Destined to Live

About the Book

HOW IT ALL BEGAN


My Conception

As I reminisce, I recognize that Satan has been hurling his darts at me from conception. I am one of my father’s illegitimates. When I had enough sense to understand who I really was, I bombarded my mother with numerous questions. One of them was, why wasn’t she married to my father. I was told that I was the third of four children. The first, a boy named Andrew died a few days after birth. My sister Pamela was born second, I appeared on the scene two years later and my brother, Malcolm was born seven years after me.
My mother said that she always intended to marry, and never enjoyed living a life in fornication. My father, who is now deceased, promised to marry her, but could not do so. During her pregnancy with me, one of her cherished friends greeted her with some shocking news. My father was indeed married, and his wife and children had arrived in the state from Barbados. At first my mother said that she was speechless. With one child just over one year old, one in her womb, and not having a husband, the news devastated her. The first piece of advice from that trusted friend was, “Rhona, don’t make another child for that man. You already have one, and the man is not yours, kill that child.” Yes that was me, kill me, kill Morella. That friend later brought her a concoction for the abortion.
The bottle for the abortion was laid on a shelf in the bedroom, and the big decision had to be made. About three days after the mixture was delivered, and amidst several calls from her friend enquiring whether she had drank the contents of the bottle, my mother told me that she was lying on the bed in a very pensive mood. She was wondering whether she should drink the mixture or not. She was also in a confused state of mind. Something was telling her to drink the mixture, while something else was telling her not to drink it. She finally made up her mind. SHE DECIDED NOT TO DRINK IT. My life was spared, and I must have breathed a sigh of relief in the womb. I must have also attempted to shout a few hallelujahs with my unformed mouth. My temporary home must have moved a little bit, as I expressed the joy of living. I will live, praise the Lord, I will live, thank you mummy, thank you. Devil you lose, big time.
The pregnancy went through to full term, without joy and excitement. Fancy layette was not prepared for me like my sister, but I got a few bits and pieces that were not stylish at all, without embroidery. I also got a few ‘hand me downs’ from my sister’s. June 4th 1955 finally came and I was born. A splitting image of my mom. I was a bit fair, with red hair, a flat nose and looking good. Francisca Morella Reece was born. I am not very happy for the manner in which I was conceived, but I am extremely happy to be born. I had no choice in my conception, and I am not an accident. I am fearfully and wonderfully made (Ps. 139:14) and so I cannot be blamed.


My Conversion

Ursuline (Sandra) Mitchell, my dear and precious friend for many years invited me to Sunday School when I was about eleven years old. From the first day, I got hooked. It was in a very small church, but the warmth and friendliness that I felt was indescribable. I liked the people very much. Although one would consider the structure of the church as a “two by four”, I was prepared from the first day to leave my big church and be with those people. I fell in love with the singing. From then on I would go to my big church on a Sunday, and after the mass was over, I would run to the small church so that I would not miss much of the chorus session in Sunday School.
I surrendered my life to the Lord at an early age, fourteen, and was very much interested in the things of God. I was also baptized in water at that age. At one point, my mother, not knowing any bette

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