By Miriam O. Ezenwa, PhD, RN, FAAN

It was a blustery winter night in New York City and I had just returned from work. I noticed a package at the front door of my tiny basement apartment in Queens. I quickly picked it up and inspected it. It was addressed to me. For who else would it be? I lived alone. I rejoiced that I had received the long-awaited response to my plea for help. My celebration was short-lived as I asked myself, Is this package real or imagined? Could I have really received a response from Oprah Winfrey? Or was someone playing a cruel joke on me?

As I thought about the contents of the package, my heart began to pound as if I had just run a marathon. I held my breath to slow my heartbeat. I broke out in a cold sweat as my stomach fluttered like a butterfly in a rain forest. I whispered, “My patient was right about Oprah, after all.” I continued, “Wow! America is not as bad as my uncle tried to convince me to believe. There are kind and generous people like Oprah in America.” Unexpectedly, my life experiences sprinted through my mind.

I was in a very dark place in my life four years after I migrated to the United States from Nigeria. I was among the first batch of thousands from around the globe who won the United States’ Diversity Visa Lottery also known as the Green Card Lottery. However, the few people I knew could not assist me financially in the way I needed. An elderly African American patient I was caring for at the time as a Home Health Aide suggested that I ask Oprah for help. She asserted, “Oprah helps many people in Africa and in the United States.” I was hesitant and mortified at the idea of asking for financial help from a total stranger.

However, I realized my options were very limited, so I gave in to my patient’s suggestion. My African culture had taught me to obey the voice of wisdom from my elders, and this patient was 80 years old. I wrote Oprah a letter asking for two things: some money and her autographed picture. The funds I requested would have solved a myriad of problems, but most importantly they would have bought my plane ticket to go back home to my people in Nigeria. I believed that my life was not worth living anymore but I did not want to die in a foreign land. The money would also help me fulfil the promise I made to my mother. Two weeks before my mother unexpectedly died, I promised her that I would take care of my eight younger siblings should anything happen to her – I was the second of ten children.

For the first six months of my life in America, my uncle enslaved and abused me. I endured hunger and starvation, sleep deprivation, and verbal, emotional, psychological, physical, and financial abuse. My uncle also raped me twice. After my escape, I suffered homelessness, albeit very briefly. I slept on a stranger’s living room floor for three months while I trained to become a Home Health Aide. The one-time emergency food stamps I received and a little cash from well-wishers sustained me for several days. Luckily, the Home Health Aide Training was a paid training and helped keep me afloat.

My experiences in America unearthed those I had encountered in Nigeria that I had suppressed for years, namely, childhood poverty, lack of security, and multiple armed robberies in the poor, unsafe neighborhood where I grew up. During one of the armed robberies, one of the robbers shot my mother and another raped me. I was a 15 year old studying to become a Catholic nun, but the shame I felt made me leave my calling. Re-experiencing similar events in America, a country I thought I had come to in order to break free from my past, was unfathomable to me. I was traumatized all over again with so much intensity that in my grief, I lost faith in God and humanity for the second time in my life.

As the tension in my mind built up, I quickly sat on the floor of my living room. I needed to be anchored to prevent falling from the excitement of finally being able to end my misery. Gently, I opened the package. I peeked inside. I smiled and nodded in satisfaction. Very slowly, I took out the autographed picture of Oprah and threw a kiss of admiration to it. “She is as beautiful as a queen and appears as strong as my mother,” I declared. After a few seconds of looking at the picture, I set the picture aside. I reached inside the package again to discover what else was there.

Nothing! I gasped.

For several minutes, I ran my fingers inside the thick first class envelope hoping that a check was somehow stuck on the inside. There was nothing. I turned the envelope upside down and shook it vigorously countless times. I looked inside several times in case I had suddenly lost the feeling in my extremities. I uttered, “It cannot be empty.” I repeated the motions again believing that my brain must be playing tricks on me.

Nothing! I was devastated.

I laid down right there on the floor and curled up like a baby. I wept. The pain in my heart was so raw. It felt like someone had stabbed me with a serrated knife. With every breath I took, the severity of the pain in my heart multiplied. It felt like my soul was bleeding profusely. I was sure that I would not survive my shock that night. Many negative thoughts and ideas swirled in my mind. What was I going to do? How would I return to my home country or get the money to give my family before I joined my ancestors?

As I went to bed that night, I covered myself with two yards of cloth that had belonged to my dear mother. She last wore it seven years earlier just the day before she died in a car accident at the age of 42. I was 20 years old. That wrapper had always served as my security and serenity blanket and provided me with comfort during the dark times in my life. Whenever I slept with that cloth, my mother appeared to me in my dreams to provide me comfort and direction. I closed my eyes as I grieved. Then, I saw no light around me. It was pitch black everywhere. That was the last thing I remembered until I awoke in the middle of the night with renewed strength from beyond the human realm. I captured my revelation in the poem that follows:

At the Crossroads

I stayed up, prayed up, and teared up
My tears testified to the terror in my heart
Ask! Seek! Knock!
I asked, I sought, and I knocked

The answer could be yes, no, or maybe
I fretted and wasted, as I waited
Then, it came. No! No! No!
Devastation captures not the bleeding in my soul

At the crossroads between living and giving up
I must choose which path to follow
I know that life is ruthless
And I long for the peace beyond

“Mother, Ugo, is that you?”
“Yes! I watched you from above
You dishonor me with your choice
Rejoice! The “No” is infused with strength

Those on top each own one head
And one head hugs your shoulders
Rise and stop your soul from bleeding
Your destiny awaits your command

The questions I ask of you are these
What will you demand from it today?
Are you willing to be the ‘you’ that lives your dreams aloud?
Are you willing?”

Yes, Ugo.
I am
I am
I am

I renewed that promise to her spirit as I reclaimed my willingness to work to achieve my dreams. I told my mother, “Don’t you worry, Mama. I will show Oprah that I am not a beggar. I can make my own money.” I have never looked back since that night. I have achieved success in many aspects of my life because I refused to allow Oprah’s denial of my request – or any other difficult circumstances – to stop me. I resolved to excel despite all odds, and I am still striving to reach my highest potential.

I share this story to encourage you, my friends in strength and prosperity, to stay strong no matter what struggles or adversities you are currently facing. I do not know at what crossroads you are standing. You could be standing at the crossroads between life and death. You could be struggling with decisions related to the future of your relationships, career, or finances. You could be seeking ways to lend your voice to a cause by sharing your lived experiences. You could be confronting the challenges of staying in your comfort zone or taking the necessary steps to achieve your dreams.

I do not know what troubles your heart at this moment. What I do know is that when “no” is the answer to your request, it can be a disguised blessing. Your focus should be on how to turn the “no” into a “yes” by leveraging other available resources. I believe that as a people, we must learn to accept “no” as a reminder that when a door closes, a gate may open.

I understand that having faith is difficult for many of us. I believe it is because we, as a society, have come to resent “no” as a response to a request or plea for assistance. I surmise that our social orientation of instant gratification is stoking this mindset. Collectively, we must strive to modify our mindset, strategy, accountability, and timeline required to confront negative outcomes and convert them to positive ones.

You may be thinking, “Words are less expensive than true actions geared toward change.” Absolutely! You are correct in that assertion. However, I know that it can be done. My testimony to you is that once I recognized the detrimental effects of not utilizing the lessons of prior failures or lack of success, I gained important insight. My anger and resentment when things did not manifest as I desired were keeping my mind from taking advantage of the disguised blessing to think outside the box. I worked on my emotions and self-reflection skills. While I am still a work in progress, I have turned my life around.

I know that you can turn your life around as well, if you wish it and you are willing to do the hard work necessary. Are you willing to prove to yourself the stuff of which you are made? Are you willing to manifest your heart’s desires? Are you willing to summon the inner strength required to forge ahead? Are you willing?

If you are willing to do the work, the time is NOW, not tomorrow, or next week, or next month, or next year. The time is NOW. Are you willing to take the challenge?
I wish you strength as you choose the crossroad that leads you to a future full of positive dreams and adventures as you prosper.

With strength and prosperity!
Dr. Miriam O. Ezenwa