonsense! Its just paperwork!”
But my chest tightened all the same.
When the paperwork was finally sorted, another trouble emergeda visa rejection. The official dismissed me curtly: “One document is missing.”
I stepped outside, hands trembling around the folder. I wanted to scream.
“Lord, why?” I whispered.
At home, my mother grew weaker. Even a short walk left her exhausted.
“Mum, should we call the doctor?” I asked gently.
She smiled.
“No need. I know my own body.”
That night, I kept vigil by her bed. She took my hand.
“Dont torment yourself, love. Theres time enough for everything. Right now, I need you here.”
I pressed her palm to my face.
“Ill stay, Mum.”
Her gaze drifted, as if seeing something hidden from me.
“Youll stay. Because its how the Lord has arranged things.”
A few days later, she was gone.
The house fell into silence. Even the walls seemed to weep.
I sat by the window as candles burned and murmured voices filled the hall.
And thenthe phone rang.
A voice from the embassy: “Your documents are ready. All signatures are in place. You may come now.”
I set the receiver down, breathless. Two days agonothing. Everything had crumbled. Nowit was settled.
I wept, understanding at last: this was no accident. I was meant to stay. To be there. To see her off on her final journey.
Only then did the path open.
Now, looking back, I hear her voice clearly:
“If the Lord opens the way for you, youll go.”
And He did. But only once she was watching over me from heaven.
