Psalm 150: Lol. I’m scared.

I could get in big trouble. But I did it anyway. The most annoying thing about faith is the wait. This is when doubt starts to grow and no matter how many times you weed your heart, it’ll just grow back. I could get in big trouble. I think I have a gift. It’s where I know for sure when God says yes to a prayer. Maybe it’s just a gift everyone has, but the point is, I know God said a definite yes to my prayer. It’s why I loled when trouble started to rear its head up though I knew if things got worse, my entire family would be affected. I praise God for his spirit of non-chalance, and that incredibly powerful weapon of his: the spirit of confusion. Those who could cause trouble for me left me well alone.

‘You are my God and I trust in you.’ I read something like this in Psalm the other day and I marvelled. To have absolute trust like that in God is phenomenal. I am scared, yet my fear is incredibly ironic. I don’t fear the repercussions of my action; I simply fear not getting a yes to my prayer. I don’t fear the fact I will be punished for taking the sweet, I fear the fact I will not get the sweet in the first place.

Lol. I’m scared makes reference to number 1a, 1b, 1c, 1d and number 9 on my 2011 Prayer List. Give Jummy her Christmas Present. Jummy is my mum and she asked God that I not only get the sweet, but I get the whole sweet jar. We’re still waiting. He said he’ll do things in his time but sometimes, it’s hard to envision why he wouldn’t just do it now. It’s hard but I surrender anyway. He’s my father and he loves me oh so very very much.

So, I praise God because he gives me his peace though I know not what tomorrow brings. I praise God because no matter what happens, he remains unchanged: I am that I am. My favourite name for him is ‘Ancient of Days’. I praise God because he holds my future in his hands and be it tears or be it joy, he’ll be there with me every step of the way. I praise God because he’s given me the grace to praise him though I haven’t received a physical yes. I praise God because he’s my father who’s hugging me right this very moment. Praise God!

Next in the Psalm 150 series: 3D Stupidity

Psalm 150: Academic Swagsta

Ever know that annoying person at school who never did any revision, never listened in class but rather enjoyed disrupting the lesson for those of you who wanted to learn yet, they were always top of the class? That annoying person was me and boy, was I smug about it. (I still am). I would sit at the back of the class with the ‘boys’ and all through the lesson joke around loud enough to show others who the boss was yet quietly enough that the teacher could not really punish us for disrupting the class. I would get in fights with boys older and much, much bigger than me. God only knows what would have happened if those boys didn’t decide to exercise self-control or if others were not there to stop them. I’d probably have the cr*p beaten out of me – and gained some humility in the process.

Primary school went by and I entered Secondary school with even more academic swag. I remember people always warning my friends to revise rather than play with me because I’d still pass and they’d fail – woefully! I could fill this post with more anecdotes of how awesome I was then but perhaps I should get to the point. God’s mercy was certainly upon me and I took it for granted. I didn’t know much about God then so I just put it down to my awesome power of awesomeness. I scoffed at those nervous fools marching into the exam halls with brains stuffed with information. I usually just swagged to my seat, swagged out and waitied for my A* grade to find me. Oh! I was a swagsta alright!

Then came A-Levels (which is a bit like the last two years of high school in America). I swagged in; I swagged out. I failed. I got a C and I was so ashamed. I’d always been incredibly good at English, so how could I fail? I couldn’t look my teachers in the eye, especially because they kept banging on about how they were really surprised. Pride certainly does come before a fall. If I was going to get into a good university, I needed As so I commenced studying – hard (something I’d never done before in my life). I studied and I studied and I studied (*insert Rocky – Eye of the Tiger here*) and finally, I made it just enough to get into a good university. It was the first time I had to rely on God for answers: for success yet it meant my confidence had taken a blow because for me, it was personal. In my estimation, I was too dumb to pass exams so I had shamefully rely on God.

British Weather. Lol

Used to high grades, my disappointment was sharp when I discovered I’d ony gotten 50s (2:2) in essays I slaved over during Christmas. This prompted number 4 on the list: Academic success. I guess the semi-insulting, semi-sarcastic comments the lecturers scribbled on my essays got to me. I took it personally and it wasn’t until recently that I learnt that nearly everyone got this. In fact, my friend simply got a huge crosses on her essay in place of marks. I think lecturers get a buzz off breaking people’s hopes and dreams.

Long story short, I want to praise God because I saw more academic success this semester than I have in a long time. Success with God doesn’t always mean working hard to get just rewards. Sometimes, it means putting off your presentation for three weeks only to do it all the night before and still blow everyone away with your analysis – analysis you personally thought was crap. It means getting a 64 although everyone thought you deserved a first but unfortunately, you had one of those lecturers who is stingy with her marks. I praise God because though I predicted a fail in my test, I managed to get a grade higher than the cleverest boy in my class. I praise God because academic success no longer comes easy to me as it used to so when it does, I enjoy it more. I praise God because I swapped academic swag for heavenly reliance (though it is as unpredictable as British weather). I praise God because my definition of success is not his definition of success.

Next in the Psalm 150 series: Lol. I’m scared.

Psalm 150: The War Against Me

I’m not sure if you can have a ‘greatest sin you ever commited’ but if you could, I know which I’d choose. I’ve searched extensively for excuses reasons as to why I did it but the best I could come up with was Jeremiah’s question. The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately sick; who can understand it? I can say for a fact that my heart is desperately sick. After a while, I had to love my self anyway because God loves me anyway.

My greatest sin nearly caused me a relationship but thank God the person in questions has a heart of forgiveness and of acceptance. I was a two-way abuse kind of thing: violence and emotion. I’m surprised people who witnessed it still love me. As soon as I begin to question it, guilt sets in, paving the way for self-hatred. If not for God, I wouldn’t forgive myself.

Like any addiction, after each fix, I told myself I’d stop: I’d stop hurting both of us but then I’d do it again. And again. And again. More than myself, I caused my victim pain but thank God, it’s slowly being repaired. Yet I’m not sure if can ever be fully repaired. In giving the background to this story, self-hatred has slowly creeped in, so I hastily move on to the good part: the part about redemption and hope. Yay!

Number 3: 2012 will be free from immorality and past enslaving sin.

It hasn’t – not entirely. Everyday is a battle between pride and love. Love doesn’t win nearly enough but thankfully, pride is losing much more battles. I don’t know what it is about God this time so I put it down to his grace. His grace helped me look past my blindness to discover his love. At the cost of my defense (my pride) I love more.

I was going to praise God for his grace but perhaps I should praise him for loving me despite my wicked heart. The Bible says that God will not be mocked so I sometimes think of my harvest. Have I sowed already or will it be in the future? Or will God show me abundant mercy and cause me to still reap good? I praise God because I will have to accept whatever he gives me. I praise God because he gave me this person who I never appreciated or loved enough. I praise God because when I fail, he’s there to be the one who never fails. I praise God because I am no more enslaved to sin.

Next in the Psalm 150 series: I did NOT just fail!

Psalm 150: The War Against Satan

Hey, temp cleaner guy! Fancy tormenting someone?

My importance to the kingdom of darkness is so insignificant, I am on the brink of taking offence. While the C.E.Os and the Deputies gather at the top of the tower to discuss ways of further polluting the world and destroying those REALLY powerful men on God, I am sent a cleaner (who is just a temp) to frighten me, rob me of hope and welcome me to the pits of death. Temp or no temp, C.E.O or cleaner, I fight for my life and I fight for eternity in Heaven. After all, it is my destination.

Number 2 of my 2011 Prayer List states: Be released from ‘this’ bondage. While reading the book of Joshua, one verse that stuck out to me was Phinehas’ words. ‘Was our sin at Peor not good enough? To this day, we are not fully cleansed of it, even after the plague that struck the entire community of the Lord.’ I learnt the hard way that even with the blood of Jesus, sin doesn’t just ‘go away’ – not where the Devil is concerned. My sin opened a lot of gateways for the demonic temp cleaner guy to attack me.

One particular moment that stuck with me was in September 2011. The sun was shining, my life seemed perfect from the outside and I remember that that was the moment when I understood why people commit suicide. I was told that God wasn’t on my side so therefore, what hope did I have? One sin led to twelve demons and attack left, right and centre – even in church!

Meh!

Slowly, I began to learn truth. I look back now and I see God was with me. He wouldn’t give us more that we can bear but it sure didn’t feel like it at the time. Little by little, God taught me tricks to freedom. And it wasn’t unti 2012 that I learnt the bestest, most wonderfulest trick in the book: laughter. The Devil hates to be mocked. Yesterday came three attacks: one in the physical and two in the spiritual. It’s funny how my God saved me in three different persons. His grace led me from temptation; his word led me away from initiation and the blood of Jesus freed me from spiritual bondage. I laugh when I pray and I say God is marvellous. There is no more weighing me down and what seemed like such a big deal in the past in nothing but a ‘meh’ to me now.

I praise God because the identities that the Devil tried to force upon me were swallowed by the bood of Jesus. I praise God because he never left me and boy, does that annoy the Devi!l After all, what’s so special about me? I praise God because in his name, I can mock the kingdom of darkness no matter how ‘powerful’ they claim to be. It feels good to be on the Lord’s side; it feels good to be released from ‘this’ bondage.

Next in the Psalm 150 series: The War Against Me.

Psalm 150: Daddy’s Debit Card

There was once a time when my hair was a mess because I couldn’t afford £30 to get it done. I had very little clothes, most of which were very old hand me downs and money became a thing of luxury to me. I was in my early teens and going through a non-analytical phase where I took everything as it came. I remember thinking once that 2011 was the worst year of my life. I was 18, facing addiction, the thought of suicide, a very uncertain and bleak future and through all these, I had no friend to guide me through. I was alone.

I wrote once that when you pray to God (no matter the prayer), expect him to take it seriously! Well, coat me with dust and call me a hypocrite because I sure didn’t believe my advice. The pastor of my church at the time encouraged us to make a list of all the things we want God to do for us in the new year (that is, 2012) and after 21 days of painful, painful, fasting, I prayed into 2012, crying for all the things I didn’t have. In retrospect, I should have been praising for all the things I did have.

Psalm 150 says to praise God and everyday, I look around me and thank God. There was a time when having 60p (about 90 cents) meant a 5 minute debate outside the store on whether I should treat myself and buy a chocolate bar or save this money for a time when I might need it. With this in mind, you can understand why I put down number 7 on my 2011 Prayer List. It states, ‘Money. Financial Blessings‘.

Thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.

I praise God because today, I have too many clothes and the more I give, the more it seems my wardrobe expands. I praise God because I can buy a venti (pretentious much?) at Starbucks without feeling the massive dent it’s left in my bank statement. I praise God because I asked him to use me to bless my family and here I am doing so with Daddy’s credit card. I praise God because when I asked him to use me to help people, he put in my hand money to raise a smile on hopeless faces. I thank him because he showed me mercy and blessed me FAR beyond my expectation and my worth (either mental, spiritual or physical).

I think the best part of my relationship with God is becoming someone I never dreamt I could be. His glory shines in me in every way and I have to wonder why. The song asks, ‘Who am I that you are mindful of me?‘ and I couldn’t agree more. I praise God because he is the father who delights in blessing me.

Next in the Psalm 150 Series: The War Against Satan

What Does it Means to be a Good Tutor?

I remember my parents hiring a tutor for me just before an important exam. I hated him with childish fervour!

In December 2011, I was horribly broke and desperate for money. Starting university, losing my job and coming from a working class background with no funding from the government, necessity soon led to desperation and I did something I never thought I’d do. I advertised myself as a private tutor. With no credentials, hardly any proper qualifications and just a picture of a smiley faced me, I set up shop and hoped for the best, at the same time expecting the worst. What I got instead was pleasant surprise when a woman contacted me, and after many emails, I began tutoring a ten year old girl in Maths and English.

I sucked and 100% of the time, I didn’t know what I was doing. Often, I’d make simple mistakes that a professional wouldn’t and one way or another, I’d have to cover up my inadequacy. Yet slowly, I learned the importance of planning, of following a strict curriculum and of knowing exactly what you’re teaching before the lesson. It may sound like elementary science but for someone who’s gone through life doing things half-*ssed and still succeeding, it took me a while to learn.

As you can imagine, the tutees were vaired. A pampered daughter who ‘can’t do it’, a talkative son who was too desperate to learn meaning I often exceeded my paid hours and a twelve year old girl who slowly, opened up to me after initial shyness and aloofness. Then there are the parents. I remember spending hours planning  lesson for two sisters, only to get there after an hour’s walk and to be told she had no money to pay me. Could I please come another day? Three times this happened before I sent a resignation text.

This is my goal for each tutee.

My only satisfaction comes from the student learning: knowing. Sure, I feel bad when a lesson goes horribly wrong but it doesn’t matter as long as I see signs of improvement. Taking on my oldest tuttee about five weeks ago, I was wary about teaching Biology, Chemistry and Physics about three years after my last science exam. I took on the challenge. My tutee is unlike any of the others. He rarely smiles, always looks bored and hardly looks like he’s learning. I often finish a lesson feeling bloated with failure. And though I see improvement, I am often questioning this or that. Am I too harsh with him when he answers with a ‘I don’t know’? Should I be concerned about the half droopy eyes and the insincere nods he throws me to convince me he is listening even though he has yawned three times in the past 30 minutes? Am I rubbish at explaining critical science term thingies?

I see improvement but for me, it is just not good enough. It’s a bit like when I exercise – just five more minutes, one more push, 10 more sit-ups and 20 more press-ups. You can never have enough. I live in constant fear of becoming obese because I failed to do that additional sit-up. In the same way, I live in constant fear of being fired by disgruntled parents because I am just not good enough; I don’t use my time more wisely; I don’t stimulate learning more creatively and their progress is too slow no matter they seem to be happy with me.

What does it mean to be a good tutor? For me, I cannot answer that question till the day I throw my planner away and give up the profession. Then I can analyse my efforts fairly, without fear of getting the wrong answer.

The Eyes of the Old Never Lie

The eyes of the old never hide. Instead they jump at every chance as if trying to prove their worth. This here sparkle, I got after I proposed to my husband and he spat his wine out in surprise. And this mellow line of humility, I got after I had to beg my boss back for my job after I quit in anger.

But the eyes of the young, they hide in fear. They are scared of rejection and that primal human characteristic that is judgement. Yet, if you study patiently, you find it as one finally notices the grasshopper in the green garden. This dull light used to be a sparkle. It dimmed after several months of fornication. And this nervous line of arrogance, I acquired after my mother became abusive.

Therefore if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new. 2 Corinthians 5:17

They don’t know our secret so I tell them. I watch their eyes desperately seeking a transformation but the wet darkness remains. They refuse to believe. Rejection is no longer a simple emotion: it has become their Goliath. My words are like fuel that feeds the blaze in their eyes challenging every of their defences.

When they spoke, they spoke collectively as if their oneness was a justification of their regret. ‘‘There is no such love. There is only punishment. Our guilt is our sanctification!’’ They were a merciless judge sentencing hurt in the place of love and regret for mistakes.

But after a while, their very eyes betrayed them. They sang of a weariness that man feels after trying harder than he ought. See this vein? It appeared after I cheated on my wife and she left me. I never stopped crying and it never left. And see these sparks? They continue to fly everytime I think of my unfaithful husband.

Once more, I revealed to them the secret and this time, they fell on it desperate for support; desperate to trade the fear in their eyes for confidence. Gradually, the sparkle grew and soon, I didn’t have to search for it anymore. It would run out to meet me whenever I arrived as if desperately trying to share my own secret with me.

The eyes of the young never hide. Instead they jump at every chance, trying to save the world. This glint of wisdom is a treasure to me. I won it after I let go of all my past regrets. And this beautiful sparkle of peace was replaced by a husband who hurt me after I forgave him.

It’s an all time low
Never letting go of the things that hold you back

It’s an all time high
Feeling so alive
When you’re living like you have no regrets

Love is leading me
Holding nail-scarred hands
Forgetting where I’m from or who I’ve been

This Love is Free by Hyland

Guard Your Heart

Prostitute -

I accuse you not

I curse you not

-

You have enslaved yourself

In the name of freedom

In the name of joy

-

“It’s not illegal.”

The world lied.

-

Bow

You must bow

Blow out your warmth

And embrace your ice -

Bow

-

Prostitute

I debate against your god

He is not worthy

Not of your heart

Not of your body

Not of your soul

He is mere man

-

Ice -

Your new god

Your heart beat -

Delicious

-

He is not worthy

Guard your heart

Guard your joy

Guard your love

Wait -

-

Celebrate

Love

Never -

Bow!

Teach Me Love: Break My Heart

Sometimes, we need the grace of God to be able to forgive.

My faith is on steroids. I believe in God with a fierce known – I doubt the most high with reluctant simplicity. So I take big risks in the name of faith, yet I passionately doubt that he would stoop so low as to listen when I pray. It’s a daily battle.

Let’s say I was eight and we played a game and you asked me what I loved most about God. Let’s say I smiled and I told you that I like his ‘way’ and you asked me, “What is his way?” I would make you short-sighted, take your glasses off and make you spend the whole day without them. You would squint and sigh and then move much closer the desired visual. Let’s say that’s my way and God’s way are as short-sighted is to 20/20: human to eagle. It does not compare.

While many people may not get my jokes, God always laughs. He knows how to push my buttons and so, when I ask him to humble me, he attacks my appearance. At first, I was mad, but then I got the joke and we had a good, long laugh about my abject humiliation. It was a great bonding experience. Let’s say you teach me how to love people the way I was created to. I introduced a new game.

He made the streams and he made the oceans. After extreme humiliation, he brought me tranquil pain and flowing joy. Whether inside or outside, it’s easier to love people when you see beauty. Whether beautiful or not, it’s easier to hate mankind when they hurt you – beauty is no longer a dependent variable. Let’s say you pour your heart out to your church, crying your pain as a testimony to the glory of God. Let’s say they sit and they mock you because you are oh so young and have not passed through real pain in life. My battle was degraded to teenage angst yet God beseeches me to forgive and stow away the shame they heaped upon me.

Let’s say I had a friend who I very warmly embraced though her flaws were thorns in my flesh. I loved and loved and she belittles and belittled. Though it wasn’t hard walking away, it shattered my hope that I could find a friend (or two) like David found in Jonathan. Nineteen years on this big wide world and only one true friend to call home. After each betrayal and every rejection, it becomes harder and harder to leave my heart out in the open. Jesus carries me along.

I realise now that love is sacrifice. Love is hard.

Let’s say I watch him stagger on, muttering nonsense and smiling maniacally. I turn back, link my arms with his and walk with him till dragging himself away, he tells me he can manage. “God bless you” he says” Let’s say he turns the wheel uphill, minding his own business as the bottom half of his muscles waste away and the top half struggle to move him along. Fearing rejection, I ask anyway and yes, he does need help. “Thank you very much.” he says.

I cry for the love lost and I rejoice in those given. Unfortunately selfish, I am constipated by the idea of not getting anything out of my actions but at least, I can show them love. I can help people like I always prayed to be able to. And who knows, maybe God will bless me afterall!

The Biology of God’s Holiness

Look at that bad boy!

At the risk of sounding like an African-American woman (mm-hmm! Guurl!), I begin this post with emotional praise of my favourite worship song, Only You Are Holy by Donnie McCurkin. Competition was fierce, but this won hands down because it is the strongest and most effective of all. The Panadol extra in the world of pain relieving tablets.

Only you are holy. Only you are wonderful. We were a class of pre-baptists, undergoing the required course before our life-changing dip in the pool. Naive and trusting, I raised my hand and I asked, “How can God expect to be Holy when we will always sin?”

Man’s answer was unsatisfactory, so I looked to life itself. Leviticus 20:7 told me to set myself apart to be holy for God is my God. To this day, I fear I haven’t grasped the full meaning of this verse. Instead, I choose to follow the advice Joshua gave to the Israelites in Joshua 22:5. I choose to love the LORD my God, to walk in obedience with him, to keep his commands, to hold fast to him and to serve him with all my heart and all my soul. This is my pillar of strength.

As a science tutor, I live and breathe cells. I know that they are made up of organelles and from these organelles, we have our cells, and from these cells, we get our tissues, our organs, our systems and finally, our entire body. Biology is fascinating.  It holds the key of life and like a petulant child, it hands them to man one by one – slowly, but surely. How to fix a broken bone. How to restore man’s eyesight. How to cure malaria. And finally, the cure for those tricky ones like cancer, AIDS and the common cold.

This density revolves around, intricately weaving complexity like no other. Without your body, you have no cells. Without your cells, you have no body. Just as, without the sun, there is no death (no decomposition) because life would not exist in the first place. This interdependence of big and small; of subtract and divide is the biology of holiness.

"I dare you to come closer. I just dare you!"

Holy is everywhere. It is jam-packed into the Bible with God forever declaring that he is holy! At first I thought he was being a bit smug and arrogant, but on retrospect, I see that he is only reminding me of the truth. Like the Israelites, I choose at every opportunity to be blinded from God’s holiness. It’s a bit like his glory but less shiny, like seeing a person so many times, that they start to blend into themselves, becoming more beautiful in soul and less distinct in body. As important as the sinless nature of God is, his holiness is more than that to me. His holiness is his love; his kindness and this motherly pity he has on us (you only have to read Judges 2 to find evidence of all three). His holiness dwells in the stripes of a tiger; the humility of the trees as they bow to the wind and the good and evil residing in my heart.

God’s holiness has no beginning and no end. It is just there, operating in infinity. Only you are holy. Only you are wonderful. God’s holiness is his genetic identity, as cell is to man. God’s holiness is the only seal of approval man can trust. Perhaps that’s why so many Christian artists, sing, sing, sing and rap, rap, rap about this one aspect of the living God!

One of a kind is not always good

People say it’s a cycle don’t they? They say, ‘If you’re bullied, you’re more likely to be bullied.’ Or they say, ‘Only people with low self-esteem bully others.’

Well, they’re certainly right about both – when it comes to me anyway. I am a bully. You don’t have to look so surprised. That’s who I am –  very direct and forthright person – so I never go round in circles like others do. I tell it outright. I find that this scars my victims a lot so I used it so much, I got used to it. I consider it a part of my ‘technniques’. I’m not artsy-fartsy with words so sometimes, I can’t use words to scar like some other bullies. So I use fear instead and I think it’s amazing. It’s a wonderful and powerful emotion but you have to know how to use it properly. I guess in that sense, I’m very clever.

You have to plant it when they’re young and by young, I mean vulnerable. Some bullies hit people but I obviously can’t do that so I prefer to hurt them emotionally. Besides, I think the hurting people method is flawed. Do they never consider that it’s easier to gain muscles than it is to gain self-esteem?

And even though the emotional method takes more time, I still like to use it because it satisfies the soul better. When a man cheats on his wife, if the woman doesn’t care about her husband, it doesn’t hurt but when she does, she weeps. In the same way, when someone considers me a friend or an acquaintance or my favourite, a protector, it hurts them deeply when I reveal myself to them. This is the easy and enjoyable part. The part where you reduce their self-esteem till it matches yours and then breathe in the sweet smelling odour of depression and doubt permeating from your victim.

Sometimes, I wonder about those other bullies. Do they cry in the secrecy of their rooms? Do they detest all that they are and all that they do? Do they smile in front of their victims and their bullies alike while the hole in their heart widens? And what of those who actually love them? Do they recognise it as an addiction? Or am I simply different? A one of a kind bully?

Actually, I think I like the ring to that!

Little baby Lola

I love similes and when thinking to myself (which I do a lot), I often use them a lot. One simile that popped-up today was one that pretty much sums up my life at the moment. Yes! This is a ‘my life’ post. While waiting for my tea to brew (brew? :/), I began thinking of how suddenly, the gates of Christianity have been opened up to me. In this land, there lies all the secrets to becoming Christ-like and I began picking them up in wonder and admiration. Unfortunately, I don’t place them in my heart like I should have but instead, I simply place them in my pocket till I either forget their existence and their function or I stop believing in them for so long that they starve and die.

I’m the classic Christian girl: born and raised with Christian teachings, morals and traditions but I never really had a relationship with God. I knew him and once in a while, I would get that fleeting feeling that he loved me but it passed too quickly for me. Suddenly! Thanks to the internet, there’s a garden of Christian gifts for me to attach to my heart. Suddenly! The Bible is new and exciting to me again! How stunned was I when I found out that Isaac married his niece Rebekah or that Jesus descended not from Joseph but Judah!

30th of April last year, my heart was filled with impossible thoughts of romance with a boy of my foolish choosing. Even worse, it was filled with addiction. Today, there’s a battle in this heart because God wants to move in there permanently but Satan and the world still claim they haven’t found other accomodation.

I’m no longer an adult of the world but a baby in Christ. This for me, is an improvement. I hope these posts can be witnesses to my growth in God.

Amen.

She bets I am gorgeous

As a child, I was outwardly beautiful and I know because everyone tells me so. As an teenager and now as an adult, the same cannot be said. I think I first noticed this age 16 on a bright Sunday morning. The bus driver payed no attention to me because his eyes were occupied with lusting after my 19 year old cousin as she ran for the bus. I cried. Why was I so ugly? Why did no-one notice me? Why were other girls prettier and better than me in all ways?

The simple answer is because they are. I see women everyday who make me feel ashamed for not even TRYING to be half as beautiful as they are. I go out with my cousin and I’m the ugly and therefore invisible mate. In short, I am worthless to most boys because I am not pleasing to their eyes.

I believe a lot of women face this today and I don’t have the most pleasing solution. You come to me asking for medicine to stop your diarrhea and I tell you to let it run its course (no pun intended) because although it might not be pleasing, it is the best answer.

But then out of nowhere came wisdom yesterday as I was casually wasting my time on the internet on a website I love to visit called Yahoo Answers. http://answers.yahoo.com/ A black woman asked this question:

Some people are pretty some aren’t?

I know there are SOME people out there is GOD fearing and read the bible who know why GOD allows some people much more beauty than others. I know GOD looks at the heart. But he knows for sure the way he makes us will affect our lives due to the choices that people make. In GODS eyes im BEAUTIFUL. But in this society im no where near attractive.

Being ugly has its benefits, i dont have creepy men being pervs, but it also has its downsides i get treated like absolute SH.IT cuz ppl think only pretty ppl deserve respect. I get called ugly EVERYWHERE I go when the age group is teen-25. Someone told me GOD made me this way to save me. I’m not sayin pretty girls dont go through challenges, but generally they DO have it easier. I’ve WITNESSED the way pretty girls are treated vs ugly girls. So why does GOD make some ppl pretty and others not so much?

Source: BBC Films - Stuart: A Life Backwards

And this was my inspiring answer:

‘‘I have always thought so but that is the thing isn’t it? As a Christian, God does NOT at ALL look at physical beauty. When Samuel went to Jesse’s house to anoint one of his sons, God rejected ALL of them over David even though they were attractive, strong and had presence and were popular among their community. Why? Cos he sees the heart even though David was Jesse’s illegitimate child who Jesse didn’t even like.

So I try to improve who I am inside and the beautiful thing is when God does introduce the man he planned for you to marry, he wouldn’t care about your physical appearance cos even the bible talks about beautiful women based on their personality and heart.

I think the whole ‘whose hot and attractive and sexy; thing that this world is obsessed with is another way of Satan keeping our minds of god because we get so involved with our appearance so that we almost begin to worship our appearance and not God.

I struggle with it too but then I was thinking today how if animals were like us, they would absolutely hate themselves. Cos cats would probably say only cats with ginger stripes are attractive and all other cats would try to be like that. Dogs would say only dogs with brown fur or only a specific breed of dog is attractive. Chameleons would hate changing colours cos it’s not ‘beautiful; and lions would want to straighten and curl their manes cos it’s too ‘frizzy’ etc. Get my point?

Source: http://farm1.static.flickr.com

I’m not attractive on the outside no matter how much I try. I’ve found men only pay me attention when I dress like a **** and I don’t like it so if I’m ugly, so be it. I’ll work on improving who I am inside cos then God would love me and be pleased with me. If my God is for me, who could be against me?’’

I’m not going to pretend that it still doesn’t hurt (although I admit it is a vain sort of hurt) but at least I’ve found the solution. I choose not to take any medicine. I choose instead to let it run.

I bet she’s single . . . Mm-hmm!

Slouching, bad hair, weird accent, thick and way too loud. These are some of my not-so-admirable qualities. But yet I find pride within my heart to be able to judge people oh so thoroughly whether I have information on them or not. I am a judgmental person. And judging from conversations I overhear on daily basis, so’s the rest of the world.

But unlike the rest of the world, I want to change this. My teacher once told me that conversations aren’t fun unless someone was being made fun of which can be applied to me too. When I have conversations in my mind (we all do it, don’t pretend!), I am usually making fun of people to add a little flavour.

Source: http://www.1902encyclopedia.com

On the bus to church this morning, in walked a black woman with a lot of make-up on her face (according to my standards anyway) and the judgmental dial was switched on. Now although I didn’t say it in an African American accent as the title suggests, I began to wonder if she was perhaps single otherwise why would she try to attract the single men at church (albeit the wrong way)? And didn’t she know she was making black women everywhere look horrible? And ESPECIALLY, didn’t she know it was way too much make-up. so much that it was shocking?

Turns out the woman has children.Turns out it ruined my whole time at church because by the time I realised my folly and tried to stop the conversation in my mind, it was too late. It was as if I couldn’t stop my brain from thinking about her the same way I did the first time I saw her. And I couldn’t stop thinking about God’s anger at my horrendous behaviour.

Turns out most people still judge me based on whatever little information they’ve got but for me, I’m not of this world. Jesus never judged anyone with the mind that he was better than them. ”Let he who is without sin cast the first stone.” The prostitute was saved from a mob who decided she had no right to live because she was unclean, unlike themselves. If Jesus can do it, so can I. He had no arrogance and thus, he wasn’t judgmental. So therefore, I will ave no arrogance and thus wouldn’t be judgmental by the grace of God.

Source: http://rlv.zcache.com

Evil begins at birth

I hate children but really, they are awesome. A part of their ‘awesomity’ stems from the pure evil in their hearts. Or what an adult would call, ‘A lack of social skills or at least, a refusal to use them’.

”I’m bigger than you.” says my three year old brother to a six year old boy. The six year old wins the argument.

”That little boy just farted.”

”Why do you have a big tummy?”

Source: http://www.wexlabs.com

These are just some of the observations I made as I casually watched what goes for interaction at a local playground. Imagine meeting your boss’ partner for the first time. Then imagine making the casual observation that they have a big belly or that even they just farted. Now imagine such observation in other everyday situations like a job interview or food shopping or even meeting the parents for the first time.

Children gossip, children show preferences to those they ‘like’ as obvious when the self-appointed bouncer on the swing decided her sister could take a longer turn that others on the queue. In adult world, this would translate as the boss choosing Lisa with the big cleavage over you although you have more experience.

Source: http://thumbs.dreamstime.com

Perhaps readers with children wouldn’t be surprised at such behaviour among children but I am. And let’s face it, when you suspect the man in front of you of farting, you turn to your friend and have a giggle and nose-squeeze about it. So what is social skills? Learning to mask the truth for your personal benefit whether it’s a cleavage or a discreet (and often mean laugh) at the expense of others. At what age do we learn to mask this evil within us? At what age do our parents train it into us under the guise of  social skills?

 

The rewards of internet trolling

‘‘It’s Friday! Friday!

Gotta get down on Friday!

Partying Partying yeah!’’ 

This is my favourite form of trolling at the moment where I post entire song lyrics as answers to serious questions on Q&A sites. Just knowing I can irritate people so unnecessarily and with very little effort thrills me. It’s a thrill so naughty I have become addicted so much that that I often crave my next fix.

On Yahoo Answers, a user would ask a semi-serious question like ‘’Are you doing something productive this summer?’’ and I my productive response would be the lyrics of popular song lyrics ranging from the secretly-loved Never Gonna Give You Up by Rick Astley to the theme tune of the classic cartoon, Dora The Explorer.

‘‘Where are we going?!’’

*clap clap clap*

‘‘Rainbow’’

Source: http://www.contactmusic.com

If you’re imagining stabbing my eyes out with a fork then you’re one of those losers who will never understand the high us trolls get. But if you’re nodding as you read this, then you understand and have experienced this high – you’re probably even getting your fix online at the moment.

Of course there are two different types of trolls. There are the ones everybody hates because they post adverts to dating websites and the like but then there are the friendly, loveable trolls like me that others hate to love. Believe me, posting lyrics to the Pokemon theme tune takes people back and I get commendations for my pointless work online. So it’s not all bad.

‘‘I wanna be the very best
Like no one ever was
To catch them is my real test
To train them is my cause’’

But trolling is more than irritating people; it can also be a coping mechanism. In the past when I have received bad news, trolling took me to a place where I felt good: without worries. It took me to a place where I connected to people (although it was only online) and I felt less isolated in my bad news. It may sound sad to some people (and by some, I mean most people) but we all have those secret things we do to make us feel better. Some stuff their faces with curry, some shop, some watch films, others down shots and I troll.

Source: http://api.ning.com

It is my personal opinion that if research was carried out, my suspicions that trolling releases endorphins would be proven. A little bit like exercise, chocolate and sometimes pooping (the good kind). And that is the reward of trolling!

But I LIKE my comfort zone!

In my world, suffering is a bad cold, a few money troubles and failing an important exam but in the real world, suffering is starvation, prostitution, depression and many more. To be honest, I didn’t give a crap in the past. Sure I felt sad while watching an advert asking for £3 a month to provide clean water to starving children but not bad enough to think about them while having a barbecue and certainly not bad enough to remember them while buying materialistic crap I really don’t need in the long run.

Source: http://www.4us2be.com

Starving ourselves from enjoying the good things in the world will not help and so far to my knowledge, even giving money to charity organisations has not made much improvement. When I was younger, making a difference and helping people meant you were a life-saving doctor, a justice-seeking lawyer or a celebrity who visited the less fortunate along with your camera crew.

But then I met Davey about a month ago and without trying, he yanked me out my comfort zone. Davey is a depressed, arrogant, racist, self-loathing and lonely 24 year old man with low self-esteem. From what he’s told me, he’s an orphan, has a disability and has had bad experiences in the past such as a ‘friend’ encouraging him to jump off a cliff.

So this pampered 18 year old set out to help. And so far, have I helped? Well he still cries at work, still believes he is more intelligent that everyone and ignores me childishly when I unwittingly offend him. But if there’s one thing I hope I’ve changed is his view on people so that not all people are spiteful with the sole purpose of mocking others and looking down at them. Maybe there is kindness in the world and maybe slowly, he can find the courage to be happy.

People do this every day dedicating their life to helping and bringing the clichéd peace and happiness to people. Brave people in India fight for the darker skinned women who are unfairly treated based on the egotistical ‘caste system’, they fight for women lured out of poverty into prostitution, they fight for people sold into slavery and they fight for the forgotten orphans in Kenya.

Source: flickr

And of course it’s hard to selflessly help people especially when out of your comfort zone but guilt Is stronger. It pokes me continuously reminding me of all I can do to help people. I don’t have to travel to Africa to help but perhaps I can help that ‘weird’ kid who is bullied at school, fight for that domestic abuse victim who happens to be my neighbour or talk to that homeless guy that lacks light in his eyes and do my own part to bury sorrow.

‘‘Do not neglect to do good and to share what you have, for such sacrifices are pleasing to God.’’

Hebrews 13:16

Appreciate your health

Imagine not being able to urinate and poop because you have kidney problems or having to take 35 different pills a day just to lessen the symptoms of cancer in your body. Or even the deceptively simple things such as being born deaf and blind or an allergy to the sun. Truth is, we can never fully imagine such things unless we experience them either personally or through someone we know.

Source: http://www.legaljuice.com

So when I moan about the bad in my life, I do it with a sense of appreciation knowing that I am indeed lucky to be healthy; knowing that I must thank God for this healthy body and mind he blesses me with.

Age 14, my aunty took me to the opticians after several months of squinting and I got my first pair of glasses. Five pairs later and my eyesight is not very good. I refuse to trust opticians now as I believe they encourage us to wear glasses even when unnecessary for the universal goal of making money. To be honest, I still worry about my eyes but I can only thank God if for one reason only: I am not blind.

Source: http://www.the-nextlevel.com

I see health as a gift that must be appreciated. You don’t realise just how many unhealthy people there are in the world until you visit a hospital. And now, thanks to my genes I have this weird and unknown disgusting skin infection. Skin infections have been something that has troubled me since I was about 14 too. From excema to fungus and now, an unknown infection, it seems to be something I must pray about.

But I feel better knowing that everyone suffers from one thing or another (blame your parents and grand-parents for passing on bad genes). And as long as I remain relatively healthy, what is there really to moan about?

You stupid, stupid child!

It got me aged 11. That glamorised dream that told me I needed love in my life: I needed a cool and handsome class mate of mine to fall in love with me so I could equally fall in love with him. Then happiness would immediately follow. For the most part, I managed to satisfy this unhealthy craving in small doses. I would get stared at by a cute boy, I would have a mild crush on someone and best of all, I would bury my head in a romantic novel.

My favourite romantic film as a pre-teen.

But then Aazim came along (name changed for obvious reasons).

‘‘Lola and Azim!’’

‘‘Hey Lola! You fancy Aazim?’’

Truth be told, I hated him at first but I changed my rules as soon as I found out he liked me. This was a chance to not just fulfil my fantasy but wrap myself around it till it became one with me. So I liked Aazim back – simple as that! He was tall, dark and what I thought was handsome. What else could a girl ask for?

I wove my fantasy around him. He became the secretly sensitive guy who loved me from a distance and I played the game too. Our eyes would meet and my heart would do a delicious jump. I would catch him staring at me and my heart would do another delicious jump. But as soon as I introduced him to my dreams, I guess those jumps were not enough.

Nobody ever told me how relationships work; that you have to actually KNOW the person so I wanted a relationship with Aazim. Aged 17 and surprisingly still naive, I told Aazim I liked him. After three years, I acknowledged the ‘thing’ between us but Aazim never told me he liked me back. All he did was nod at the right places, look serious and a little bit smug and that was that.

He never admitted he liked me *sobs!*

I don’t seek love anymore; infact, I run away from it. Who wouldn’t after those embarrassing three years? And if I could see Aazim again today, all I’d do is laugh at my stupidity, naiveté and desperation. Sometimes I smile and sometimes I cringe when thinking about it so I guess it couldn’t have been all bad.

‘Do not arouse or awaken love until it so desires.’ Song of Solomon 2:7.

THE PRESENCE

Humans are disgusting! Strangely though, we hide those normalities that make us disgusting. Each and everyday, our turds race each other to fill up sewers that camouflage their presence and their scent while we scrub and lather just to convince the rest of the world that we don’t stink.

Wash away the stink

I am disgusting! This is no surprise to me after all, I’ve been smelling (and enjoying) my armpits since puberty, been wiping poop off the same butt since my mama taught me how and been blowing my nose and inspecting it for decades. But I recently realised that other people find my awesome disgustingness well . . . disgusting!

Boogers! We all found them funny as kids (some still do) but now, it is unwelcome in society. And let’s face it, the only time it is acceptable is if you’re a baby, toddler or pensioner. I had a booger sun-bathing on the edge of my nose crusty and shiny in the sunlight and unlucky for me, I was clueless.

When the cute boy stared at me, it was obviously because I was attractive and when the little girl stared at me, it was probably because she wanted to play with me. But when the middle-aged Asian guy stared at me like a vegetarian at an abattoir, I knew something was wrong. And that was when I felt THE PRESENCE!

It was then up to me to wipe that bad boy off my nose without seeming obvious. I am a lady so picking it clean seemed vulgar so I did the next best thing and scratched the edge of my nose so delicately, the booger crumbled to pieces and floated away with the wind.

Carry out your inspections.

I now carry a mirror and a pack of tissues to prevent a reoccurrence of the presence and I carry out my inspections thoroughly and religiously.

Euthanasia: A Christian Exploration

Homosexuality is wrong and so is sex before marriage and infact so are a lot of the things today’s society considers right. As a Christian, I sometimes find it difficult to stand by God’s commandments when everyone around me tells me I’m the stupid, crazy and weak one for not following their standards. However, there always remains one constant: God.

“I am the Lord, and I do not change’’. Malachi 3:6

But what happens when the world seems right? When the family dog is sick beyond healing, you put him down just like you will when that horse is in unendurable pain so why can’t we apply the same reasoning to man? I have to admit that it is a very reasonable argument for euthanasia.

Craig Ewert died by assisted suicide in July 2011

So I put myself in that position. I’ve spent 5 years of continuous pain in the same hospital bed and the doctors offer no remedy: no hope. It is inevitable that death will become my only relief. This is the society’s answer. But what is God’s answer?

Dolly the Sheep: First mammal cloned from an adult cell

If there’s one thing humans enjoy, it’s playing God. Have you ever wondered why scientists spend so much time and money on stem cell research, cloning animals (to the point that we are now secretly being sold cloned meat) and on building life-like robots? It’s all been unsuccessful though as no one has yet managed to create a human life from scratch. You cannot recreate man’s soul and that is the Christian answer.

Though the body suffers great pain, the soul is alive and fighting with all the strength the body doesn’t have. Euthanasia is just a way for the soul to gain victory over the hospital beds, confinement, pain and loss of health.

²⁰ “Oh, why give light to those in misery,
and life to those who are bitter?
²¹ They long for death, and it won’t come.
They search for death more eagerly than for hidden treasure.
²² They’re filled with joy when they finally die,
and rejoice when they find the grave.

Job 3: 20-22

Job lost 7 children, his health and his wealth. He wanted to escape his painful sorrow. He wanted to die. So he asked God that question? He asked God, ‘‘Why don’t you just take my life?’’ But if you read Job 1 and 2, you realise that before anything can occur in your life, God has to give his stamp of approval meaning that for every person suffering ill-health, God approved it.

Exodus 20:13. ‘‘Thou shall not kill.’’

There are people who believe that they own their lives as one owns a car when truly, every life belongs to God: our creator. Therefore, you cannot destroy something that doesn’t belong to you. And that is the Christian argument against euthanasia.

So what is that man with pancreatic cancer supposed to do as he dies soaked in pain while his heartbroken family watch helplessly? The only answer I can give is to pray. Is that a sufficient answer for a society that worships science and believes solely in the physical? No. But my God brings healing and he gives grace to withstand the suffering and the pain. If you don’t believe me, read the book of Job in the Bible.

Joni Eareckson. A quadriplegic and cancer survivor who found peace in God

Let’s say my argument is right but it still doesn’t explain why God would give the stamp of approval to a man’s suffering in the first place? Unfortunately, this is not a Christian exploration of suffering but you can check out this website (http://www.time.com/time/arts/article/0,8599,2016484,00.html) for answers from Joni Eareckson.  She is a quadriplegic who suffered from chronic pain as well as breast cancer. But through her suffering, she found peace in God.

Dreaming Away My Reality

If you ask me when it began, I am clueless but ask me why it began then I have a ready-made speech dreamt up for your pleasure. Ever heard that lie about how you can be anybody you want to be if you only dream and work hard? Well I bought that feel-good nonsense for a while there until childhood ended and I began to discover the horrid realities of life.

I was that poor poor Zebra.

I was a prey. My predators: the cool kids at school. I had an African accent, I was a geek and I often stood up for myself albeit in the wrong ways guaranteeing my status as a prey from the beginning. I was in a house of mirrors where one reflection showed a popular me: the queen of all predators. But in reality, I remained the helpless, pathetic prey.

It’s normal to dream away our worries and our limitations but where does abnormality replace normality? Where does it become harmful and detrimental to us? To our reality?

People go on and on about how important their identity is to them but for me, it became a hindrance. Some people dye their hair, apply some make-up and purchase a new wardrobe but I changed my accent, stopped raising my hand in class and all together stopped defending myself. My identity had to change in order for me to live my dream – literally! The line between reality and fantasy blurred as if I had suddenly taken my glasses off.

African Geek (notice the glasses)

Suffice to say, all these didn’t work and my reality remained sunny with the occasional dark cloud. And although this African geek still dreams, she’s always careful to remember just what it is: a fantasy.

Kicking fear right in the ass

I did something brave today. I was so excited about it from the beginning and right up to the moment where I jumped, everything was fine. No butterflies in my stomach, no desire to back out completely and certainly no panic attacks at the sheer foolishness of my decision.

Just before the jump

But then I jumped and fear caught up with me with the speed of 120 mph. I went skydiving today from a height of 12,000ft and even though I was strapped to an instructor, fear isolated me up in that sky. Before the canopy was deployed, we did a free-fall that was supposed to be exhilarating but all I felt was death which was of course only gravity doing what it does best.

Imagine those roller coasters that claim to be the highest, fastest, steepest and scariest. Now imagine yourself on such roller coaster WITHOUT the minimal sense of security you get with the steel and buckles locked around you.

Did I get the chance to touch a cloud? Yes! Sadly, I don’t even remember what it feels like as all I focused on was my fear. For anyone who suffers the same, you will bear witness that the fear of heights is a powerful force – as powerful as the world’s greatest roller coaster.

The clouds hid the beautiful sunny sky

I felt (and still feel remorse) that after all that effort and time wasted, I missed the best parts of the experience. 2 Timothy 1:7 says ‘‘For God has not given us the spirit of fear, but of power.’’ I saw fear from God’s point of view: a spirit (a mental state) that simply holds me back.

Of all the digital pictures captured, I would willingly trade them all for a mental one. Thick fluffy grey clouds split horizontally from perfect, peaceful deep blue skies burning with the sun’s orange radiance. It was beautiful.

Will I do it again? Absolutely!

Will I still be scared? Absolutely!

Wee!

Some people leave with the experience of raw uncut adrenaline but I left with a remembrance to never let fear hold me back from experiencing raw uncut life. Next on my list is bungee jumping.

My need. My future.

A second is all it takes to change your life. What a tired-out and over-used phrase! Unfortunately, that same second will be changing my life very soon. Am I blasting off to university or am I staying home a purposeless semi-adult fighting to join the queue of life again?

Of course I'll get an A

It all depends on my exam results and on that second it takes the university to receive them. There lives this image in my mind of a bird desperate to fly away but simply waiting for the right moment. The wind must be in the right direction, the temperature warm and the all-knowing sun ascending to guide my wings.

Well it’s finally come and I am so ecstatic. There is a fullness in my heart that can only come with joy and all I can do is follow my instincts and nurture it. God tells me that he will ‘‘supply all my needs according to his riches in glory by Jesus Christ.’’ Philippians 4:19 So I wait on God to materialise my future. It is not just a word to me. It is a need!

Limitations. The bird could not fly for though it could see the never-ending sky, there was always a limitation: a clear glass arrogant with the strength of the unbreakable. But God can break the unbreakable and through all of my fear there is this solid prayer clinging to hope. A hope that he will break that glass and supply my need. My future.

Just waiting to fly

With wings already flapping and eyes desperate to see life, that bird is ready to fly. I need my future.

Painful Lows of an African Childhood

My father preferred the medium ones. They weren’t thin enough to take your skin off completely but neither were they fat enough to cause big chunks of your flesh to swell up like obese slugs. They were just right in the way they balanced the bruising and swelling of skin in equal portions lounging for a few days to remind you of your wrong-doing.

Second from Left: A specimen of cane size my dad preferred

No, I wasn’t abused as a child. I was just disciplined occasionally, sometimes for very justifiable reasons and other times to support very trivial causes. I was shocked when on my first day at a British school several students dared to disrespect not just one teacher but as many as they could. It was like a personal conquest between the students and I watched in amazement quietly making comparisons to my school life in Africa where teachers secretly wagered on who could command the most respect (with the help of the humble cane of course).

The western culture would balk and shiver at the thought of using such ‘cruel’ and ‘inhumane’ way to command discipline but for us African students, it quickly became a ranking system.

‘‘Mr Martin flogged Olu 50 times on the back of his legs and he didn’t even stand up or do anything. He just took it!’’ Just like that and Olu becomes ‘the man!’ while those who cry at the mere appearance of the cane became the Milhous Van Houtens of the class and the school.

''My mom says I'm cool.''

Although the pain of the cane is no longer a memory, one thing I continually recall is the dread of the cane. I remember the day my dad caught me playing in the school playground after repetitive warnings to stay away. It’s not that I didn’t want to obey; it’s just that the playground had swings and slides and sand and most importantly, playmates. Well, what seven year old child can resist playing in the playground you ask?

The ride home was torture. Every swerve and every turn brought me closer to the cane and my heart just couldn’t take it. Like a bride before her wedding day I explored all the possibilities. Would he accidentally miss my palm like he sometimes does, instead hitting my wrists? How many lashes? Three? Four? Six? Would he use the old cane or the new one he just bought from Yaba market? The one that smiled at me everytime I walked by lavishing in the knowledge that he would soon cause me pain. Or would my dad simply pardon me and let me off with a warning?

''What's your name?'' Kunta Kinte. *whip* No master! My name is Toby!

Unfortunately, the warnings very rarely took precedence but perhaps that made it all the sweeter when they occurred. Bed wetting, not brushing my teeth ‘properly’, not understanding my homework and forgetting to do my chores . . . they are some of the trivial reasons I was caned. Utter disobedience: that remains the one and only justifiable reason for the cane.

She MUST think I’m a retard!

“Lola isn’t wearing any panties!” Just like that and my image at boarding school was certified. I was a weirdo. Funny but still a weirdo. The taunts and the mocking came from every side – the teachers, seniors, mates and stafff. But I never cared. I type this with a look of incredulity on my face wondering how I did it. But image was never my focus.

Panties are nice

I could never get my clothes clean not to talk of look stylish. I said the stupidest things that people laughed at whilst also laughing at me and frankly, everyone had stamped ‘irritant’ on my forehead with so much force, I couldn’t break free. So I just lived my life as best as I could not paying particular attention to people’s perspective of me.

Somewhere along the line, my mentality changed. I had to be perfect! My thoughts, words and actions acting together in perfect harmony so people can see me and nod their approval. Then all will be well with me.

I’m ashamed to say that the preconceived opinion people have of me is a constant nag. I shouldn’t have said that! I’ll apologise so she wouldn’t think I’m a retard. Why don’t I think before I act? I am SUCH an idiot! I accept these thoughts to the point where I feed on them. Did someone call a psychiatrist?

According to Pastor T.D Jakes, ego is defined as giving more importance to people’s perception of you rather than your real self. Well, perception Lola is perfect in everybody’s eyes. She’s a rich and moist cake with her ingredients weighed and measured accurately before being baked to perfection.

*Drool*

Mistakes become unfixable errors blotting my perfect image and transforming me into that irritant once more. Oh! What will people think? But maybe it’s time I started asking myself what God would think. “People look at the outward appearance, but the LORD looks at the heart.” 1 Samuel 16:7 There is so much freedom found in that short verse, it’s liberating!

FREEDOM!!

God’s opinion is ultimately all that matters so if all I do, I do with a heart of worship: of serving him and pleasing him, who cares what you think (except you’re my boss)?

Well, why wasn’t I wearing panties in the first place you ask? That’s for me to know and you to never find out.

The Amazing Power of Suing!

Sex + money + drugs = POWER.

Power is awesome! Living our boring 9-5 lives, the majority of us are rarely afforded the luxury of being the powerful ones. But I recently got a taste! That sweet, beautiful taste that leaves a smirk riding on your face for a long time afterward. Infact, I’m still smirking now.

Ignored like the uncool weird kid at school

See, what I set out to do was ask Pulse360 (Advertisers) why they were running adverts on my wordpress blog. I asked so sweetly and politely like mama taught me but without power, they ignored me like I was that creepy uncool kid at school.

Five days later and with no changes, I emailed them angrily. I had concocted a simple yet cunning plan where all I had to do was lie.

Lies = POWER (sometimes).

I made up a solicitor, made up a willingness to sue the company and best of all; I made up a persona who wasn’t afraid to take them to the gutters to fight for what is rightfully mine: a blog that isn’t even popular enough to run legit adverts on.

I am so badass!

“You have 7 days to remove your adverts from my blog”

Job done. I got a reply the same day from the company’s customer service director. It was at this moment that the smirk appeared. With power, I got an apology AND a solution to my problems. All because I had lied about suing them till they bleed!

I was only sorry a little bit.

I realised I was in the wrong so like my mama taught me, I sent a respectful email apologising for any trouble caused and blah blah. But I still remember the power that makes me want to cackle like Snow White’s evil step mother. And I would, except it just doesn’t feel right without the thunder and lighting.

I do not however aim to be suing or even threatening to sue any other company in future.

The Most Magical Places in the World

There is a conflicting sense of defeat and victory in unhappiness. The primal desire to be pulled into your sorrow and lose yourself in self-pity, embarrassment, regret and any other negative feeling out there wars with the human need to free yourself from the negative and find the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel. For me, this human need remains a juxtaposition: a curse and a blessing.

Solace is found in mother's arms

Like a child would run to its mother for solace, I run to familiar places, tried and tested for their soothing qualities. With child-like understanding, I call them magical places. Why? They are personal bouncers keeping primal desire and human need away with such passion; it is obvious I must be scared of both like man is scared of the dark. Incapable of passing judgement against me, these magical places simply hush me and hold me while I curl into their gooey centre and forget. In cases like this, remembrance plays the curse.

My Room

I wish my room was a comfy as this

I wonder if it’s as clichéd as alcohol, food or even sex. But it never judges. It helps. In the midst of my self-pity tinged with verbal abuse, I’m nudged by my bed. Sleep. A word so powerful with longing, it must not be ignored. I wouldn’t exactly call it a healer but it is your dad who slept next to you to protect you from the monsters. You felt safe that night but the monsters inevitably come back the next day when he’s not there and fear sleeps with you instead.

My room is my own little world away from the world and its severity.

Books

I'm currently reading 'Sister' by Rosamund Lupton

Sometimes my own little world is not enough. Sometimes, I must escape all together – to a world different, funnier, or more hopeless than mine. The impossibility of juggling two different worlds in my mind guarantees it a success and soon, depending on the talent of the writer, I become engrossed in a world where although there might be unhappiness, I am detached from it. And best of all, I become dehumanised. My world fades away as I watch someone else’s and in the grand scheme of things, I no longer matter.

 

The Hidden Rot of Paedophilia

The Western world CANNOT do without sex. It is interwoven into all aspects of this society that taking it out no matter how slowly would be like slowly draining the blood from a human being. And while sex in its purest form is beautiful, it has been polluted too much and too deeply that I can’t even find its beauty sometimes.

Red is my favourite

When I was in secondary school, sex was cool! It was something you had to try – like a new slushie flavour. I bought into the hype but now, I often find I wrap myself in the warmth of a life without indulging in this human desire. Like all things controversial, I am saddened, interested and disgusted in the world of paedophilia. It used to be an unquestionable thing: people DON’T abuse children. But now I realise I was just lucky. I have to be with the amount of children and teenagers who were abused and are still being abused today.

Our hate is justified - Hitler said so!

What is wrong with mankind? Since when did sin become so powerful? We are like those sweet German boys and girls who piled their heart with hate against the Jews – all because the man with the dramatic voice told them it was OK. It saddens me.

But then, I can’t blame it all on our sex-obligated present. 51 years later, Geoff Smith is speaking out against his sexual abuser Father James Robinson who began abusing him aged 11 http://abusedbyrobinson.com/2011/08/26/paedophile/ . Childline founder Esther Rantzen also recently revealed how she was abused by a male relative aged 15 – 56 years later.

Former Priest, James Morrisson

Mental torture. No child should go through it but that is the rot the paedophiles introduce into their lives. I don’t know the answers, the reasons or the struggles. If I were to be sincere, I don’t want to know. Knowing involves picturing myself in that position and feeling the anguish suffocate me till I’m mentally dead.

The good news is some victims go on to survive and defeat their past. The bad news is some victims never recover. Their minds become a tape set on repeat as they revive every slimy kiss, every blow to the head and every power-filled penetration.

Abuse never was pretty.

My fellow Christians have an explanation for this behaviour. They call it sin and the demons it welcomes into our life. For me, it’s one of the Devils most oppressive ways of bruising the face of humanity. Punch after punch after punch and soon the bruises eat away at our once beautiful face. I want beauty.

The Dangers of Number Twoing in Public Toilets

Let’s face it, most if not all of our trips to the toilet involves an enjoyable bout of euphoria. I have on many occasions heard and partaken in the customary sigh once all contents have been emptied. And while we don’t shy away from number ones (or liquid friends), we sure like to pretend that we’re too classy, clever, beautiful and perfect to do number twos (our solid and sometimes liquid friends).

Even Cheryl Cole? O_O

My dad used to say that even beauty queens ‘defecate’ but even now, I find it hard to swallow – not literally. You mean those slim girls with the perfect figures, hair, make up and clothes? Those girls that remind you of what beauty really is? They do the deed? Even Cheryl Cole?

There’s just something primal about it that I translate for humour. I imagine anyone in the world grunting and sweating to release the solids and they don’t seem so threatening anymore. But what happens when you need to grunt and sweat in a matter of minutes but your only option is a public restroom? Sure you can hold it but it comes down to choice. Discomfort or euphoria?

Almost caught with my trousers down

Well I chose the latter yesterday at work and I was quite pleased. Very pleased indeed. Unfortunately, my pleasure was tainted by the fear of being found out. The plops and the whispered grunts served as adequate evidence of the solids and for every push, there followed a loud gasp for fear of being caught with my trousers down – literally.

But I managed quite well to disguise nature’s call (thanks to the loud whir of the hand dryer as I presumably dried my hands a total of seven times). All was going well as I rode on wave after wave of euphoria until the toilet refused to flush properly. I almost wept thinking how this would never happen to Cheryl Cole. I needed a violent flusher but this particular toilet was a peace lover.

I HATE peace loving toilets!

Another five minutes of my life was therefore wasted as I impatiently waited for the toilet  to refill so I could try my luck at flushing again. After a total of seven hand drier cycles and four angered flushes, I managed to exit the toilet with some dignity. Noone was aware of the adventures I got up to (hopefully) although they probably guessed at my reason for staying so long in the toilet. They can’t prove it though!

Being Sexy IS Everything

Tan, skinny, fashionable and ready to show some flesh. Or if you’re black, light-skinned, Brazilian weave, fashionable and ready to flaunt the curves. What is it with women and this need we all feel deep down to be noticed. To be best dressed, skinniest, sexiest, most beautiful and ultimately, to have all attention on ME?

I'm the winner!

Who doesn’t want to look good right? But these days, I see women and sadly, girls who put all they are into what they look like. So whoever gets the most looks from the boys, is the winner. If looking normal on good days and ugly on bad days is so unbearable, I must be doing something wrong somewhere.

Unfortunately, it now runs deeper than walking down the street and getting the customary wolf-whistle. It is now actively SEEKING that wolf-whistle. It’s now a hunger that must be satisfied and I’m struggling to see it from the different points of view.

How does the I-don’t-even-need-to-try-to-look-sexy girl see it? How does the average red-blooded male see it? And how does the I-just-don’t-have-it-in-me-to-look-sexy girl see it?

After years of having no life and coming home from school with nothing to do but watch TV, I believe I understand the man’s point of view. The man doesn’t really care. All he knows is that ”If it looks good, I will look.” As Stanley Kowalski said, ”I never met a dame yet didn’t know she was good looking or not without being told. And I’ve met some of them who give themselves credit for more than they’ve got.”

Stanley Kowalski. Loving husband and sister-in-law raper

From my experience of being both the ‘DAMN! You fine!’ girl to the ‘EWW! Get away from me! girl, I can spot the difference quickly. A bit like spotting the difference with the same two pictures; you pretty much learn where the differences lie. Power. It sounds so ridiculous but there is power in the simple turn of heads and the envious stares from the same sex.

THAT is why being sexy is everything. You are better, you are vincible, untouchable and you feel good about yourself (and you get more free stuff). And at the risk of sounding like a crappy Hollywood kids movie, I like being Uglysha a lot of the times. There is comfort in being invincible sometimes; comfort in finding weighty identities. That is not to say that I don’t like being Looking-Goodisha once in a while.

Who doesn't want free ice cream right?

Conformation of who we are should never have to come from other people! I should never have to seek nods from others before I let myself feel good about my appearance. Frankly, I find it degrading.

Who’s The Father?

From the day I turned nine, my mum knew it in her heart that without her constant supervision I would become pregnant. It was wired in her DNA and it was wired in mine. So I packed off to boarding school and she warned me about boys and their constant quest for sex, sex and a little bit more sex. And of course she wasn’t taking care of any baby just in case I wasn’t wise enough to heed her advice.

She aint taking care of no babies!

But of course I never became pregnant mostly because as a nine year old, sex was not a part of my world. It was nowhere near it. I believe that there is a genetic manual in every African mother that teaches fear of unwed pregnancy and more importantly, how to prevent it (and if need be, how to take care of such situations). My mother read and re-read it as if preparing for her next book discussion over tea. No words left behind!

Thankfully, all suspicions of pregnancy have been buried but unfortunately for me, it wasn’t until after years of badly hidden scrutiny, threats and advice. The final confrontation occurred two years ago to a sixteen year old me. It was 12:00am, I was awake with stomach ache so I took care of myself and drank some some salty water. I soon vomited.

To vomit = to be pregnant

My relief was cut short when my mother appeared ghosted with suspicion.

”Are you pregnant?” I made the mistake of laughing. The manual flashed red and my mum went loco. She shouted, she insulted and she preached but I didn’t break down. After 20 minutes of resistance on my part, she stopped. I was warned NOT to open my legs and that was that.

Relief now comes from the lack of suspicions concerning my chastity.

Perfection Is My Enemy

Perfection is bondage I crave. I frantically search for it like a short sighted person looking for their contact lenses. I tell myself the key to self-acceptance, self-love and success in life lies in perfection. This dream is the answer to everything. If I was perfect, everyone (including God) would love and embrace me and if I was perfect, I would never sin. I would be able to resist the Devil and his temptations and best of all, I will be as good as I should be. I would live up to standards set by the world and upholded by me.

The Ultimate Symbols of Perfection

But perfection is a lie that breaks my heart. It’s that womaniser who whispers sweet nothing into my ears, cheats me out of my love then moves on to the next clueless fool. It leaves me hurt and wanting for more so no matter how bad my heart breaks, I still call out to it. I cry and you beg ”Give me another chance!” So it takes and it takes and never gives back.

If only I wasn’t so judgemental. So I race to free myself of it never really dealing with the problem. I wrap it up and throw it in the bin like a woman aborting a child conceived from rape. Get rid of the baby, get rid of the rape. It doesn’t work that way.

You’re not wise at all.

You’re a sinner.

You’re not a nice person.

You’re impatient.

You’re disrespectful!

Get rid of all of them! NOW!

Why am I trying to be perfect for God? He couldn’t love me anymore even if I was. And man? It’s so easy to fool man. It’s so easy to make them see who I want them to see. Their approval shouldn’t count.

Perfection brought me pig swill so I turn instead to my father

And me. I choose perfection’s heartbreak over the failure I perceive in my imperfections. Imperfections have laughed at me all my life and brewed resentment against me. Who knew learning to love me would be so difficult?

When Life Throws You Big, Meaty Sausages

No, you perv! I meant pork sausages. Big, juicy, oily, goes with your English breakfast sausages. The drooling kind. People say bad luck occurs because life gives out face wrinkling lemons so I say good luck or ‘blessings’ occur because God dished you some top quality sausages (except you’re a vegetarian which would then mean be bad luck).

Double Drool!!

It’s like an African man eating a meal without meat – he never feels satisfied. The meat is the frosting on the cake that makes the meal sit ”well-well” in his stomach. In the same way, our sausages (perv!) helps our lives roll along smoother; with more happiness and peace.

So I take off my belt, bring out my fork and I enjoy life. The savoury goodness of my sausages cancels out every meal time where I had the injustice of sucking on lemons, lemons and just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, more lemons!

I hate lemons

So when life gives you sausages, you make sure you enjoy those bad boys! Plus, it wouldn’t hurt to share with the lemon eating person next to you.

JAZZ

Jazz is everything good and then some. It is rum: beautiful to look at, beautiful to experience and best of all, it bathes you in warmth like no other. Jazz is another world. A world where men blow seductive notes on their saxophones and paint beautiful pictures in my mind. And the lyrics! The timbre of the gifted voices!

Eddie Harris

Jazz is a magical world of possibilities. A world where I dance in a big, beautiful ballroom as my diamonds sparkle around my glowing neck. A world where happiness is a ballroom dance and a deep voice crooning love.

Jazz is memories built with my dad as a child.

Jazz is beauty.

When All That’s Left Is Thanks

Eighteen years on this planet and I haven’t mastered kindness. Not the ”we-must-all-do-our-bit” kindness but the pure ones that lie deep down within our souls. Yeah! It’s difficult to excavate those kinds. The kind that pushes you to give a drowning man half your income just to support him and his family. Or the kind that comforts a weeping stranger despite all the possibilities of your help going wrong.

No matter what form it comes it, it just cannot be repaid! The love and goodness behind it is a one-time thing. All you are then left with is one word: thanks. Man’s gratitude. The evil residing in our hearts might be populous but sometimes, that goodness shines forth.

When you’re in a self-acquired darkness with no hope of breaking free – no light to guide you out – and God gently lifts you out, all that’s left is thanks. When God breathes life into your crippled future and provides a way for you to march fervently into it, all that’s left is thanks, adoration and praise.

If thank yous are the acknowledgments of God’s right hand in my life, I never want to stop saying them. Infact, I pray earnestly for more. Thanks … thanks … thanks …

He’s Not Just YOUR God!

Ask me about the people I don’t like and I will take out my mental list. Their name, the date they wronged me and why I will forever hold it against them – it’s all written in my book of wrongs. Ask me about the people I refuse to love and I cover up my guilt by making excuses. ”She thinks she’s better than me! He never speaks to me! And she! She’s just weird.”

Then ask me about the people God loves and follow that with a question of how many people God called me to forgive and to love. Watch me bow my head in shame.

I’m currently working in an office environment where entrance to religion and faith is strictly prohibited although not mentioned. About thirty staff members and not one of them acknowledges their God. Among the rush of a busy office, I soon lose my God. I suffocate him because even though surrounded by his own children – the works of his hands – I am obstinate: I will NOT love them.

”Just how can I love her?”

I'm a woolly sheep and so are you.

I can love her because of the one great difference between us two. I have discovered and tapped into the love he has for me; she hasn’t. So rather than smugly judge her lack of belief, God tells me to put my discovery on display. Show her his love and use it as an attraction to him. He loves her as much as he loves me. That is the one great similarity between the both of us.

Faking Your Way Into Heaven

The Narrow Road

It’s undecided. Is it a blessing or a curse the way we can’t see into the hearts of others? So I show you generousity and concern but what are my motives? Do I do it for the praise of others? For the approval of my church friends or because I want to get ahead of my work colleagues? Or do I do it because I want to serve God? To please him and follow his second greatest commandment: loving my neighbours?

 

It’s accepted. There is the narrow road leading to salvation and the broad road leading to eternal death (Matthew 7:13-14). But what happens when we confuse the broad road for the narrow one? What happens when we make the subtle transition from working for God to working for man? What happens when we begin faking our way to Heaven?

 

Like most countries don’t accept fake passports, Heaven does NOT accept fake salvation. So while commendation from man may be nice, it is much better to seek the assuredly quiet commendation of God. That way, we know we’ve got real salvation.

My Bellybutton

Hairy Belly Button (that is not mine)

My bellybutton is mine and mine alone

My bellybutton is a mine of dirt

Of germs and of things barely there.

It’s perfect for me

And fits my fingers just fine

Even my thumb!

My bellybutton was a blessing from God

Believe it or not

It was my tunnel of growth.

My bellybutton.

I love my bellybutton.

And so should you.

Cos You Suck Really

”For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.” John 3:16

All well and good. Infact, yippee! The greatest news man has on this weak planet. But like most verses in the Bible, there are many dimensions to John 3:16. There is the part proclaiming God’s love and our salvation but there is also the hidden part that reflects man’s greatest weakness: our weaknesses. Our sins. Or putting it simply, ”We suck!”

Brutal Crucifixion

And I know we suck because I suck on a daily basis and because I have yet to find the perfect man excepting Jesus. The closer I get to God and to the church, the more I see man for what it really is. The more blood becomes sin and sin becomes blood. Perhaps God didn’t want to hurt our feelings so he wrote to us saying:

”Christ redeemed us from the curse of the Law, having become a curse for us—for it is written, “Cursed is everyone who hangs on a tree”— Galatians 3:13

But really and truly, we just suck thanks to the curse. I see today’s pastors and ministers and even biblical prophets and Kings and I am astounded. You mean they suck as much as I do? *Gasp!* After a childhood of looking up to them as perfect beings, it’s healing to finally see them as sinners like I am. So God sent Jesus and we don’t have to suck too badly anymore.

I imagine the galaxies within the universe and the planets within the galaxies and the stars around the planets and I know that our lives on earth is of minuscule proportion to God but still, he loves you and I anyway (even with our suckiness).

You Love Me Anyway by Sidewalk Prophets

Since when was it all about us?

It's just too much

Since when did it become trendy for Christians to war? To judge each other on our shortcomings and our failures without love? To forever pick out reasons why we’re not closer to God or why we are still in bondage?

Since when did human understanding trump our individual relationships with God? And more to the point, why is everything I do as a Christian wrong? Family, friends, pastors and the church all speak in unison and accuse me.

How do you know God doesn’t like me doing this? Or that? Since when did we have to get it perfectly right to please every opinion? Since when did we forget that we are flawed?

Who remembers what Christianity is? Who remembers that it is our personal walk with Christ? Who remembers that what works for you will not work for others?

God sees all. God corrects and he chastises – in love. But we polluted it with our personal corrections. I am now confused as to whose wisdom I hear: God’s or man’s?

Since when did being a servant of God become an unreachable goal?

Sitting on the Toilet

Sitting on the toilet

Sitting down to pee

Oh what joy it is to be me.

 

Sitting on the toilet

While my boyfriend stands

Oh what sorrow I have to withstand.

 

Sitting on the toilet

Makes it hard to aim

Oh what luck I shout and proclaim!

 

Sitting on the toilet

On cold winter days

”Oh my bum!” my heart doth wail.

One disadvantage of being a lady

Sitting on the toilet

Sitting down to pee

Oh what joy for people like me!

Playing Hide & Seek with Weakness

Welcome to the real world

”Welcome to the real world.” Four days ago, my mum ushered my entry into the barbaric world of adults. Four days later and I’m still stuck a frightened and confused child in the world of grown-ups.

I’m that lactose intolerant with shopping bags bursting with cheese using every last bit of strength she has to carry them along purposelessly never once even thinking of dumping them because … well what can she replace them with? And how does she even go about doing it the right way? So she sticks to what she knows no matter how badly it pulls at and strains her muscles.

I am such a cliche, it hurts. I am the low self esteem girl with the low self esteem issues all knotted up with a lot of pride thrown in. When I was bullied at school, people told me bullies did what they did because of low self esteem but I discredited this with passion. They were so poised, so confident, so happy to cause pain and ridicule others. That was confidence!

Arrogance is evidence of my self-hate

That’s my confidence. While I don’t bully anyone, I certainly do hide from my weakness. Arrogance is my shield and pride, my sword. If I look down on others, I am obviously better than them therefore, I am unseekable (I know that’s not a word!). But when I am found, jealousy invades me with a swift pierce.

Jealousy, pride, arrogance, low-self-esteem! Did someone say issues? While I don’t have the answer to my weaknesses, I know someone who can help me with them. After four years of hiding from them and hoping for them to go away, I realise that I need a stronger equation. I need God. I may not know how or when but I do know that he will get rid of this baggage of cheese for me if only I ask.

So everyday and everyday, I will ask and everyday and everyday, I will hope because my weakness seems to be finding me a little too often these days.

Dear God,

Next to these dunes Lord, I am worthless

Dear God,

Do you know how hard it is for me to believe that the God who arranged those  golden deserts, who grew foreign stars and  placed life in water could look down on me with love? Do you even SEE me? Do you see my heart? Do you see the evil and the disgusting self pity staring at you like Cinderella’s ugly sisters?

Dear God,

I want to find you because I love you. For all you’ve done for me, I love you. For being such a drama queen at times, I love you and for the amazing depth of power you possess, I fear you. But father, I’m lazy, inconsiderate and selfish. You see, I sometimes wish you didn’t create me in your own image. You made me so like you, I want to BE you. That one detestable trait I share with the Devil. I want to have the power and the money and the adoration all nicely topped off with the love of all. I want to be you so badly that when I inevitably fail, I whip and whip my spirit until she crumbles.

Dear God,

My spirit wants to please you. Ever wonder why I sometimes daydream of leaving this earth and just fellowshipping with you? The two of us chatting and connecting like old time friends – you on your golden throne and I on a wooden chair beside? It’s cos my spirit is SO hungry for you. I regret to tell you that after 18 years of pleasing the flesh, it is now a ceaseless fight for me to honour the wishes of my spirit.

Dear God,

You're a need

I sometimes wish I was never created and most of the time, I pray you would give me wisdom to understand your word because you sure do work in mysterious ways. You should also know that when bad times come, my evidence is complete – God has withdrawn his right hand from me! Please convince me otherwise.

Dear God,

Hold me and never let me go. Even when I pull away to look at that shiny object, hold me. Just . . . hold me. I need your love so badly, it burns. Please. Deliver me from me.

Am I Beauty?

I used to moan and moan

To my God on the throne

And ask and ask:

 –

‘‘Why oh why aren’t I gorgeous?’’

 –

He would laugh and laugh

Like a long paragraph

And say and say:

 –

Blob Fish

‘‘I made that slimy green frog,

The gobble-gobble turkey

And that slimy, pale blob fish

That looks like your Granpa Rick.’’

–

I would pout and pout

Thinking with not a sound

Then shout and shout:

 –

‘‘The turkey has no mirror

And judges not with beauty!

The blob-fish has happiness

Though it’s ugly in a dress!’’

 –

God would tut and tut

And with a lot of fuss

Proceed to explain:

 –

‘‘Mankind swims in mirrors

And finds pleasure in beauty

But I, the God of eyes

Sees beauty in your heart.’’

 –

Now I smile and smile

To my God on the throne

And I repeat and repeat:

 –

‘‘Thank you God for you are beauty.’’

Thank you God for you are beauty

These Are A Few Of My Favourite Foods!

Eba and Egusi Soup. Eba is ground cassava moulded with boiling water. Egusi soup is made from melon seeds, spinach, meat and fish and of course, LOTS and LOTS of palm oil.

Boiled Plantain with spinach and tomato stew topped off with some succulent beef.

Basic Pasta with a sausage sauce and veggies thrown in for good measure.

The humble ham and cheese salad sandwich. Need I say more?

Plantain sliced and fried. It can be fried in most oils (palm oil being the tastiest) and goes with a LOT of African food as a side dish. It can also be eaten on its own.

Eba and 'efo'. A spinach stew made with oil, spinach, meat and fish. So healthy (spinach and fish) and unhealthy (palm oil and red meat) at the same time.

Full english breakfast. Perfect for Saturday mornings.

Need I even describe this bad boy? Except I like a hearty serving of cheese on mine.

OK! I have a thing for cheese and beans! But who doesn't? And that jacket potato better have a crispy skin!

 

I try not to eat these sexy beasts too much as cashew nuts contain so many calories and so much fat. I once ate my whole daily calorie requirement (and more) in cashews in just one day.

The Subtle Similarities Between Relaxation and Boredom

When I realised I had three whole weeks of nothingness to fill before I begin university, I was joyed. Three whole weeks of nothing but the internet, television and books? I smiled. Three amazing weeks of relaxation after one challenging year of education, stress, work and disappointments. It was going to be awesome!

Four days down the line and relaxation is now boredom. Who knew having no purpose in life was boring? Day three was a turning point for me after I struggled to find a reason to take a shower. It’s not like I’m going anywhere – noone’s going to smell my BO but me! So why waste all that energy and all that time on a pointless exercise? Why indeed.

And the internet! Never was something so good so bad at the same time! Shameful are the hours and hours I wasted on the internet only to shut my computer down and feel a sense of loss that just cannot be replaced. All that time. That energy and oh! The brain cells! I could have used them for good! But what good?

So I pick up a book. Fair enough. Night and day I spent studying in the past and regretting the fact that I couldn’t even take the time to read a good book. And here I was, presented with the chance and I scoffed in its face. I just couldn’t enjoy that book or that one or even that one because the lure of the internet called to me seductively.

”Come! Come on Yahoo Answers! Come ask stupid questions and troll online and enjoy pissing people off! Come laugh at their justified anger!”

I laugh in the face of obesity. Ha ha!

And of course there was the bed. After every meal and every unnecessary chew, it would call out to me. ”Oh you poor baby! Your stomach is so full. Here! Just lie down a little and let the weakness pass.” And I did. I ate and I slept and enjoying this far too much, I have continued the trend. B0redom is slowly leading to obesity and I couldn’t care less because whether on the path to relaxation or boredom, I’m always filled with a perverse sort of happiness knowing that this can’t last forever. Knowing that my three weeks would soon be over leading to another year of education, work and stress. So I’m going to enjoy it for as long as it lasts.

Bring on the remaining two weeks!

Ugly Fools, Us Women

I’ve often pondered why Olympic athletes dedicate four precious years of their lives just for that one title, one record and one medal that can and will be replaced by someone else. Is the glory of wearing the gold medal around your neck worth it? What about us women? Why do we waste so much money and effort just to look damn good? Is the glory of knowing we fit into the skinny mould of beauty worth it?

Boots No 7 Protect and Perfect range

It must be! Boots just launched a brand of anti-wrinkle products called No 7 Protect and Perfect. With their range, I can protect the little beauty God has given me and perfect the remaining ugliness giving me an overall rating of 9 out of 10. Of course I can never be a perfect 10. No-one can otherwise the beauty industry will make NO money. Protect and Perfect is a back-handed compliment. ”You look alright darling BUT you can look SO much better!”

When anti-wrinkle creams came out, they were marketed towards old foolish women who needed a weapon to compete against younger females – the epitome of beauty, health and fertility in the animal world. Wrinkles are no longer evidence of the blessing of long-life instead, they are a curse!

So many things today are curses to us women. Plus size, short eyelashes, small bum, big bum, small breasts, frizzy hair, acne and everything else that is human. Fools! Some genius exploited our insecurity and got stinking rich.

Now, anti-wrinkle creams are marketed towards any and all women because we’re now all in competition with each other. I see the looks women give each other and I have given them myself. All the plucking and waxing and dedicating your life, money and time is all worth it for the glory of receiving jealous looks from other women.

Boots No 7 Protect and Perfect is marketed for women in their 20s to women in the over 60s category. Hoping for that final score that seals their beauty, many women my age and over clicked on the 20s range on their website. http://www.boots.com/en/No-7/ I clicked on it too. There are 7 products on this site from £7 to £25.75. If I were to buy their promises – their night cream, day cream, beauty serum, eye cream, hand cream, lip care and body serum – , I would spend at least £125. Beauty is gold. Gold prices are rising.

I will never be beauty. lol

Beauty is that unattainable trophy that many women train for. Though we chase other things in life like our jobs, cars, friends and family, beauty is now our lives. We might as well replace it with God and worship it. I am saddened by my society that worships beauty and more importantly, I am saddened by how foolish I am. I’m so far off from the definition of beauty that even I want to worship. I want a boob job and I want to lose weight and I want to do everything I can and lose everything loseable just for the glory of gaining that perfect trophy.

My One Beef with the King of Kings

”Wives, submit to your husbands, as is fitting in the Lord.” Colossians 3:18

Oh hell no! Ooops God! Almost forgot we’re living in 16th century England. My bad!

”Husbands, in the same way be considerate as you live with your wives, and treat them with respect as the weaker partner and as heirs with you of the gracious gift of life, so that nothing will hinder your prayers.” 1 Peter 3:7

Weaker partner? Weaker partner! Who wrote this verse that creates in me an urge to swear? Weaker partner? Only way any man is stronger than me is by actual strength OK God? Aint many men I’ve met are smarter than me in terms of brains or wiser than me in terms of the world. And apart from PMS like qualities us women have, I see no other way a man is stronger, wiser or in ANY WAY better than me or any other woman out there!

”Wives, submit yourselves to your own husbands as you do to the Lord.  For the husband is the head of the wife as Christ is the head of the church, his body, of which he is the Savior. Now as the church submits to Christ, so also wives should submit to their husbands in everything.” Ephesians 5:22-24

Someone’s DEFINITELY trying to piss me off! Submission? Seriously God, what is this? I mean I’m down with EVERYTHING you say. Down with everything you’ve written in the Bible and I know your judgement is final and unquestionable but permit to question this one just this once. God, why this subtle sexism against women in the Bible and in Christianity?

You know what? I wouldn’t even call it sexism. I’ll just call it looking down on women, putting men on top and asking us all to consider this normal! If I was a man, I wouldn’t mind. Who doesn’t want a servant in a wife right? Submit? In everything? Someone’s having a right laugh and it sounds very masculine! But it’s OK because my husband will ‘love’ me seeing as I’m so weak and pathetic and in need of reassurance from a man!

Now don’t get me wrong! I’ve heard all sides of the argument from the christian man and woman to the God-hating and bashing man and woman and I’m on the side of the God-bashers. I’m sorry God but I am not SUBMITTING to anyone but you, my boss and people older than me. I REFUSE to see any man as having THAT kind of authority over me except my father and other elder male relatives.

So I look to your word for your side of the argument God cos I’m not accepting the weaker partner side. He’s 70 and I’m 30. Or is it 60 and 40? What happened to 50 and 50 God? Why do I count for less? In the Bible, women never counted for less in your eyes. You punished Adam and Eve the same when they ate the forbidden fruit. You didn’t say, ”Eve, you’re the weaker partner so I’ll punish you less.” Infact, you gave her childbirth so some may argue you punished her more.

I search and I search for some positive females in the Bible seeing as most of the Kings and prophets of the Bible were male. I find Esther and she did a commendable job not only saving her people but the ancestors of Jesus. Not bad! Only she was still subservient to her husband and King. So I find Ruth and I weep. Many women see Ruth as a virtuous woman. I see her as submissive waiting on Boaz till he marries her like that’s ALL there is to life.

OK, so maybe I sound like a bitter feminist but I NEED to find someone who had a position of authority without relying on her husband! Without submission! So I find Deborah and I sigh in relief! She was married but this story was all about HER and her work for God without her relying on her husband.

Though I rant and I rant Jehovah, I am still aware of my weakness. Aware you are still unquestionable and man or woman, I have no right to an answer. You created man first and have shown man more favouitsm in the Bible and now as far as I can tell. And the women around me who accept your will should be commended. I see them as servants to men but they are ultimately stronger as they obey your commands more than I am willing to.

At least I get to marry the king of kings

Therefore Yahweh, let’s make a deal and settle this one-sided beef. In order to obey your commands, diffuse this anger I have at you and the male population and to have peace of mind, I will get married to you. The rest of my life on earth, YOU will be my partner. 99 to 1 seeing how much I am flawed. Married to you, I can marry no-one else therefore following your law and submitting to you whilst you love me. Cos aint no way I’m submitting to a man!

My First Catholic Experience

Today, I went to a Catholic church for the first time in 18 years. What a difference to my normal Protestant African church! Have you ever seen those stereotypical African American churches in America where the women have satellite hats, the pastor is sweating and dancing all over the pulpit and the church is screaming ”Praise him! Praise him!”? That is what I am used to and more.

I love worship!

I have witnessed casting out of demons, people drunk with the Holy Spirit and sobbing or laughing maniacally and jumping and dancing for God not caring what people around them think. So what a shock to visit the Catholic church and watch the priest (or is it bishop) speak calmly on the altar not caring if he is ‘boring’, to watch children direct half the service and to sing calm and sober hymns to God and to Jesus.

Protestant and Catholic: the chalk and cheese of Christiandom and I love both! In the Protestant, you get wonderful gospel songs that call God’s presence down and fill you up. I’m talking Donnie McClurkin and Diedrick Haddon type songs.

‘Only you are holy! Only you are worthy! Only you are wonderful!”

In the Catholic church, you get equally wonderful hymns of such humility, you can’t help but go before Jesus bowing before him, accepting him as your Lord and delighting in it.

‘Christ be our light, shine in our hearts. Shine through the darkness!’

And the dressing or at least, the way the people carry themselves. Thanksgiving day and my church would be full with people all secretly trying to out-do themselves. The women look GOOD! Infact, they put me to shame. But aint nothing wrong in looking good and feeling good in the presence of God.

In the Catholic church, you see girls wearing shorts, tight skirts and men in jeans and a t-shirt and no-one bats an eyelid. My worry of wearing a skirt slightly above my knee was unfounded! At my protestant church, I would have to wear tights with those or I would get ‘stares’.

Such quiet, confident energy in the Catholic church! Such unashamed joy in the Protestant. And I loved both. ”Let somebody shout Hallelujah!” is a staple in my church. It is said before and after announcements, before and after testimonies, before and after everything! In the Catholic, a woman talks about her 30 year work as a missionary in Africa and doesn’t even get a round of applause once she’s done. I was shocked! Where was the appreciation?

”Let all my enemies be destroyed by the fire of God! Let the thunder of God burn every gathering of the enemy in my Life! Looord! Move in my life tonight!”

”Christ, we pray in your name that you bless us. We know we are nothing but ask in your mercy you come into our souls.”

Can you guess which prayers belong to which? But again, I equally love both. Love the warfare I feel praying in the Protestant as I attack the enemy and love the warfare I feel praying in the Catholic as I am defended by Jesus’ love and mercy.

At the end of the day, we're all there because of the love he has for us

After my first experience, I have fallen in love with the Catholic church though I was wary at first. But no matter their flaws and weaknesses, they share one thing in common – a love for Jesus. To do his will, humble ourselves before him and live for him. And I am filled with his love for me in both. So what’s not to like?

Cliches of the Moving Picture

”DROP THE WEAPON!”

Am I the only one who gets a questionable tingle when the swat team barges in, saves the day and arrests the bad guy? *Tingles*

(Although I never understand why they don’t just say ‘Drop the knife” or ”gun”. I guess that’s not juicy enough.”)

—

”WE’LL NEVER MAKE IT!”

''I think I'm gonna make it. I'm King of the World! Woo-hoo! Woo! No! Aaaaaargh!''

(Or for a more dramatic approach, ‘We’re NOT going to make it!”)

—

”YOU’RE NOT GOING TO GET AWAY WITH THIS!”

Or as is usually the case in Scooby-Doo, ''I would have gotten away with it if it wasn't for those meddling kids and that **** dog!''

—

”I LOVE YOU / I’M IN LOVE WITH YOU”

Seriously! How uncomfortable for the guy having to balance the girl, kiss her slippery lips all the while catching a cold.

(And you KNOW there’s going to be some dumb cheesy romantic song in the background.)

—

”YOU SON OF A *BLEEP*!”

Any other swear word is desirable usually with the same effects.

—

”I PROMISE.”

I've never actually seen Twilight but I imagine there is a scene where one character (most likely a romanticised boy) promises another (usually a girl hopelessly in love with him) that he will be there for her or avenge her or sparkle for her. Whatever it is.

(And of course, this is backed up by romantic and/or heroic music.)

—

”I HAVE HAD IT WITH THESE ************* SNAKES ON THIS ************* PLANE!”

Two words: Samuel L. Jackson. That is all.

**The inclusion of Samuel L. Jackson in this blog automatically makes it awesome. Samuel L. Jackson is awesome.** 

BEAUTY OF A SHADOW

Pathetic giants

Empowered beetles

Body, Mind, Spirit.

Pathetic. Empowered.

Opposites. They attract you know?

In our bodies

Our minds

Our spirits.

 

Rippling muscles. Towering heights.

Hopeless cry of a scorpion king.

World of trains, planes: achievements.

World of bombs, war: expanding abuse.

Pathetic love

Empowered hatred

 

Our joy, happiness. Our screams.

Our sorrow, frustrations. Our screams.

The life of man is not but a shadow.

A fleeting shadow

Beautiful in distortion.

Meet my Lovers. Meet my Death.

One mistake I always make when trying to pinpoint the day my innocence died is that I don’t look far enough. Was I 12, 13, 14? Afterall, this is when most of us claim to have had our first kiss, lost our virginity or tried alcohol for the first time. I wish it was as simple as that. I wish it was hopeful.

The day my lover found me, I was 8. Aged 10, I found my second lover. Let me introduce you to my lovers who for the sake of confidentiality, we will call addiction one and addiction two. Proverbs 26:8 talks about a seductive woman who is a trap more bitter than death. Her passion is a snare and her soft hands are chains. Proverbs 26:8 talks about my lovers. I shared my bed with them (sometimes both at the same time) and their soft hands, their passion lulled me to false comfort. They sang to me and told me all I needed to hear. They were the answers to my problem. But with each night of passion and fulfillment, death raced nearer and nearer so here I am! Living flesh; wounded spirit.

Addiction lives not just among us. It dwells within us.

The first time I saw drugs being promoted and trivialised on TV by well-known celebrities, I was shocked. Back in my days of semi-naivety I hadn’t realised just how much of a lover addiction is to our society. Addiction is our abusive husband and we the weak wife who can’t bear life without him though he strikes and hits physically and emotionally. Gambling, cigarettes, pornography – all endorsed and practiced by our leaders. A great nation will always fall because of the mistake of its leaders.

On the day I revealed my lover, addiction one to my mother, she told me it was a societal curse. One I see manifested in the lives of too many. One I see glorified in the media, on our lips and in our hearts. My lover was sweet until the day death visited to collect his dues.  See the Devil NEVER gives something without expecting a big price. The devil is a loan shark.

After seeing God on the side for so many years, I finally broke up with my first lover. But my loan shark is not happy. He refuses to accept Christ’s blood as payment for my sins. He refuses to accept I am no longer enslaved so he brings death, fear and self-loathing to our battle. Without God, I lose and my self-loathing piles up like an unflushed toilet being used over and over by the same person. There are days I fear sleep as this is where most battles take place. But with God, I wake up and I smile because he gives me strength to fight. He gives me grace to conquer and resist my ex-lover.

Meet the saviours of WW2: The Russian Army

I wish I could say the same thing about addiction two. She refuses to leave because I refuse to let her leave. For the sake of God, I scream insults at her only to call her hours later grovelling for forgiveness and kissing away her hurt. I am seeing God on the side. I am a Jew in hiding waiting and waiting for the Americans, the Russians and the British to win this war and free me from my exile. Hopelessness crushes me as I lose my hair, lose my health, starve and lose my humanity amidst the silence so I hold on to the only thing I have that keeps me sane. I hold on to that never-ending hope that the enemy will be defeated for my sake. Only problem is, I am my own enemy and self-loathing was never closer. Sometimes I perish in the darkness thinking of how I will never stop and will live to regret my actions forever. Then I arise in hope thinking of my God and how small my sacrifice is for him.

Meet Lola. The girl who for 10 years lodged death in her heart. Meet addiction one – meet pornography-  and my lover, a nine year old cousin who ‘taught’ me how to have sex age 8. Meet addiction two – meet bullying – and my lover, the first slap I gave my brother and the intoxication of power that sparked.

That 8 year old should have said no to her cousin. And that 10 year old should never have continued her perverted hatred knowing the sixth commandment. Thou shalt not kill. I killed the love and trust he had for me. I killed a part of his childhood joy. Self-loathing was never closer, my lovers continue to seek me out and their pimp continues to battle against me. I am a Jew living in Nazi Germany and my only hope is God.

Compromising With God

One of the happiest days of my life was the day I got acceptance into university two months ago. The buzz about uni life is loud and drowning and I couldn’t help but feel excited when I started this week. Unfortunately, amidst all that buzz, no-one thought to mention to me how broke I would be and how I would have 5 minutes arguments with myself on whether it is worth it buying a £0.60 cup of tea or not. I mean, I could always save that money and use it on the bus!

I find it hard to part with money - even for a cup of tea.

After four days of embarrassing myself in lectures with my cheap and crappy reporters handbook, I decided enough was enough! I set about to the shops to find a cheap yet expensive-looking note book to rival the beautiful ones class mates always whipped out arrogantly! I felt wonderful. When you are broke, shopping becomes luxurious so I casually yet joyfully sipped my 60 pence tea and marched down the street armed with coins for my shopping galore!

I tried the first store and found notebooks worth £10.00. A whole 1000 pence! So I tumbled out disappointedly. I tried the second, third and fourth all to no avail. My smile had faded and my tea, cold. Then I passed a beggar on the street wishing people a lovely day and hoping they would offer spare change in return. The coins in my purse rattled and my conscience prodded. But the stakes were too high. Every pence counts!  So I offered him one of my beautiful smiles and I walked on but conscience wouldn’t let me be.

I'm so excited about my notebook that I thought I'd show you a picture.

Then I remembered God. It was all his fault anyway since he called me to be generous to the needy! Notebooks seemed really expensive and I could already feel the lightness of my purse so I made a compromise. I would give the beggar some spare change if God would let me find a cheap yet classy notebook. I searched and searched and found nothing but Godly disappointment. It was while retracing my steps in defeat that I found ‘the one’. This cheap looking stationary store was my Disney Land. No more embarrassment in lectures. A REAL notebook. And cheap too!

Of course I did my part of the deal. Or should I say paid? I gave the beggar just £1 (100 pence) and he said ”God bless you”. I answered, ”Amen”.

Solitude is not as Unpopular as You Think

Controversial jokes was my thing. Still is in a way. I went from witty insults aimed at teachers to straight-faced lies and when that wasn’t enough, I downgraded to crude, classless sexual jokes. People would laugh ”ha-ha!”, congratulate my genius then retreat to their safe corners to smirk and disrespect my humanity. I was the class clown. I was popular.

At least this clown is not scary!

My mother is not a believer of friendship in its intimate poison (or nutrition depending on your experience) so as a child, I never visited friends’ houses to play and neither did they mine. After a hard day’s work of joking around at school, I would come home myself, wash my school uniform, do my homework and any other chores then wait for my parents to get back home. This routine began age 8. In a way, I guess I’ve always welcomed my own company. When that’s all there is for an eight year old, you learn to bond like twins.

It has always been a stamp of pride and of interest how I’ve never had a best friend. The closest I came was learning to walk step by step with a friend as we went for swimming lessons. Maybe I just don’t have it in me! In Secondary school, people formed bonds that would secure their friendship even when distance forced them apart. But not me. I was a firm believer of ”The past should never be introduced to the present”.

Amidst my popularity, my jokes and the people I laughed with during Maths, Science and English lessons, I remained a loner. Infact, I enjoyed it most times. So when two years ago a trio I considered friends rejected me like nature rejects the weak, I leaarnt to accept it and enjoy me. At first I cried longing for the high of friendship but then I found the peace of solitude once more and all was well.

Friends are either blessings or curses.

Alone and armed with jokes, I began university last week and so far, I have made the usual friends. The ones who don’t mind talking to me in lectures and laughing at my act. The ones who run a mile when they see me outside educational settings. The ones who tolerate me when conditions are right. But I don’t care. I have God, I have family and I have me. I’ve always had all three. I’ve always had peace.

Rebirth of a Fantasy

Christian rap artist Lecrae is forever advising me. ”God is enough for you!” Every morning on the bus, I listen to his song and I wholeheartedly agree that God IS enough. Even more wonderful, I begin to feel the desires of the spirit: the desire to find God. To dig deep deep down and lay my head, his love my blanket.

Lecrae is Awesome!

”Used to want a lotta things
All the stuff that’s on TV
Education, cars, and clothes
Fashion lights and jewelry
(Focused on the wrong stuff)
Now I got my eyes on you
And now I know that: God is enough!”

You should see how much he loves me. How he goes to extremes to provide, comfort and fight for me. A true lover. I got my eyes on God but my heart. . .  well, she’s still hungry for the carnal. Though everyday I find new victories in subduing the flesh, the heart remains exempt. I remember the first day I tried fresh milk from a cow after years of drinking powdered and evaporated mik. I hated it! In every way, it was better but because it wasn’t sweet, I rejected it.

”God is enough
You are enough
Never too much
More than enough
God is enough
You are enough for me”

In the same way, my heart rejects the truth. When I found God about eight months ago, my worldly fantasies were hastily buried. Or I thought they were until my first weeks at university. Every time I visit the library, I see woman. Woman fills her bag with romantic books and films and leaves with a smile on her face. I used to be woman till I met God. Till I found out romance in all its literary form was porn for us women.

I read a Mills and Boon novel now and I cringe at the ridiculous storyline.

So I stopped. I stopped watching them, reading them and the most powerful of all, dreaming them. Almost a year after its death, my fantasy resurrected. Unaware to me, it was just waiting for the right conditions and boy did I find it at uni!

”You know you sick of lookin’, you sick of chasin’
I think you know the truth, you just don’t wanna face it
Your life is empty, though you havin’ fun
You never satisfied, you never get enough
You just can’t stop it, like you’re a slave
And you chasin’ nothin’ all the way into the grave”

Did you SEE him in Inception? Hence why I have a crush on him!

Boys! It sounds comedic, this universal desire in us to meet ”the one” or to at least have some fun with ”the ones”. And though I haven’t been looking, I’ve been tempted to. Tempted to cheat on my lover and break his heart.

”Quench my inner thirst, there’s something more in life
No money, cars, relationships compare to joy in Christ”

I have found a little bit of that joy in Christ and now I know why people cry ”Hallelujah!” But my heart is torn between two lovers (insert romantic tragedy here – preferably Shakespeare) and I must soon choose who I want. Who will give me real love, peace and joy?

”I don’t need these worldly things, no-oh
I don’t need these worldly things, no-oh
More of you and less of me, G-od
More of you and less of me, G-od”

My heart grieves because that fore-promised fantasy can never be fulfilled. I am the prisoner refused parole. I can no longer play Cinderella. But God remains enough.
 

Atheist Hatred for the Love in Me

Persecution in the body of Christ (the church) is something most if not all Christians know about with some dedicating their lives to fighting for its extinction. Persecution to me is Jesus’ crucifixion and torture before-hand, it’s what the Underground Christians in China, North Korea and the Overground ones in Sri Lanka and Nigeria go through. Persecution is whipping, burning and deriving man of his dignity – his humanity – just to hear him denounce his faith. The grace of God over these persecuted Christians is astounding: irreplicable!

Jesus says these people are blessed for the Kingdom of God is theirs. Their visas to Heaven have been stamped unto their passports. So now, they hungrily wait for their flight: their death!

Red = currently persecuted. Blue = used to be persecuted.

In the past, my faith and my love for Christ has to shamed me to secrecy. At present, it has freed me to advocating my God. But with the media, it has become impossible to escape many things. I can’t escape the hatred some atheists show towards me and infact, people of other faiths. It’s a sad world we live in when I have listed all the things that ‘warrants” me hatred.

1. Religion & Faith

2. Nationality

3. Immigration Status

People hate me. They hate the God in me. The spirit of Jezebel against the spirit of Elijah. It’s a war we Christians don’t seem to be winning because we must turn the other cheek. Yeshua tells me that “Blessed are you when people insult you, persecute you and falsely say all kinds of evil against you because of me.”

A simple comment on WordPress on an article on Atheism and I was bombarded with vindictive replies mocking me and my God as they all gathered and threw the stones. Sauls who will hopefully become Pauls someday. The Blog post was an atheist sarcastically commenting on the atheist culture in America to which I took sincerely, believing him to be a Christian lamenting this culture. This was my comment:

And these were the replies I got:

In the past when atheists have challenged my faith, I dangerously wavered in between the world and God so after the fourth reply, I prayed to God asking him to instead increase my faith and show me without doubt that he WAS indeed God of all though he’s already done so in the past.

That being said, the blogger Jeremy was right, the ”persecution” we face IS a walk in the park but then I’m forced to ask the question, ”how long before it becomes a jog, then a run and just how long before the dogs catch up to us”? I was recently arguing with a friend of mine on Facebook who posted an anti-Muslim article angrily commenting on how they should all leave the country. About 12 comments later and she hadn’t got my point. WE MUST NEVER EVER HATE A GROUP OF PEOPLE NO MATTER WHO THEY ARE, WHAT THEY DO, WHERE THEY COME FROM OR THEIR BELIEFS! It’s too dangerous no matter how justified it might seem.

The one book that made me cry!

Reading World War Two books like ‘Schindler’s Ark‘ or ‘Alicia: My Story’, I’m forced to the realisation that the Holocaust wasn’t just a hasty decision by Hitler or the Nazis. The Holocaust was the result of centuries and centuries of subtle and sometimes massive hate and discrimination against Jews in Europe. The Jews thought it would die down, it would change and life would never get that bad. Like us, they turned the other cheek and they paid for this with generations of unborn destinies.

Is this hate ever going to stop? Well are humans ever going to change and obey the second greatest commandment to love our neighbours as ourselves? Even I don’t follow it! All I can do is hold on to God and let him show them himself that he is the name above all names.

The Secular Music Debate

I have yet to meet anyone in this world who is not moved by music in all its varieties. It will come as no surprise then this powerful art was created by God for his glory. He created the art then assigned Lucifer the Managing Director. Apart from sin, music would be Lucifer’s most knowledged subject. Infact, he often mixes both to create weapons of mass destruction.

God on the other hand intended for humans to follow Lucifer’s destiny and glorify him using music which we do through praise and worship. But what happens when music doesn’t glorify God? Aren’t we then sinning and going contrary to his will like Eve or Solomon or Jonah?

Growing up from early childhood into late teens, I was influenced massively by popular culture and my dad in terms of music. My dad is an Old Skool RnB fan. We’re talking Sade Adu, Atlantic Starr, Kool and the Gang, Evelyn Champagne King and the rest. Coming home from school on hot summer days in his shiny red car, these were the songs I listened to while enjoying my frozen yoghurt. He would always alternate between RnB and Jazz which remain my favourites till today.

Most of these songs do not glorify God in anyway and we know that anything that isn’t of God is of the world. Popular culture also demanded that I listened to hip-hop and RnB of the 90s and the 20s. There was Ja Rule, Ll cool J, Jennifer Lopez, Destiny’s Child, Ashanti, Nelly and so many others that I loved listening to. They were songs that literally made me feel happy inside. They are of the world.

Eight months ago after dedicating my life to God, I cut out some of these songs – but not all. I would not listen to songs that glorified sexual immorality but I kept my old skool, my jazz and the occasional singer who crooned nothing but romantic love like Fantasia and Keyshia Cole .

Two weeks ago after I signed in to Facebook, I watched a video entitled ”God’s View on Secular Music” which encourages Christians to cut out ALL worldly music. All. Then I began to question it. By definition, these songs don’t glorify God as they are not praising or worshiping him but how does a song titled ‘Celebration’ by Kool and the Gang promote sin? It’s a song that can be played even in a Christian setting. It’s a song I would play with Jesus sitting next to me. And how about smooth jazz melodies that cut out the lyrics focusing instead  on the piano and the saxophone?

I’m a coward in the sense that I am easily swayed in my opinions which is why my strength of opinion on this subject surprises me. My arguments against this view are as follows:

- If I were to cut out all secular music, I wouldn’t listen to the ABC song or the Spongebob theme song because they glorify God in no way.

- I have also noticed that most things placed on earth to glorify God can also be used for human enjoyment. Animals (meat), sex, children, words etc.

Are we to say we would not eat meat as it destroys God’s artwork or we would not have marital sex unless we want children? And of course words: the foundation of the earth. It was with words he created the earth and it is still with words he teaches us about himself through the Bible. In that way, am I to say I will NEVER read a book that does not glorify God? I have read books like 1984 and The Colour Purple one which denies God and the other which blasphemes and I enjoyed them.

The author of these books did not attempt to glorify God with their work but they still did because they used his words and his creativity. This does not mean I would go on to read an erotic novel because the writer ‘uses words’. It means I would avoid sin as much as I can whether through reading books, listening to music, killing animals pointlessly or having sex outside marriage because sin does not glorify God. But I use my common sense. As Steven Curtis Chapman said, ”you do everything you do to the glory of the one who made you.” As long as I can comfortably listen to this song or read this book or laugh at this joke with God sitting besides me, I feel that that in itself is a way of glorifying God.

The God of Leprosy, Snake Bites and Occasional Enslavement

Dressed to impress, bass pumping directly into my psyche, lights flashing and myself, twirling around the roller disco as pleasure and flesh become one. The stage was all set and all I had to do was buy my ticket to fun just like every other Uni student. So even though The Bible tells me to set myself apart from the world, I wasn’t necessarily prepared to for such harmless fun. Not when freshers (first year students) like me dedicated their every night to clubbing, beer crawls, partying and the ever-present over-consumption of alcohol.

”Have you been to any freshers events?” and I would shake my head no feeling like that nerd that never had any friends at school. Excuse at the ready, I would tell them that living 22 miles from campus made this difficult but I rarely revealed the real reasons: my God is too important for all that. That is, until the roller disco presented itself. A perfectly acceptable way of having fun, making friends AND pleasing my God at the same time. So what was this nag struggling for a voice?  This nag that refused to believe that an event dedicated to complete idolatry and gratification of the flesh could be pleasing to God.

In terms of alcohol, I wasn’t bothered. It was simple – drink none.  And I had never heard of bumping and grinding while skating so that was also out the equation so what could be wrong? Then the question of music popped-up. Was it going to be the semi-innocent disco songs of the 70s and 80s or would it be the Devil worshiping songs of Rihanna and Lady Gaga? Would I throw away my way of life for a measly four hours of skating and dancing?

The Christians and the non-Christians I ran to for decisions were of no help. The Christians told me it was between me and God and the non-Christians called me a prude. So I asked God deep down knowing the answer. God refused to reply instead, he defended his case with my memory. I remembered a past of living in sin and the filth of soul it entailed. But more importantly, I remembered God as represented in the Bible.

The God of hurricanes, earthquakes and disasters that humble us

Yeah he’s loving and merciful and patient and sent his son to die for us but, what about the other part of him we love to forget? What about the God who struck Miriam with leprosy for bad-mouthing his servant Moses? Or the God who punished the Israelites with snakes for complaining about their new-found freedom? Or a God who caused the child of a love affair to die resulting in heart break for the father, David?

I still haven’t decided whether I love or fear God more and truth be told, I’m not sure where one begins and the other ends. I can look back on my life and mark out places where this God of justice punished me for my wrong-doings and I am grateful that he hasn’t been as harsh on me as the people in the Bible. In the battle between the gratification of the flesh and the God of just and inventive punishments, I choose to stick to the fearful one.

Isn’t it amazing how this same God is my best friend?

Simplicity was Never a Definition

My dad is big and strong with muscly arms and a no-nonsense attitude. My dad is the kind of man who wouldn’t look out of place in war. A soldier, a naval officer … a fighter pilot. But if there was war, my dad would suffer: physically, mentally and emotionally. He would miss me, he would miss my mum and he will develop a strong taste of self-hatred after killing his ‘enemies’. If he dies, my dad would leave grief behind – a type I have never felt or ever want to. I would mourn most my inability to comfort him at the last moment; to smile and remind him we loved him and to say thank you for being my dad.

Though this is a scenario completely made up in my head, I am still saddened just thinking about it. This was the reality for families during World War One and Two. Reality for Americans and Britons today as well as Africans and Asians. The reality of the world.

Not so long ago, everyone but me was without flaw. The gift of perfection was awarded to everyone excluding me and I developed self-hatred. That is, until I began to see the great holes of fault within each and every man on this earth. I was confused and saddened. No matter how detrimental my self-hatred was to me personally, it was still comforting to know that everyone else got it right: they knew it right, said it right and acted right. But it’s not as simple as that.

Studying World War One straight after just studying World War Two, I am reminded everyday of the wickedness, heartlessness and stupidity of man. We all cry ”freedom, freedom, freedom!” yet, we are too enslaved to really desire it. World War One was a game of ”shoot me, I shoot you”. No reason, no purpose but to bring destruction. How the forces of darkness must have rejoiced during this period!

The wars of this world reminds me of the wars of our beings. Over the years, my tastes have evolved. Now is the time I shy away from gossip in its malicious form. I hate hearing people mock their neighbours for the simple things like not changing their Facebook profile picture in six months or worrying things like a girl who gives it away generously. So what, right? It’s just gossip not the end of the world! But to me, it shows a deeper rot in us. One that deepens and deepens everytime we refuse to obey God’s greatest commandments:

1. Love the Lord thy God with all your heart.

2. Love your neighbour as yourself.

No Prince Charming tonight?

I search my life and I see so many things I am that must grieve God. To know that we are not being what he created us to be; to know we are suffering from blindness, heart attacks, cancer and osteoporosis when he created us to be healthy … well, he must grieve for us! In a way, our lives were made to be fairytales but from birth, we messed up every chance we got to dance with he handsome Prince and live happily ever after – on Earth anyway. So we fight, and hate and mock and proclaim superiority and with the same body and same mind, we love.

Human life is no longer simple in my eyes. We’re too complex, too sad and too happy to even try to decipher.

Did You?

Did you explain to Adam?

Did Adam explain to Eve?

That glorious mischief

Of squatting down to sh**?

 

Did you describe the act?

Or merely set the scene?

For what would be

Physical A.S.A.Ps?

 

Did you boil and roast?

Or simply send fire down?

To laugh at their frowns

As that first pig browned?

 

Did you teach the couple

Did they learn from nature?

Bird song brings pleasure

And Summer nights are leisure?

Love Potion

You think guilt is bad right? That vast desert of sin walking hand in hand with the spirit of growth? One of the great contenders of repentance’s freedom in our lives. In those days (by which I mean several months ago), guilt was my personal atonement. There was no way I was just going to let God forgive me for THOSE sins just like that! I bet he’s secretly angry so I will present him a sacrifice of guilt hoping that he will smell just how sorry I am. ”Ah! Welcome chains.” and I breathe a laboured sigh of relief.

You think guilt is bad right? Try shame. Shame is the inadequate waves of a mighty ocean made to be grand – made to capsize ships but capsizing boats. Christian guilt was my normality: a strange human aftertaste to the resurrection of Christ. Everyday I must remind myself that God is not angry with me and my desert loses grain after grain of sand.

In the three weeks since starting university, my eyes have been opened to self and I am constantly questioning this aspect of my life and that personality trait. It has worn me down. My pastor once said that though we judge Peter for denying Jesus three times, we do it far often in our personal lives. I was determined not to crucify God with my words, my thoughts and my actions. I might as well have determined to become perfection itself. Jesus.

I don't like crucifying Jesus.

Day three and I swore in the presence of an atheist. I hadn’t hurt myself nor was I angry but I wanted to and so refused to control my tongue. I was ashamed to identify myself with Christ in the presence of my atheist companion. It isn’t as if Christianity already has a good reputation with the world. The Media feeds off the nutters and those who corrupt the law for their gain.

Day three was a shameful ride back home where I was hurt for doing this to my God. I constantly begged for forgiveness because once just wasn’t enough for my actions. After this day, self-awareness creeped in and I began to notice me (my actions) and began comparisons with those of friends. There were glaring differences I’m still too ashamed to share. Things I do or don’t do that they embrace whole-heartedly or refuse. I remember a lecture sitting with the same friend and laughing as the lecturer mocked Sakorsy (France’s current President). She didn’t laugh. I don’t know her reasons why but I do know that for every ruler in power, there is a God who must approve. Who am I to mock God’s choice? My shame mixed with laughter – a strange combination.

Love Potion

My desert and my ocean were working together to kill God’s joy in my life and I let them. I find it amazing how easy it is to develop self-hate just so my God wouldn’t hate me himself. Until it hit me (not literally) and I noticed what was missing all along. Love was missing. Sure I receive love in my life. I have God and family and sure I notice love all around but I’m terrible at being the giver! I tried not to judge people, not to mock them, not to hate them but I did all this with a perverse need for pleasing a God who frankly, expected nothing less. I had changed God from a loving father to a strict father who deserved A grades from his son and nothing less.

Why do I find it so difficult to show love? I have no idea when others are capable of doing it with added sha-bang! But God showed me the light (permit the cliché) and here I am with a solution and a fear of putting it into place. A fear of failing AGAIN or falling away from love. It would be so much easier if there was a love potion I could simply drink and see the world – see humanity – wrapped in glitter. So I’ll try even though I know I will fall numerous times. I’ll try to love till love becomes me and I can stand before God and boldly proclaim, ”I loved my neighbour as myself.” Five words; second greatest commandment; hardest thing to do.

Sincere Thoughts of a Meaningless Life

My favourite storybook as a child was The Bible. I wasn’t a religious nine year old nor was I close to God but David’s tale enchanted me. We can say what we want about him but one thing David wasn’t was boring. And though I didn’t get their deep meanings, I followed the parables closely.

In my teens, I grew to detest this book because it just didn’t make sense. When the pastor explained it to me, I saw sense just as if he was writing a critical analysis of the book of Isaiah. From his mouth, he blew meaning into poetry. To the paper-thin Christian, God is many things but Love. To me, God was unjust and even shockingly, he was prone to overreactions of a Victorian kind.  How dare he tell me that my unrighteousness was nothing but filthy rags (Isaiah 64:6) when I was doing my best trying to set myself apart to be Holy like he constantly nagged in the Bible (Leviticus 20:7)? To me, God was contradiction.

I've found you need patience to study the Bible

It may have its boring moments (like when Ahitub begat Zadok and Zadok begat Ahimaaz) but the Bible is becoming a daily bread for me as I develop a sweet addiction to it. So I not only understand my filthy rags but I sympathise with God as my attempt at Holiness incessantly falls down like the walls of Jericho.

Exactly how I feel with God.

Many a times, I mentally flog myself for my sin – sin I consider myself too ‘deep’ and spiritual to commit but then I remember my righteousness and I heal the mental scars. So often, I wonder what God thinks of my meaningless life. So often, I ask God to make better this meaningless life. I ask him to add a few more spices and take away the bones but it seems my broth never changes and I am stuck with my ultra-filthy rags. In my desolation, I like to think that he’s doing so with patience – biding his time and waiting for the meat to cook so it falls off the bone rather than hacking it off.

How does Heaven see me? My moments of ultra stupidity and the simple moments of love? I wonder about the angels who never hesitate to kill once God commands and I wonder if they detest me for my lack of Heavenly wisdom. God may be love but he values wisdom and holiness. More to the point, God is still as confusing to me as he’s always been. Only difference is I now know more about him.

The Joys of Mental Stabbing

Isn’t it wonderful to find those always-happy, always-smiling people? Those ones that always carry an extra pouch of sunshine in their heart for the extra grumpy people and extra grumpy times? Aren’t they just wonderful?

On an hour and a half cold bus ride to university at 6:10am, this person is just not wonderful.

If I was a runner, I wouldn't even bother running a race if there was a Kenyan there

This person happened to be the bus driver and I never thought I’d say it, but his sunshine disgusted me. His sunshine made me miss the stormy mugs of his wicked counterparts. You know the ones who close the door on your face after running like a Kenyan for the bus? The ones who keep their boredom smooth as starched cotton on their face though you smile and say hi?

It was cold, I was trying to do some assignment before the deadline while wearing gloves as well as fighting a losing battle with sleep. The bus driver had his window open, was clearly enjoying driving the bus AND, most annoying of all, he was whistling along to the radio! Everyone’s partial to the odd bit of whistling but it seems nobody ever told the bus driver that there is a time and place and boy, was I tempted to!

Lol. My point exactly!

Two minutes into my assignment, I gave up and surrendered to sleep. All was well for a while as that deep dark abyss soaked me like red wine. I heard no stupid whistle, I felt no cold and I was in la-la land. Then bus-diver’s happiness BURST FORTH and his whistle increased volume and tempo. It broke into my deep dark abyss and I wanted to cry as I felt the pleasure of sleep slip through my body. This was the moment I got out the mental knife and slowly trailed it around my palm hoping to draw blood. Someone’s blood!

Torture was the last 40 minutes of the trip as I incessantly tried to recapture sleep and the bus driver’s kept ion whistling. On

I aint scared to use this!

and on and on. And on. Like a chicken with it’s throat cut. Each time it stops struggling, you hope this will be the last only for it to suddenly start up again shocking you into holding it back down to slowly and painfully bleed to death. Unfortunately, it was ME in pain as the bus driver stopped would whistling in irregular intervals only to start up again the moment sleep knocked on my door. This was the moment I got close to his back and poised the knife just above his liver, ready to stab.

More powerful than my temptation to stab him was my temptation to tell him to stop. But much as I wanted to, I couldn’t destroy that joy he had. To be honest, I wondered where he found it because a lot of people these days are lacking even the tiniest rays. So I kept my mouth shut all the while watching the light display of the knife as I twirled it round and around ready to plunge it deep within his flesh.

FINALLY, I reached my final destination and I was more than happy to get off. In childish anger, I decided not to say Thank You to him like I usually do bus drivers. Since I hadn’t got satisfaction telling him to stop whistling and disturbing my sleep, I decided to be petulant instead. Just as I was about to step off the bus, he happily bid me Adieu. I couldn’t put out his candle so I grumpily said Thank You. It was at this moment that I stabbed and stabbed and stabbed till his blood washed away the past and his joy never disturbed my peaceful sleep.

This made me lol.

When Jane Eyre Teaches Me God

Jane Eyre and Edward Rochester

The boys in my English course were NOT looking forward to reading Jane Eyre and who could blame them? It IS a romance after all! Four years ago, I read it and I swooned at Mr. Rochester’s love for Jane wishing it were directed at me. He was not handsome  - such a pity! – but his love for Jane was enough for me. How my heart beat furiously and how I felt a surge of sweet joy knowing that the only reason Mr. Rochester  paid attention to Miss Ingram was to make Jane jealous with love. Four years ago, Jane Eyre was simply a romance written by the esteemed Charlotte Brontë. Today, as I read Jane Eyre, though I enjoy its romance, I am more partial to its Christian messages where Brontë bares her knowledge of God and the truest meanings of Christianity that I can’t but be surprised.

I am challenged by the notion that there existed true 19th century Christians rather than the ”Christian” slave drivers and those hell bent on favouring societal status over God’s love. Who knew Jane Eyre could teach me about my identity in Christ as much as a Sunday sermon?

At the school of orphans, a  young Jane Eyre meets a 13 year old Helen that I regret to admit has more sense than an 18 year old me. Wisdom is definitely not defined by age. Helen lectures Jane on the pointlessness of unforgiveness – even to a aunty who treats you with unnatural hate and scorn – reminding Jane that life is too short for animosity especially since we are one and all burdened with faults in this world. The awesomeness of Charlotte Brontë is unrivaled as she articulately (through Helen) explains our universal battle between spirit and flesh.  ”but the time will come when . . . debasement and sin will fall from us with this cumbrous frame of flesh, and only the spark of the spirit will remain – . . . pure as when it left the Creator to inspire the creature.”

Come on! How amazing does that look? This was the 2008 Olympic Opening in Beijing, China

I never fully understood this frankly, weird adoration people often have for writers and poets. Sure I had read books and developed an appreciation for them and sure, I had listed their authors as some of my favourites but I had never really fallen in love with a writer until now. Jane Eyre is full with such words of wisdom that sometimes, it gets a bit too much, just like when something is so amazing that it starts to annoy little, flawed you. I remember watching the 2008 Olympics Opening in China and becoming quite annoyed with just how wonderful it all was. The costumes, fireworks, sounds, energy . . . 2 hours into it and I started looking for imperfection; something that wasn’t ten out of ten.

I read of a Jane Eyre who wholly forgives and brilliantly loves the same aunt who wronged her for so many years and for so trivial a reason. A Jane Eyre who leaves the man she loves and heads into the uncertain future of poverty and heartbreak for the sake of purity. A Jane who trusts God in difficult situations calling on him for help in the most destitute times and I am happy to find a Christian who so long ago understood the same message as I do know. Solidarity travelling the space of time.

Charlotte Brontë

A simple Google search would tell you that Charlotte Brontë didn’t exactly have a happy-go-lucky life so what a slap in the face when she talks about ”finding peace in God” in her novel. A peace which according to her words, ”passeth all understanding.” It was a slap because it is that which I haven’t found either having this afternoon gone through my customary anger at God for the suffering in the world while rejecting the arguments FOR him that I already transcribed in my heart as neatly as it is in the Bible. So though Brontë’s life was in no way fairtytale, I’m happy knowing she knew God like I do and more. I’m happy knowing she believed in Heaven, Holiness and punishing the flesh for the spirit.

I wish I could have met this author and dissected this mind that wrote a novel about each and every one of us. A novel about our God and one that particularly encourages me of the worthiness of thriving in the spirit.

God? Speak!

As I type this, I am sad. It is nothing to do with me or any unfortunate happenings in my life but rather to do with God, Satan and man. I am sad because I already know the answer to my questions. I know how to elevate my heart and call back joy but I refuse the spiritual answer born of faith. I seek a physical answer from a spiritual God – a God too majestic for all this. I want to weep.

This was the Headline I read on an online newspaper:

 

The full article can be read online at http://www.dailymail.co.uk/home

I am sad for the women, sad for the men and sad for humanity. But of course, it’s just the news and I must expect the bad, the ugly and very little of the good. I must feel empathy for a short period of time and let it go but for this, I can’t. So many times I wished to be stronger in Christ and I prayed for wisdom but now I have it, it is not glamourous. In this short headline, I see the work of the Devil so prominent in South Africa and I feel hopeless.

How can God possibly help these people? And I don’t just mean their lives on earth; I mean a help that trumps salvation when they reach their destination without the blood of Jesus on their head? It is times like these I wish God was realer and stronger to me or that there was no Heaven and Hell and life after death was non-existent.

Eudy Simelane was a South African football star and lesbian activist who was gang raped, beaten and stabbed to death

The women in this article! How I wish God would help them! Satan has broken them! Generations and generations of curses and they are completely blind. I speak of their sexuality. South Africa is of course notorious for men who don’t see the rape as wrong, don’t see domestic abuse as wrong and in short treat their Eves like Cain treated Abel. No wonder they turn to themselves for solace!

And the men! I recently read somewhere how the Devil likes to attack the heads of our homes: Adams. Break the strongest link and of course the chain loses its strength. The men are the poison of this society. They go against ALL God has called them to be and to do and I wonder what God thinks. Sheep leading each other straight to sin and a world of perversion and I see darkness! The Devil is WORKING in this country.

So I ask God why. Why does it seem some people are born lucky to know him and serve him while others are born unlucky to know perversion and the Devil. I ask God if Heaven grieves over this. I ask God why he doesn’t move. Does he need prayers? Through all of it, I wish I could hear God’s side of the story. Darkness has settled over my generation. We are like the shortsighted man who doesn’t know he is shortsighted because his eyes have been defective since he can remember.

I wish for light to fight the darkness out in South Africa  and the world. Infact, I pray for it. So many times in the past, I prayed for God to help me love him and here I am now, grieving in my heart wishing we could all feel God’s love and he could come down and sprinkle the blood of Jesus over all our foreheads.

God? Say something. Please.

 

I pray God, you will take these people’s lives in your hands and help them. Be merciful God. Love them! 

Looking to Childhood for Answers

Although I’ve never been in a relationship, I know that if I were, I would give it my all and maybe a little bit more. This obsession with holding on to emotions and journeying through the years with them is one of my disgusting weaknesses. When I am happy, I am happy and when I am sad, I am sad. When I felt loved as a child, I was loved and when I felt scorned, I was scorn itself.

There is that idea of a universal question that beats in all our hearts: ”Is there a God?” but for me, this question differs. From the day my aunty smacked me for a silly childish mistake all the way to the present, I have questioned my defects; those I cannot see yet I believe others see in me. Mental torture of an acquainted manner. When I constantly wet the bed aged 12 and my mum (believing she was doing me a favour) beat me severely, I questioned it. When my parents shouted at me for getting my school unifrom unbelievably dirty, I questioned it and while I sat in an early morning lecture this morning, it was there, feeding on my self-conscious.

”What is wrong with me?”

Naturally, I am jovial, loud and funny but for so much of my life, I have my personality because I am scared of frightening people away. I am scared they wouldn’t get my humour and way of thinking and I am scared they wouldn’t like me because I’m too loud. How can my insecurities run this deep? I thrive on them while they take their time defining me. Why not? Nothing else offers a believable definition! I may not know who I am but at least I know what I’ll always be.

It’s my fifth week as an undergraduate at university and my insecurites have ressurected again. For every new environment where I haven’t learnt to pretend they don’t exist, they run out like pigs to mud and they have as good a time as possible. Every word, expression and action born of approval, I desperately seek because truth be told, it is the only thing powerful enough to send the pigs back in.

I was about eight years old when I began coming home from school on my own. I would do my chores, do my homework and then wait for my parents to return home after sunset. All alone in that big house, I learnt how to enjoy my own compay. I learnt how to be my friend and most importantly, I developed that love for self that we all have or at least pretend to. I had friends at school and they stayed at school. If this was weird, I couldn’t care less as I wasn’t a leech depending on others to survive my love.

When I invoked annoyance, anger and irritation, I cared very little because at the end of the day, I still had me. Maybe it was weird that I had no close friends like others around me but it didn’t matter a bit because I could make myself laugh. Slowly, all the negativity built up a sound structure to pull self-love down and shatter its illusions forever. I can’t escape the blame though. No-one knew how it ate me inside and how I went around with the faith that I wasn’t worth much. I have carried this around for 12 years so that  I don’t know how to break it’s hold over me. It is that conjoined twin living off me, depriving me of nutrients and health until the doctor gets fed up and decides on removing it. It must be starved of life.

Lol. I want to be this baby!

What the doctor doesn’t know is that I live off it too. When I am ignored and rejected by another ‘friend’, I congratulate myself because of course, it is only normal. When I am accepted for who I am, I am incedulous and like Cinderella, I refuse to believe it is not but a dream. Childhood experiences have weighed down my adulthood so early in the race so I look to the cause for the solution. I remember my self-appreciation, self-love and self-approval and I ask that little girl to teach me self again. And I listen to her because I love her though I can’t love myself and she takes my big hands in her small ones and leads me like the dumb leads the blind. She shows me how I still make myself chuckle, how self-sufficient I am and hopefully, maybe very very soon, she’ll remind me why I need to love myself. And I’ll listen.

Why Did God Make Ugly People?

Well, that’s a stupid question if I ever heard one. And considering I often asked God the same question in the past, I don’t seem to be in the best position of giving an answer. I remember crying about my ‘ugliness’ and mockingly asking God why he made some people beautiful and others, average or even worse, ugly. It didn’t seem right or fair because to me, beautiful people were just people he spent more time on lovingly sculpting their perfect nose and their long eyelashes while ugly people were rag dolls patched together as quickly as possible.

I typed in 'beautiful woman' and this is who came up among other well-known celebrities.

I was angry in a way yet I felt resigned to my fate. I always blended in perfectly but the beautiful girls got appreciative looks from men and boys alike. I got nothing. It bugged me in a way that it probably shouldn’t have and soon, I began to judge ugly people. I hated them for being ugly like me because I couldn’t hate the beautiful people. In our society, beautiful means better so they were my superiors.

Realising the sinful nature of my hate,  I tried to change. I said to myself, “God made everyone so you have no right to call them ugly.” If I called them ugly, then I killed the work of God with my mouth: the work the Bible lets us know he found good. So I made no comments (in my mind) about the looks of others but deep down inside, I was still boiling.

Praying as normal yesterday, it finally hit me. I had seen a couple at a toy store that looked nothing like the world says they should look. In fact, they are the type of people the world laughs at, mocks because of the way they look and dress. I had completely bought into the ideologies of this world forgetting that I am not of it.

theuglybugball.com is a website that ACTUALLY exists. It's a dating website for 'ugly' people.

What hit me? My error of judgement. The simple truth is there ARE no ugly people. Now I don’t mean that nonsense that we all spout saying, “Beauty isn’t skin-deep. It’s what’s inside that counts.” or “Beauty is subjective.” I mean the real truth.

There are no ugly people because there are no ugly people. God made man in his own image so we all look good to him. In fact, we all look beautiful to him.

I got this answer and it calmed me. It’s obvious God loves and appreciates beauty so he made us beauty and he saw that we looked good. People always say that beauty changes based on society so in the next 100 years, you might find that bald men with beer bellies and hairy noses – basically any adjective you can accompany with ugliness – are the new super-skinny models of the time.

This is not society's current idea of beauty.

Frankly, it is insulting to say to God that I am not beautiful seeing as I look like him. Frankly, it is insulting to call someone ugly seeing as he made them in his own image; little gods on Earth. And frankly, I wish those super-skinny models would get some self-respect, quit the stupid industry and eat a sandwich.

The First Time I Took a Step Out That Boat

We all know the story of Peter walking out of the boat into the arms of Jesus. As a child, Peter’s little faith annoyed me. I was 7 years old, I wholly believed that God can and WILL do everything I asked so Peter’s lack of faith was an abomination so great, I lost respect for him.

Today, I read that verse and I am surprised to see that Peter is the one who asks if he can walk on the water. “Lord, if it’s you,” Peter replied, “tell me to come to you on the water.” (Matthew 14:28) Instead of losing respect this time, I am awed at his reaction compared to the rest of the disciples. Had I been on the boat, I would have seen it as ‘one of those things’ seeing as Jesus is God so he can break the laws of physics if he wants. Unlike Peter, I would never have believed myself able to walk on water though Jesus is standing right in front of me.

In my childhood, faithful was God and at times when even my parents wavered, I knew within me that God would help us. And he did. As an adult, unhelpful is my God. In times of desperation, I would pray knowing he could do it but believing he wouldn’t. Why would he do it? It’s just me afterall. Me in my unimportance. Yet though I am unimportant, he seized on my little faith and he did it for me because he loved me.

In the same way, though he chastises Peter for having little faith, he holds on to him. If Peter had never walked on that water in the first place, Jesus wouldn’t have had the chance to hold on to him. Isn’t in amazing that as small as my faith is, it is enough to move a mountain?

In their song Voice of Truth, Casting Crowns sums up exactly what Peter felt.

But the waves are calling out my name and they laugh at me
Reminding me of all the times I’ve tried before and failed
The waves they keep on telling me
Time and time again. ‘Boy, you’ll never win!’
“You’ll never win”

It is what I feel too. Though I have faith enough for my prayers to be answered, the waves and wind conspire against me. They will not let God be glorified in my life. They don’t want my testimony of healing to manifest so they pound and pound on my faith and soon I fall, asking Jesus to save me.

In my journey as a Christian, I stop at many crossroads. These crossroads always have two roads. One leads to a deeper faith in God and a deeper love for him. The other leads to backsliding and serious questioning of God in my life and in this world. At different points in my life, I have taken one or the other. Sometimes, I have stayed on that crossroad for so long that God sends rain to force me to take cover in the road of deeper faith.

For the first time in my life, I am marching straight down the road of deeper faith without encouragement from God; without his rain. For the first time in my life, I am terrified that God will realise my unimportance and forget his love for me. I am scared he will make a fool out of me after putting so much faith in him.

Yet I know that last sentence is nothing like the God in the Bible. By faith, suffering and perseverance, I will get to the next crossroad and the next and the next till I reach my healing and more importantly, Heaven. I only wish it was as simple as it sounds.

Jehovah Shammah: 7 Billion Mutual Friends

Life. Is. Meaningless.

There is a controversy about the book of Ecclesiastes: was it written by Solomon or someone else? Personally, I don’t care  as I’m more concerned about its message. Whoever wrote this book  is brilliant and often makes me laugh out loud. One minute he’s enthusiastic about life saying things like, “happiness comes from God” and the next, he tells me that absolutely everything is meaningless. My life; my laughter; my hard work are all meaningless. If I am wise in anyway, that is also meaningless and if I ever have children and grand-children? Well, they are also meaningless. Meaningless! Meaningless! Meaningless!

Yet Ecclesiastes is one of my favourite books in the Bible because it taught me the beauty in a meaningless life. What am I here for other than to serve God, eat, drink and enjoy life all to his glory? I remember going through a rough patch some months before and once, coming home and prayerfully crying to God to help me, I looked to the sky and saw the stars. And I felt small. So, so small. This universe is so big that scientists called it, ‘endless’ yet we humans take ourselves so seriously, overestimating our worth.

This word ‘meaningless’ is a comfort to me as I know that when things look so hopeless and when I get things wrong with God, my life still doesn’t matter. Yet, the only thing that gives it meaning is God. It’s like an infinitive equation. And though everybody loves to feel special, I think mine borders a little bit on addiction. I had gotten so caught up with my relationship with God that I’m sure he must have been dying for some fresh air – away from me. I became that needy, annoying girlfriend who is constantly nagging her boyfriend, acting like an over-protective hen and trying to get things right to please him. Always. If he said my chicken was too dry, I cried  and when his mum told me a secret about him I had not managed to find out despite thorough research, I felt cheated; like a loser. I might as well tell you now that I am a very obsessive person by nature.

Never ever type 'cupcakes' in Google images while hungry

After meeting several atheists and feeling like a celery among cupcakes , I was glad to finally learn that four of my friends and acquaintances are Christians. Infact, I was surprised as I had started to buy into the stereotype that you only find Christians at church, Though I was pleased, I was cautious as I wasn’t sure how ‘deep’ they were and shamelessly did I throw them away judging their outward appearances and using it as an answer. Yet as I got closer to them, I realised just how much they knew God and even ‘carried’ him with them. After talking about bar crawls, Starbucks and assessment deadlines for four straight weeks, I felt the refreshing coolness of talking about God and connecting with people through him and him alone. Mutual friends.

We all agree that the turban wearing Sikh, the hijab covering Muslim and even the Satan worshiping believer belong to God whether or not they like it but I still questioned God. I would see that Muslim woman and stare incredulously finding it hard to believe she was God’s though I readily agreed God loved her. Every Christian is a mutual friend, but what of “the others”? This was my sub-conscious question to God.

Using a simple English task, God answered. We were to pick a song and study it as one would study a poem so I picked one of my favourites; God is Enough by Lecrae. For those that don’t know, the lyrics warn against the worldly life and urge the listener to turn back to God A.S.A.P so I wasn’t sure how it would go down with 2 out of 6 of us being the only Christians. Through that song, I was able to introduce my faith. I opened God as a conversation and learned that there is another two of us who are/were Christians meaning they know God, love and fear him, have led the Christian lifestyle  and are still interested in him but they live in the world.

One of them told me she knows she’s living in sin and doing things she’s not meant to be doing but at the end of the day, she’s only hurting herself. She spoke truth. Through these two girls, I was made to understand that God is far more present than I thought. He DWELLS on this earth among us and I feel peace and joy knowing that I have 7 billion friends in common with my maker.

Together, the four of us plan to go to a Christian event together and maybe together, God will pour more of him into us.

Getting High in Church

Bad, bad dope!

That first shot of dust is like no other as it travels from vein to throat; stomach to scalp. Then euphoria takes over and you collapse into a pit of floating mindlessness. It is at this point that I chuckle at the confusion on the faces of some readers. Heroin? In church? Even the atheist would ask me what is wrong with me (to put it mildly).

If I were to confess, it would be to say that no, I don’t do heroin in church injecting it into my arms and legs while others around me are saying the grace. Neither do I do it at home, in public toilets or any other inventive places you can think of. So how do I get high as in the title of this post? The answer? God. And though it might not sound as exciting as a description of me being wired, I aim not to disappoint.

Nevertheless, if you find simple, primal happiness boring then you will be disappointed. A guest minister at my church once preached on ‘The Presence of God’ which the Bible tells us is ‘full of joy’. I readily confess that today was the first time I felt that fullness of joy. Let me tell you now that it is addicting to the point that you are disappointed when the praise session ends. You are disappointed when the worship session in turn ends thinking that is the most of God you will get for the day. Then euphoria washes you anew when you realise that God is still with you as you leave the church. You realise that Heaven is closer to you as you feel his love engulf you till you become the heroin in a romantic film (preferably starring Meg Ryan).

Good dope baby!

This is the high I mean. One that makes you dance all sorts of crazy dance not caring who’s looking at you (like David) and one that makes you weep or laugh uncontrollably till you are drained from so much love riding on so strong a connection. I am such a junkie, I cannot wait for my church’s upcoming praise week in December. Four days of praise and worship? Four days in his unadulterated presence? That’s good dope right there!

My Slice of Glory; Your Slice of Glory

Picture a twelve year old girl with a love for God so strong, she hands out to classmates hundreds of lollipops with bible verses stuck to them. A sixteen year old Christian gangsta loving his neighbour so much, he gives out free Bibles to classmates and through him, two friends and their families were added to the book of life. A group of teenage Christians with a hit list of classmates to pray for starting from the worst. of the worst  Heaven hears their prayers and the boy is now a man working for God.

Now picture an eighteen year old girl with a love for God so strong, she selfishly keeps it to herself. God’s been good to her, she knows the devastating hopelessness of Hell yet has never won a soul for her Dad. This eighteen year old girl is more in tune with her sense of self-importance: doing work for God yet sharing in his glory. No servant ever went to the King’s dining table dipping his wooden fork into the King’s golden bowl!

While I reproach myself (in love), I saw for the very first time my pathetic self-unimportance. A featherless hen calling himself a peacock. I am not angry at myself, nor do I verbally bring myself down like I would in the past yet I am conscious of the fact that God will use a donkey if he has to to get his message across. He will not share his glory with me and I must learn that being like Christ in every way also means living for others and not myself. A bit like telling the pig to eat like a rabbit. Nevertheless, there is hope for that pig because with God, all things are possible. It’s just another prayer to add to my list as I sacrifice my ego on the altar.

Losing Your Identity Card

My identity as a child of God is more important than any other Identity of mine.

One very invaluable lesson I learnt recently is the importance of looking as good as possible when taking a passport photograph. Though the camera person might not flinch at your ugliness (being used to hundreds of ugly faces each day), others will. You will use this passport photograph on I.D cards, your passport, driving licences etc meaning that A LOT of people will see this same picture. I pity you if like me you’re not photogenic.

This is where God comes in and this is where things get good because you can always trust that the picture on your Heavenly I.D card is the most beautiful you will ever take. No sin, no shame, no reproach but a face radiant with love. For me however, the status that card gives me is a lifeline I simply cannot live without. Sure it gets me into Heaven but more importantly, it is my hope, my love and my satisfaction. Therefore, imagine my horror when I lost this card a week ago.

At first, I didn’t panic because replacements can be sent directly from Heaven. We all know that all you need to do is repent and ask for forgiveness of sin and Voila!, there’s a new one right in front of you. So I did the same but to my horror, my application was rejected. One week without this card and I am ready to go insane. I knew I loved God but I never realised how much I needed him just being there. So I prayed the big miracle inducing prayers? So he answered? But I forgot how much I love to go to his presence to worship. I forgot how good it feels to have him recognise me.

I so wish he could hug me right now.

Lecrae (one of my favourite rap artists) released a song called, ‘Identity’ with a simple yet life changing message. “My identity’s found in Christ.” Nothing else. I watch the world around me crumble and for the first time ever, I can’t bear it because God is not here with me. I miss him so much! I am mocked, rejected, make stupid decisions but because my father isn’t here with me, they stick to my heart like cholesterol weakening me till I am forced to retreat and surrender underneath the weight.

The one thing I miss the most is his love and though I pray, pray, pray, my identity card is not forthcoming. My mum once told me that when you don’t feel God yet seek him with all your heart, that’s when he’s closest to you. All I can do is hope that there is truth in these words because frankly, I miss my lover.

10 Reasons I’m in Love With You

10. You love me anyway. To the world, my faults and weaknesses are stumbling blocks but to you, they are stepping stones used to get closer to me. Cement blocks for building a better me.

9. You are fortress when I’m weak. Your strength begins where my weakness ends. I’ll crumble and you’ll pick me up.

8. You are an army of terror. I put on the armour of God and safety envelopes me. I see my enemies from afar and I dare them to take a step closer.

7. Your blood. The greatest gift EVER. Don’t get me started on this one cause you know I wouldn’t stop. It heals, blesses, protects, rewards, revives and with incredulity, I shout like an African, “Eh-Eh!” Thank you.

6. Your presence. Where do you get all that joy you keep up there? Can I please have a little more?

5. Blessings and miracles. What barren woman doesn’t want a child? What beggar doesn’t want £1,000,000? Who is the blind man who doesn’t want sight?

4. The bad times. The tough times. Those sweet, salty tears. Fair enough the Devil polluted every good thing you ever made but I know it burns him whenever you bring good out of bad. I know it wounds him when the depressed, lonely and needy turn to you. Only you God.

3. Beauty. Your personality shines here.You looked at the earth and you saw that it was good. You looked at the stars, the ducks and the grass and they were all good. You looked at me and you congratulated yourself. I am good!

2. Your majesty; your power. If only we could see angels or those well-groomed chariots of fire. If only we could give and take life with a thought or cause a whole sea to part. Like my mother would say, “Baba! You are wonderful!” The fear of God is a fear that I love. Who needs a moral compass when I have that? Why fear man when I fear you?

1. Your sense of humour. You wanted us to find the blob fish and scratch our heads in dismay. I read about the time you gave Elijah super speed to outrun royal horses and I heard about the time you rubbed some of your strength in Samson’s hair. Creative or what? No wonder I want to be a writer just like you!

Elijah is Awesome

Though I’ve only digested about 5% of the Bible, my favourite character remains Elijah. To me, prophets were boring and/or scary. That is until I turned to 1 Kings and read about the contest on Mount Carmel. Since God is a jealous God, you know that the Contest was a big deal! It was a show down! Under Jezebel and Ahab’s rule, the Israelites had turned to Baal and God was having none of it so he sends Elijah down to finally get rid of the nonsense.

In true God style, it was going to be a big deal. As we all know, the Israelites were ridiculously stubborn and always turning away from God so he needed something spectacular to bring them back to him. On one side, we have the prophets of Baal with their bull on the altar and on the other side, we have Elijah with his bull on God’s altar. Whoever gets their god to light up the bull by sending fire from Heaven is the winner. The winner takes the belt and the Israelites (including their king, Ahab) will follow that god.

So the prophets of Baal called on their god for about 12 hours. When he didn’t answer, they cut themselves, with knives and swords until their blood gushed out. Nice! As you can guess, since there is NO god called Baal, they received no answer. This is whee I fell in love with Elijah as while they were cutting, hobbling, dancing and making fools out of themselves. he was mocking them. He stood under the authority of God and he mocked the enemy. He said “You’ll have to shout louder for surely he is a god! Perhaps he is daydreaming, or is relieving himself. Or maybe he is away on a trip, or is asleep and needs to be wakened!”

Then Elijah called the people over, drenched his altar and his sacrifice with water (for added effect and emphasis) before calling on the name above all names to send fire down. Woosh! How I wish I was there to see it so it. How I wish it would light up my faith in God. Still on 1 Kings, I turn to chapter 19 and right after the splendour of God, I see Elijah in all his weakness as he flees, fearful for his life. Jezebel had promised to kill him and I’m guessing Elijah enjoyed life too much to risk this.

After 40 days and 40 nights walking alone in the wilderness, Elijah gets to his destination: Mount Sinai. I find it funny how God left him to suffer so terribly on this journey only for him to ask, “What are you doing here Elijah?” when he gets there. Surely it would have been better to tell him BEFORE he even started out? But God had a point to make to Elijah, to me and to you. God tells Elijah to go out and stand before him on the mountain. The passage reads:

Then a great and powerful wind tore the mountains apart and shattered the rocks before the LORD, but the LORD was not in the wind. After the wind there was an earthquake, but the LORD was not in the earthquake.  After the earthquake came a fire, but the LORD was not in the fire. And after the fire came a gentle whisper. When Elijah heard it, he pulled his cloak over his face and went out and stood at the mouth of the cave. 1 Kings 19: 11-13

For days I prayed to God asking him to reveal the meaning of this passage but I got nothing until today at church when the preacher explained it so simply. Elijah was used to a God of fire that God had to show him he is also a God of whispers. God had to remind us that he is constantly speaking to us but out minds are too noisy to hear him. The preacher called it ‘mental noise’.

I can’t guesstimate Elijah’s age but I’m certain he was older than me when this happened. I read this important lesson God teaches him and finally, my mind is at peace because one of the participants of my mental noise is a fear of stupidity. It’s a fear of never being wise enough to God’s liking and constantly making mistakes that would cost me religion-wise. If a prophet of God as notorious as Elijah could still learn vital lessons even after knowing and working with God for so long, I believe it is OK if I sometimes get it wrong as I grow.

When Joseph Wept

During Bible Study a few months ago, a friend gave an interpretation of Joseph as a man sharing a similar destiny with Jesus. They both suffered greatly in order to save mankind (although Jesus’ destiny was far greater). At the time, I didn’t completely agree with her view because to me, Joseph was pompous. If he wasn’t arrogant; if he wasn’t pampered by Jacob with a belief of being special, Joseph would have kept that dream to himself. Infact, I was angry with Joseph for this character flaw and interpreted his hardship as God’s way of humbling him.

Both of these interpretations are right but I confess that I am not so critical of Joseph anymore. Who doesn’t confide with family? With their father? And I know from experience how you can over-share when trying to get people to like you. Poor Joseph was seeking the love and confirmation of those he looked up to, his brothers, and what do they do instead? We all know the story!

It’s interesting how the Bible rarely mentions Joseph’s feelings. How did he feel all alone in the well while above, his brothers ate and told each other scary stories, laughing the night away? The darkness must have enveloped him. And though it’s easy to make promises to God telling him you’ll love him and follow him no matter what, when the darkness cuts you away from his presence, it becomes all you have.

Yet Joseph held on to God. He cried that night and the next day, after he was traded, he journeyed to Potiphar’s house with God. And on that night when they threw him in jail, when they aborted him from that foreign place he had begun to call home, he cried. But the next day, he broke those stones with God. This is Joseph’s story.

In the same way, I weep in the dark then run back to God the very next day. Now I’m not saying my destiny is to save millions of people from starving death and billions of generations from non-existence. Neither thankfully, is it my destiny to become a prime minister of a nation but like Joseph, I find I sometimes have to weep before I can go back to my father.

Beautiful painting!

The prison warden saw Joseph breaking those stones, muscles glistening and lips praising and he said, ‘What a hardworking boy.’ In the same way, the world sees my joy but they don’t know the source because after all that’s happen and all that continues to happen, if I don’t hold on to God, hopelessness will enslave me like Potiphar did Joseph.

Then God poured blessings into Joseph’s life and he went from eating gruel to eating roast pig for dinner. From heat and mosquitoes to air conditioners and servants. But the Bible made no mention of Joseph’s happiness at his upligtment, not until he reveals himself to his brothers. Not until he is finally reunited with his family as that long lost brother and son. Then he weeps with joy. Then the Bible celebrates his victory with him.

My father made a way for me right where there was no way and my victory is celebrated by the world. Here’s hoping he does so again and again and again till the day I die.

You Just Don’t Know

Whose way of life is more difficult? The Atheist or the Christian? Some might say the Christian because we are persecuted daily, sometimes severely in countries like Pakistan. Yet on a simpler level, I believe that life as an atheist will always be rosier than life as a religious person. I once gave this explanation to a group of Atheists and they almost ate me in denial while the Christians among them applauded me very heroically. It was a weird combination of hate and approval.

There’s a popular hymn I detest that goes, “Trust and obey. For there is no other way, to be happy in Jesus but to trust and obey.” It’s a scam that lures you into a false sense of security. So you sing it happily believing you’re simply worshiping God  until the full force of the words ‘trust’ and ‘obey’ hit you. Until you realise how hard it is to trust and obey God?

I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve been on the verge of sinning with the Holy Spirit flashing me the warning lights, yet I would still satisfy the flesh. The flesh is a little child ignoring mummy’s gentle advice not to touch that fire. Do. Not. Touch. It. It’s quite simple but to the flesh, it’s a dare. “What’s REALLY going to happen if I touch it? Mummy just doesn’t want me to have fun cos she’s always nagging ans nagging and nagging and nagging! I’m touching it!” But it’s OK cos mummy has the ointment ready for when you come running back.

Now trusting is harder. Once the fire burns you two, three times, you will start to follow God’s command but the intelligence and omnipotence of God makes me fear to trust him. His ways are not my ways so when I ask him for advice on the trivialiest of issues and get no answers, boy do I throw a tantrum! Our greatest strength is that we were made in the image of God and our greatest weakness is that we were made in the image of God. We will always believe we are mature enough, clever enough and brilliant enough to make it without the help of others whether above or below us.

It was early, it was cold and I was waiting for the bus when I started to pray but my spirit wasn’t feeling it. I started wondering if God will do it or if he will ignore me till the problem rips my heart out and pain becomes my friend. I started wondering if it was even worth it committing every of my exams unto God when there is a possibility he will make me fail ‘for his own reasons’. Slowly, my distrust revealed itself. I kept asking God, “What will happen?” and for everytime I asked, he told me, “You just don’t know.” It could be good, it could be sad but I just have to trust in him.

Conversations with God

I asked God, “Why do you say no to prayers? Don’t you know it hurts?” He laughed. Big, gulpy laughs that filled the whole of Heaven, then he replied. “Child, do you know my ways? Do you know my thoughts? Do you know how I loosen the tongue of the child so he can speak? Do you know the stars and their names? I can tell you the answers and explain my reasons to you, but do you have your whole life to sit and listen to every reason; inter-connected and inter-living?

"Yet I always saved them"

So I asked God why he did the things he did for me. I thought I was special, I thought of my importance till he breathed down and explained to me. “You’re no more than an Israelite. Have you counted how many times they turned away from me? How many times they disobeyed me? And how many times they distrusted me? Yet I always saved them; always blessed them; and always loved them. Child, I love you the same way I loved the Israelites, the toads that croak and even that boy you dislike (Yes, I know about him). You’re not special, not at all. But I show you mercy, I give you grace and I love you. THAT is why I do the things I do for you.

I was very tired of God’s smugness, so I asked him where he was when bad things happened. “Where were you when the Jews were dying in the furnaces? Where were you when the Africans where shipped away in chains? And where are you now as the world hungers, suffers and bleeds? My God sighed and he told me, “This is why I sent my begotten son. I didn’t want sons and daughters to suffer for the sins of their fathers. But they didn’t pray; they didn’t bring the blood of Jesus to me. It is to be used as a receipt for a free washing away of sins, iniquities and transgressions. My people didn’t use the blood. 

Hunger happens because the world lets it happen.

I wasn’t satisfied. “What of now? What of hunger and famine? What of the white slave owners, stealing identities, joy and freedom of the darker skinned man? My God was angry and he accused mankind; he accused me. What of you? What have you done to help these people? I commanded you to love them but you only love your self. He began to weep and he asked me, Why do you go through the motions? Why do you live your life for you? You ignore your neighbour, curse him and even enslave him with your own mind. How dare you blame me? Heaven thundered and I was scared.

Then my God asked me if I had put the blood of his son to good use. “How many souls have you won child? How many people must die before you flee your comfort zone and preach the Good News? How many times must Heaven weep before you shed your pride and shame?” But I was too busy that day, so there was no room for discussion.

I was tired and I was weary so I put my God on the stand. Like a child on Christmas Eve, I asked him if I would ever get to open my presents. I said, “Will I ever know you?” He smiled. “Walk with me all your life and hold my hand all your life and soon, we would go sailing on the stars like two lovers without a care in the world.” 

Colour INSIDE the Lines!

I remember that first slap. It was unexpected, it was hard and it stung. I remember the tears rushing out and blotting the ink on my exercise book. I remember I was 10 and my dad could not understand why I couldn’t solve a Quadratic Equation after 30 minutes of tutoring. I love my dad but when it comes to homework, I learnt to stay CLEAR away from him.

Yet, doing assignments together is one way we bonded during my childhood. Maths, English, Science and even Art, he was always there for me. This is why one of my greatest fear as a 6 year old girl was colouring outside the lines of the picture. It just wasn’t something my dad would tolerate. So like an artist, I learnt to patience. I learnt to colour starting from the lines and working my way inside. This way, my dad was always proud of me and I in turn was happy.

While my earthly father taught me to colour inside the lines, my Heavenly father jumped a step forward and colours my picture for me. In their song ‘Never Be the Same’, the band Red speak of how they can never walk away from God; not after loving him. It’s just not a possibility to be explored. This is why this morning, when all the things I should be but haven’t managed to be as a Christian came mocking, I had no choice but to cling on to God.

After all we’ve been through, even though it entered my head to pick up my toothbrush and drive away, I could only panic at the thought of leaving God. The world chose colours for me and these became my identity. Slowly, I began to rot until God stepped in! What a breathe of fresh air to feel him become my identity. If he says my face is to be purple then I am not arguing. And if he says my eyes should be yellow to contrast the purple of my face, then so be it!

 

Occasionally, that 6 year old girl would make a mistake and colour outside the lines. I could never rub away my mistake no matter how hard I tried and this made me sad. Then my dad would take a common eraser, lick the tip and Voila! The stain was gone.

Always, that 16 year old girl made mistakes and coloured outside the lines. She could never rub away the mistake so she tried colouring over it, but this only made it look uglier. I couldn’t wipe away my sins. I couldn’t take away reproach, regret or those mistakes I never should have made and this depressed me. Then my father died on the cross, shed his blood and Voila! My sins are gone.

God Took Jacob. I have Esau.

All my life, I’ve been Jacob. All my life, God has been merciful and I’ve been blessed. There really was no need for explanation. I was just luckier than most and a little bit better; a little bit more deserving. It wasn’t until I knew God that my understanding was broadened. It wasn’t until recently that I realised the importance of the mercy of God. It wasn’t until today that I questioned which twin I am. Esau or Jacob?

One thing I always thanked God for was his mercy. In my own words, “God’s always been with me”. So while waiting for the bus on a cold Sunday night two weeks ago, I bowed my knees and thanked him for that one simple but magnificent mercy in my life: He’s always put meat on my plate. To the Westerner, this is weightless mercy, but to an African who’s neighboured poverty, it is an unrivaled blessing.

Shame and disappointment sold me their souls today. They spat on my faith and drowned my hardwork just like every other time in the past. I refused to cry. I refuse to show God that he hurt me. I have been both brothers but now, I feel as Esau felt when Jacob stole his destiny. It is more than the present. It is a future without hope. One where I readily embrace tears of disappointment before disappointment itself is manifested.

Loss Is now a companion.

On Sunday, the pastor asked us to cry out for mercy from this same God of Jacob and Esau. On Tuesday, I lost my future or at least, I lost its joy.I lost every hope, every dream and every life I had built around the mercy of God. Suddenly, I am Esau and my life can go as bad as it can. I am Esau and I do not merit the good things in life. I am Esau and I am forever losing the good bits of my destiny.

God chooses who he shows mercy on. Who can question him? My life can be as bad and it can be as good as he wants it to be. Who can question him? I must be honest and say I am tired of God and his inconsistency. I am tired of the tears and most of all, I’m tired of the loss. But I will go to church tomorrow, and I will praise him because he spared me the greatest loss of all.

We Like to Call ‘Em ‘Douchebags’

C. S. Lewis and his amazing smile

Like Harry Potter, Twilight and every other over-hyped book/movie franchise out there, I hate ‘The Chronicles of Narnia’ with a passion. Is it ignorant that I know very little about these franchises except for the battle against evil in Harry Potter, the glittering (yet manly) vampires in Twilight and a talking lion in The Chronicles of Narnia, yet hate them with a passion? Is it then double-standard to be a major fan of C.S. Lewis while unjustly hating his literary work? The answer is yes.

So what else is there to be a fan of? For me, it’s Lewis’ magnificent quotes about God, Atheism and the world. One of my favourite quotes of his points at my high standards of the world around me. I might not be perfect but dang it! you yourself MUST be perfect. Lewis wrote, “This year, or this month, or, more likely, this very day, we have failed to practise ourselves the kind of behaviour we expect from other people.”

Sometimes, you find people who are so deeply in-tuned and who so deeply rest in God that you want to be like them if only to have the same relationship with God that they have. So while scrubbing away in the shower this morning, I decide to formulate my own quote. It was to be a quote about pride and it was to be awesome. This is what I came up with:

“The problem with pride is that it is so easily hidden and takes very little to grow. Our prized gardener God will do everything it takes to destroy these weeds and keep the garden pristine. It will cost you. The trouble with humility is that it is so easily faked and takes a lifetime to grow. It must withstand rain, weeds, weevils and early morning urine. If then, it still grows, it is humility born of God.” 

There will always be reasons to commend pride in your life, whether it’s your shiny, bouncy shampoo-like hair, your amazing work for God or even how good your pasta salad tastes. Of course some forms of pride are acceptable – even God looked back at his work and saw that it was good. What he didn’t do was look down on his angels and on Adam, treating them like 3rd class citizens because he was better than them. Unfortunately, in this life there are people who find reasons for pride everywhere. We like to call these people ego-maniacs or, for those who don’t mince words, ‘douchebags’.

I was once a douchebag. In fact, still am. Seems to me like the moment God kills off this weed, another variation – stronger and more poisonous – springs up. So begins the cycle. I cry to God to break my pride, the fall comes and my garden remains forever free of that particular weed. Before every exam, before every story and before every essay that I write, I call on God to take control. After sixteen years of being top of the class without any effort, failing a simple exam twice in one year becomes your weed killer. How can I take the glory for my gift of writing, my success in exams and a brilliant essay when my God did it? That is true humility.

Minus the evil, glass eye and maniac obsession, General Skarr illustrates my point in immature cartoon form. 

Hidden pride – as painful as this is for me to admit – is wondering if my relationship with God is acclaimed: in church, at university and at home. The world must know of Lola’s amazing relationship with God. They just must! Do you see how special I am to God? Do you see how badly my face wrinkles as I worship? It’s because I am deep in the spirit baby! Because off my awesome relationship with God. And do you see the blessings of God in my life? Yes! You guessed it! It’s because of my awesome relationship with God. I am awesome.

I can smell the weed-killer. I can predict the fall to come but it’s OK because at the end of it, my humility will be true; a pristine garden.

Be Careful Little Eyes What You See

I was nine when my period started. It wasn’t till I turned seventeen that my sense of lust fully matured. At nine, I was menstruating and courting harmless crushes on boys. At eighteen, spirit and flesh are constantly at war with each other. Lust, greed, envy and just about every sin of the flesh. Self-control never promised to be easy. She simply taught us about the grace of God.

Lol

My God is a good God. In fact, he’s a generous God who genuinely loves to bless his people. So when it came to the ladies at my church, he out-did himself. I always wondered how men at my church managed to control themselves with so many attractive ladies around them. Bum? Check! Breasts? Check! Beauty? Check! Brains? Check! I realise today that it is because these men are in-tuned with the spirit; flesh no longer plays a role in their lives.

For me, he doesn’t have to be overtly handsome or too tall but, one thing he has to have is muscle. Meet my flesh. This is one of her weakness. She found him at church, his muscles bulging out his t-shirt like a visual metaphor of strength. He had the arms, the chest and the eight pack. Spirit looked away but not before flesh had a poisonous glass. I fell. The spirit of lust rushed in and danced my thoughts to sin. I couldn’t believe I was lusting in church. In the presence of God! Needless to say, my prayer for forgiveness was swift.

Unfortunately, there will always be food, always be men and women we find attractive and situations where jealousy rears its head but, we must learn to control it at its birth otherwise, we become slaves.

“A spirit dwelling in God is enough to withstand a flesh craving for sin.”

Catching Up

I never really talked to you much. All I did was praise you. I loved you at a distance for loving me. This was enough.

How are you? Let me take a guess and say, “same as before”. You’re living in glory among the angels but you remain ever so busy with me, my friends, the churches and the world. You remain ever so sad at the world and ever so happy when a sinner turns back to God.

I would ask you how you are Jesus but I never hear from you. Why do you sit there? Mute? Someone told me it’s because of my ‘mental noise’. I’m too busy thinking and thinking and feeling to hear you. I get that.

Can you remember that day I finally gained admission into university, after so much trouble; so much heartbreak? How my mum hugged me ever so tight as we rejoiced? It was one of the happiest days of my life.

Here I am now, confused as I’ve never been in my life. In two months, I have changed – drastically. I wish I could tell you it was for the better, but my change is for the worst. How can I accept who I am yet hate myself at the same time? I am not better. I am immature: a child. I am foolish. I am desperate. I am happy. I am sad. Only you know my heart. Only you know how I feel.

I am confused. Please. Take my hand and lead me, through these four years of my life. I always thought I was strong; I could withstand the world. You smile. I am so small; so tiny. So lost. If you can help – if you could only take my hand and lead me, I’ll be content.

I never really grew. I am still a little girl in a woman’s body – so fragile I break every day. Give me trust Yeshua. Give me your cross.

L is for the Way You Look at Me

After having so many bad experiences with love letters, I've grown to hate them.

I was 10 when I received my first ever love letter. Inexperienced and immature as I was, even I could tell that there was more lust than love in each scribbled word. I showed it to my friend, we laughed and I tore it up. Then I wrote big fat massive ‘No’s over four pieces of paper and calmly did I present my answer to him. It was heartless but it brought a swift end to all that nonsense.

Then came another one two years later and this time, being a close friend, I let him down as gently as I could. Even now, as an 18 year old girl, my parents are always advising me AGAINST boys and relationships. For them, education remains my priority until the day I graduate with my PhD. I see their point. So then, you can imagine the things they told me as a younger 12 year old? I was positively convinced that having a boyfriend was a sin!

Over the years, I have developed a fear, an acute embarrassment of the word ‘love’. Today, I’ve decided to forgo my embarrassment for once and write through my feelings; clear my thoughts and wipe away the smog.

I don’t know about you, but I haven’t met that many 18 year old teenagers interested in marriage. It’s just not natural. I picture myself as a wife and I laugh scornfully. I give the marriage five months because I know it wouldn’t survive my insecurities and every of my flaws. Age hasn’t got round to refining me yet. Nevertheless, I can’t seem to escape marriage, relationships or love. Who knew it played such a big part in life?

Not a week goes by without marriage being brought up at my church. It’s so important, it features in the very first pages of the Bible. It’s so important, the eligible bachelors and spinsters at my church shout a loud Amen when the pastor prophesies wedding rings. I know so many couples who’ve met and are courting in my church while in my other life, at university, all my friends are in relationships. Like Jane Eyre would say, ‘providence seems to be leading me towards this path’. The path of romance.

Will you marry me? "Erm ... let me get back to you on that."

One thing I love about pastors is that they truly love their wives with the same passion with which they love the church. They talk about the romance they have with their wives and I can’t help but share this love with them, amazed that such is possible. One thing I respect about my father is that he truly loves, cherishes and respects (most times) my mother.

Seems like I can’t escape this so I turn to the author and finisher of my faith and I ask him how I’m supposed to know when the stereotypical ‘one’ comes into my life. I can’t base it on the way he looks at me or the way he treats me or even the way I feel about him. At the end of the day, if God tells me I’m to marry a 92 year old Spanish bull fighter, I will marry a 92 year old Spanish bull fighter.

So here I am confused and trying to fight my feelings. Surely you cannot meet ‘the one’ aged 18? So what do I do about him? Deep down in my heart of hearts, I believe he’s not the one for me but then again, how am I supposed to be sure? Perhaps all I need is serious prayer. My destiny is just too important to pair up with every Tom, Dick and Harry.

The Ugly Makeover

The first was sin; the second, born of sin; and the third was a farce. These are the three gravest mistakes of my life in order of severity. I walked away from them and they followed my footsteps, desperate to blacken my name: my present. I showed them my affiliation with the blood of Jesus and they scorned my attempt at freedom. Their soot reached the far corners of my eyes, it chased health from my lungs and slowly, I weakened. I let it wash over me like rain on a bloodshed land. I let it wash and wash and wash till it became a part of me: underwear never to be taken off. It was a pretense of support eating away at my spirit.  Three mistakes in two decades.

I wore my suit of soot and I wore it proudly. It was a warning to the world. Step away! I’ve made my share of mistakes! I have no more patience – no more room – for more. It worked. But it came at a high cost, just like the emperor’s new clothes.

I was highly sprung. I thought things through, thoroughly. Every option was explored; every stupidity debunked; and fun was yanked out of life. I was missing out that essential experience of life: of making mistakes and learning, growing from them. The tailors lied to me and told me I looked hot in my suit but it was too tight. The world could see every wobbly bit hanging out the tight elastic.

So I freed myself. I took a shower and I embraced mistake. I apologised for my inattention and I promised to treat it with the love and respect it deserved. Then I called for my royal tailors and had them whipped in the presence of my subjects: a consolatory gift to my quiet lover, Mistake.

I Thank You

Today marks the beginning of a twenty-one day fasting and prayer at my church as we enter into the new year prayerfully. If there’s one thing I’ve been praying to God for, it’s grace and strength to live in the spirit during this period. It’s a challenge.

Each day has it’s own theme and today’s theme was on Thanksgiving. I once read somewhere how the devil is jealous of us humans because we are essentially what he always wanted to be. We are gods on earth. Ouch! That must burn! The pastor confirmed it today revealing how the angels in Heaven question God, “Why do you love them so much? Ordinary clay that withers at the blink of an eye? That is forever sinning?” And God shrugs and tells them, “They are my creatures. I can’t help but love that which I made with my bare hands.”

So I worshipped and I thanked him at church but unfortunately, I wasn’t given the gift of Lucifer: music. Instead, God gave me the gift of David: poetry and prose. So here’s my official thanks to him for the year 2011.

I thank you because you rescued me from the spirit of Jezebel

I thank you because you tore perversion away from me. See, it was all my fault. I went into the camp of the Devil looking for ‘fun’ and I came out with disease. I came out with a fear of sleep for fear the enemy would torment my dreams. I came out with a fear of leaving the house for fear the enemy would invade my thoughts. You were powerful enough to rip me away from perversion (of nearly every kind) that the Devil poured on me. I will forever praise you for this. Forever praise you for the peace after the bloodshed, the tears and that undescribable darkness that renders life unlivable.

I thank you because the world praised you because of me. They heard about what you did, and they burst into praise of your name. The world said no. Family said no. The law said no. There was no progress and I was powerless. All I had was tears and a faint trust in God. Then you said “yes”. One word and my life changed. One word and the door opened. You carried me and we breezed past the queue, all the way to the entrance. They didn’t ask, didn’t query and didn’t verify. They simply bowed before your will and let me in. And people wonder why I love you!

When the spirit of the Lord is upon my soul, I will dance like David danced!

I thank you because you take my place. I chain you up with shackles personalised for me; you withstand this burden and then break free. Your freedom is my freedom. For nine years God, I was enslaved to sin so simple yet so potent, guilt became a best friend. But then I invited the Holy Spirit into my life and I told him to teach me. “Teach me to live right. Nulify the power of this sin upon my destiny.” And the Holy Spirit taught me. And he helped me. And I am free of guilt. I am happy. No wonder in your presence, I dance like David danced.

I thank you for I never stepped foot into a hospital for my sake. Never for medecine, for treatment, for surgery. Nothing. I am amazed you did that for me. Science says ‘good genes’, I say, ‘Good God’.

I thank you for my parents. I recently proclaimed them to be the greatest blessings you ever bestowed upon me. They will forever remain blessings in my life, because of your thoughtfulness towards me. Who am I that you are mindful of me?

Your beauty is everywhere!

I thank you for those little things in life that mean so much. On my way home God, I walk past three homeless men and I realise it is by your mercy I have a roof over my head. It is by your mercy I have warmth, food and clothes. Even taking a shower, is by your astounding mercy. Here is the part where I bow before your throne and worship you in truth.

I thank you God because I have you. I have the gift of salvation and I have the your beauty. I wish I could explain to people how I feel your beauty. How your love makes me want to weep with joy. How with you, I don’t care if I have nothing else. And how my greatest joy would be to walk the galaxy and see the stars with you by my side: my tour guide. My lover. My hope. My fortress. My everything.

Why?

I have several course-mates who, from the outside seem to have perfect lives. They are popular, I am friendly. They go clubbing and after church, I go home. They are confident and I fake self-assurance. When I look in from the outside, jealousy turns me to hatred. But once in a while, when I look in from Heaven, pity moves me to tears. In my indecision, I remain weak.

I don’t envy them their sin, I simply struggle to understand how they find meaning without God. If my love, my strength, my hope and my peace are all found in God, where do they purchase theirs from? How do you begin speaking about God to someone who knows they don’t need him?

In his own bizarre way of doing things, God called me to pray for one of these course-mates; to be used as a tool to his redemption. What God didn’t tell me was that for everytime I prayed, the same question would play in my head. Someone would ask me, ‘Why?’

In my inexperienced way, I took ‘Mark’ to the Throne of Grace and beseeched my father to knock harder on his heart. With passion, I asked him to soften ‘Mark’s’ heart and finally, I pleaded for the opening of his eyes. It seemed my job was done, until that mocking voice asked, ‘Why’. Why pray for him when his life is perfect? Why exactly when Mark seems happy?

And just like that, it became a question of me. I thought of freedom from sin, I thought of undying hope and I thought of God’s unfailing love but , they weren’t good enough, not when perversion can cause me to enjoy sin. Not when there will always be humans to love me; humans to trust. The answer was simple. Nobody but Jesus can save Mark from the hopelessness of Hell. Only with Jesus can I finally see my father’s face and live in Paradise forever.

Though my faith remains shaky, there is now an extra pillar of support: the joy of salvation.

Take my Hand or Take my Life

I said a prayer to God today. Simple and scary. I gave him two choices. Show me the extent of your love or, take my life. It wasn’t until later that I realised the depth of my words: that unalterable weight. I’d lived through an identity crisis and suddenly, everything became clear. It wasn’t my education, it wasn’t my job, not family and definitely not my success. It was all God. He is my only identity.

There is an unwilling freedom that comes from that knowledge. After 18 years otherwise, you bet it’s difficult for me to accept change, but yet my heart is hungry for this new identity. In my post ‘We Like to Call ‘Em ‘Douchebags”, I wrote about God humbling me, believing him to do what he’s always done. Believing him to bring failure or loss into my life so that in pain, I would be forced to seek him.  

Instead, God opened my eyes to how worthless I am without him. Pointless, unworthy, nothing. This is why I gave him a choice today. I literally have nothing besides him and I’m just not ready to lose the only thing to give my soul life. I’m just not ready to walk away from the God who makes me smile in a way no-one else can.

Surely God, it’s just Me.

What is my truth? What is you?

There are those inexplicable times when I feel God just as if he were sitting right next to me or, more to the point, as if he were in my heart carrying out some repairs and calling me to seeing, to knowing, to understanding. This is one of those times. Who knew the presence of God could come down without worship? Who knows my psychology when I myself struggle to understand?

I ask these questions because tonight, God showed me a little bit more of him and by so doing, I saw a little bit more of me. It wasn’t pleasant. I know that no matter how much of this God I see, I will always crave more, but what do I do when the glory of God shines forth my weaknesses? What do I do when I am every man and woman in the Bible, no matter how great? In my flaws, there lives excess.

I want to know more of this God, yet I am scared. I am scared he will change me beyond recognition. I want to find my feet as my own Christian, yet I am terrified. What if my every thought, every move and every belief is wrong? Wrong? Wrong? Wrong? I want to be a Christian, yet this flesh has always been my tower. Here I am: a foetus in Christ. You just cannot deliver me God. I’m too young. I’m very foolish. And to top it all off, I’m too me.

Let me make it clear God. I only hide because everybody tells me truth and you, you never verify. I have a mind of my own, but God forbid I use it; God forbid I get it wrong. So I pray the same prayer as yesterday, the day before and the day before that. Draw me close to you. Everything else is confusing, everything else is scary. Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.

I’m sorry if I get it incredibly wrong. I’m sorry that I care when people see me getting it wrong. I’m sorry I don’t pray and worship enough though I say I want more of you. And above all God, I’m thankful for what you did tonight. It’s going to be a long and trying journey but, we’ll get there.

Let’s go.

Well, Hello There Sin

After it’d all happened, after we’d got back home and I’d asked my God for forgiveness, my mum called me aside and told me how disappointed she was. She said that if someone had told her I’d done that, she’d be hesitant to believe, and then she asked me to think about how it would have seemed to fellow church member if they’d been there to witness it all.

Scary illustration of anger if I ever saw one.

Act One, Scene One. It was manic Christmas shopping just three days before Christ’s birthday and there I was in the midst of all this chaos, fasting for the New Year and loading the trolley with biscuits. All was going well until it came time to queue up and pay. Then, the battle cry was sounded in the spirit. I remember the Pastor telling us that during this period of fasting and prayer, temptation will come and though I am used to spiritual temptation, physical temptation was new to me.

All he had to do was shout at my mother for ‘cutting the queue’, not realising that she had been told to by a member of staff. I flipped. There was NO WAY he was talking to my mother like that. Three times I flew off at him, once did I hear the Holy Spirit reminding me of God’s stance on respect for the elderly. By then, it was too late. How strange it felt to be mastered by anger, in public, after years of confining it with family; with home.

I was greatly ashamed and had I seen someone else my age, in my shoes shouting at a man old enough to be my father, my judgement would have been sharp and hasty. I kept asking myself how I could do such a thing – me who is every on guard to see the world through the love of God (although I mostly fail at it). The same person who in paranoia, imagines others looking down at her and rather than fight these lies, would call herself  ’stupid’ or ‘worthless’. The same person who would have reacted like a mouse had I been on my own in that situation.

If only Demonic Soldiers were this harmless.

But my mum can fight her battles herself. She told me so. When I welcomed sin, I did not just welcome anger. I hosted pride, unforgiveness, pride, refusal to love and then a little bit more pride. I remain astonished at my behaviour. It was crude, childish, rude, foolish and sinful but it taught me a lesson of forever being on guard because, just at that point of comfortability – of arrogance in Holiness – just then is when Satan sounds the battle cry.

With the amount of sin flowing through my veins this past two weeks, only the mercy of God will cause my prayers to be answered. Here is where I bow my head in prayer and plead for his unfailing mercy.

Let’s Be Real Here

Usually, I hate cats, but this is a lovely picture

It’s the last day of 2011 God, and everyone’s busy planning their parties, their prayers, resolutions and whatever it is that people do on this day. Personally, I want to clear the air before we move on to the next phase of our relationship. We all know you stalk my heart and know all my secrets, but I want to be honest for honest sake. I want to tell the truth for truth’s sake: because I love you. Here goes.

When my cousin told me today that my new glasses don’t suit me as much as the old ones, I nearly died. So instead of revising for my not-that-important exam, I spent about 20 minutes taking pictures of my new glasses from every angle. Then I visited the mirror six times to judge fairly and truthfully. In the end, I concluded that I look good, and I was at peace again. Who knew it’s possible to love your appearance so very much? But, hey! My body is a temple, so why not make it as beautiful as possible? Gosh! That sounds so vain!

I also want to tell you that I’m ready. For the good and the bad of 2012, I’m ready to walk with you – no matter what. I’m ready to love you and surrender to your will. But I don’t promise to do it with as much dedication and willingness as I should. I realise that when it comes to my heart, I’m pretty obstinate, so it might take you a bit of chipping, and for me, a bit of hurting. But no matter what, I want to end 2012 with you: more in love with you than I ever thought possible. Man’s love sucks! On with God!

I feel you should also know that I still doubt you. Isn’t it funny how I believe you for the big miracles yet doubt you for the small blessings? Those ones that are literally nothing to you, but mean everything to me? I pray you prove to me your faithfulness, your strength and your love for me. When I prayed for a 2012 without sorrow, tears or disappointments, I meant it God. I know sorrow is more refining but sometimes, joy is what the heart needs. Thank you.

nom nom nom nom!

As I type this, my stomach churns. God, I am tired of fasting, so I’m going to take 2012 to eat. I fasted so much God, I no longer needed exercise to keep my weight stable. I fasted so much, my stomach became flat. My pastor said that 2012 is a year of rest and boy, am I ready to rest! I think of eating and I just smile. Thank you for blessing me with a mum who can bake!

Now, I will continuously break your heart in 2012 and beyond. You know that, and I know that. I just want to apologise for all those times in advance and give you one big bow for loving me anyway. For those times when you will love me even in sin, in moments of stupidity and times when I am just plain attention-seeking. You are such a wonderful God!

2012 is finally upon us, and I am so excited about the future. I have just one exam in January Lord. Please don’t let me mess it up! Now it’s all said and done, it’s time to go back to studying the Elitist ideologies of 19^th century England. I’m actually enjoying it!

A List of Me

Five days ago, just before we all ushered in 2012, gazillions of people were busy with their ‘self-reflection’ list, noting down the  things they’d done well, those they’d done not so well and most importantly, the lessons they’d learnt. It was quite exciting!

I personally made no such list, partly because I’m a believer of daily self-reflections, but also because I was tired of it all. I was tired of 2011′s mistakes, her tingling victories and all the lessons she taught me. I wanted change. I welcomed new failures, new victories, new joys and brand new lessons. Not knowing can be quite exciting!

I have decided to jump on the band wagon – although it sickens me! This is not a self-reflection, neither is it a list of my resolutions for 2012. This is simply a list of me. Who do I want to be in 2012?

—

1. I want to be a daughter. In a previous post, I asked God to ‘Take my hand or take my life“. Luckily, he choose the former. I finally got his attention and all he expects of me is to love and obey him like a daughter will. I’ll try my best.

2. I want to be strong. I wish I could be strong at the snap of my fingers. No aerobic endurance, no muscle training and

Maybe not this strong and hard-working, but you get the idea.

definitely no disgusting protein shakes (and raw egg). I want to be strong emotionally. I want to resist those fickle things that promise love but never fulfill. Instead, I want to recharge my heart in the presence of God.

And spiritually? Well, I want to move past the stage of defense. I want to attack before I am attacked. I want to worship before I go to church. I want to pray before problems arise.

3. I want to mature. My experiences will shape me, and I will know more. I want the Holy Spirit to open my eyes, so that when I read the Bible, I am soaked in wisdom.

I don't want to listen that bad.

4. I want to listen more. I want to talk less. It’s just embarrassing sometimes. And when I listen, I am more refined (less stupid).

5. I want to be hard-working. There’s a certain amount of laziness that’s just not acceptable. Solomon would call me a fool and I would nod in agreement. So I’ve created a new motto: ‘Just do it and shut up!’ It’s very motivational.

6. I want to love more. It’s fun. It’s healthy. It’s strength.

7. I don’t want to panic. Instead of retracing my steps all the way back to the train station, perhaps it would help if I calmly searched my bag for my credit card. I’ll find it if I check properly.

—

Let’s Talk About Hell

Hell is a subject I avoid at all costs. It’s hopelessness makes me weep. Last night, laying on my bed, ready to fall asleep, the tempter brought seduction to me. Frustrated, I questioned him. Why? Why can’t you take a hint? I don’t want you or sin. Why don’t you just leave me alone? Evil refused me an explanation and soon, he departed in preparation for his next visit.

Years ago I found out an amazing secret about man: we are gods on this Earth. And the Devil is ragingly jealous of us. But it still wasn’t enough for me. Surely after a year of victory in Christ, he should have moved on to another person? I watched a video about Hell today and found my explanation. He will not leave me alone because he is an HIV infected person. He will not go down without a fight. If I’m going to die, I might as well infect others and take them to the grave with me. This is his way of victory; of feeling better.

Hell is blooming and in love for me, God is forever throwing warnings in my face. He tells me to cut off my right hand if it causes me to sin (Matthew 5:30), then he tells me to love not the lusts of the world (1 John 2:15). Finally, he calls me to repentance (Matthew 3:2) for everyday and every hour that I am on this earth. There are so many videos on YouTube warning against Hell that it’s unreal. According to Pastor Tim Conway, for every second of this life we live, the gates of Hell usher in three people.

Hell is as unreal to me as it is real. The reality is that it’s too easy for me to enter this everlasting pit of fire. The unreality is life, flesh and the love of  God. I’ve known these things for so long, it takes my brain a lot of convincing to accept that such hopelessness exists. I never want to experience it.

"Nothing in my hands I bring. Simply to the cross I cling." - Paul Washer

“The human heart is the most deceitful of all things, and desperately wicked. Who really knows how bad it is? (Jeremiah 17:9) It might be easy to chop off my arm, but how do I chop out my heart? This is where God comes in. This is where I go before him naked, pleading, worn, disgusting, sinful: me. I go before the throne of Grace and I ask for mercy. I ask Jesus to use the blood to wash me clean. Then I ask God to change my heart because there is too much evil in there; because I can’t do it myself.

For everyday of my life, I will say this prayer: Dear Father. The one who knows all and knows best. In your mercy God, take me at the right time. On the day of my judgement, do not let me be found wanting. Be merciful on this wretched soul.  

Then I smile as the love of God washes over me.

A Story Called Faith

When I was a little girl, the church told me a story. In this story, there was healing, there were very many miracles and overflowing joy. In this story, God was a doting father handing out his credit card to all his children. It didn’t matter how unreasonable their request was; all they had to do was ask. All they had to do was have faith.

I’m not deluded. I know that there are many things that I – as a Christian – am confused about. There are other things I don’t know and things I flat out get wrong. My only assurance is God and he set out to right this wrong in my life. He told me another story that was very long and very deep. It was a very weird story because it made me weep and smile at the same time. The story is called Faith.

When I wrote my post, ‘The First Time I Took a Step Out That Boat’, I never really explained what exactly I was believing and trusting God for. It was too controversial, too ‘big’ and nobody had ever told me it was possible. I could trust in God, but I couldn’t trust in people not to scoff and mock me like they did David.

Fortunately, God answered my prayer. Unfortunately, he said no. I was at loss on how to react. I wasn’t angry that he said no. Instead, I was angry that he’d encouraged me to have faith all for the purpose of turning his back on me so he could laugh at my naivete. There was nothing else to do but give up and accept my fate. My faith was so bummed, I didn’t even question God. I didn’t ask why.

"Knock and the door shall be opened." Perhaps I need to knock harder.

Sarah laughed when the angels told her of Isaac and I scoffed when the pastor asked the church to pray for healing. Really? Healing? Again? From the same God who’s refused me so many times? If Sarah could have shown the angels all the pregnancy tests she took up till her menopause, she would have. It was in my best interest to ignore the prayer.

Then God dragged me by the ear and showed me Hebrews 11:13.

All these people died still believing what God had promised them. They did not receive what was promised, but they saw it all from a distance and welcomed it. They agreed that they were foreigners and nomads here on earth.

He never told me why he refused me healing, but he taught me that faith is much more that believing and receiving. Faith is trusting that God can and will do it – even when he doesn’t! Weird huh?

I may never receive my healing but that still doesn’t stop me from asking again and again. Matthew 7:7 says: Keep on asking, and you will receive what you ask for. Keep on seeking, and you will find. Keep on knocking, and the door will be opened to you.

Sticks and Stones May Break My Heart

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words wouldn’t hurt me. Sticks and stones may break my bones, but your attitude, your mockery, your taunts, your laughter and your rejection wouldn’t hurt me. This is my life. In the past, I used to wonder what was wrong with me. I’d spend a long time searching myself to pinpoint exactly what I did wrong. Sometimes I got answers, sometimes I go nothing. Now, I just accept that the only thing I do wrong is be myself.

I am not ‘black’ enough. I am not ‘middle-class’ enough. I am not ‘fun’ enough. I am not ‘clever’ enough. I am not ‘cool’ enough. There is always something I am not ‘enough’. I am never good enough. Nine years ago, I sat in church crying, thinking of all the things I wasn’t but should be. Today, I sit here with the same pain in my heart, thinking of all the things I ‘should be’ but can’t. It’s just not me and I refuse to change.

When all those people rejected me and looked down on me, I let it go. I moved on but I never dealt with it. So here I am wondering why I can’t be loved. See, it was OK to be rejected in school and even in college. My cousin said I would find so many friends at university. The ‘so many’ part has failed to materialise. People look at my clothes and they pick out my accent so they judge that I am up to standard. Then they find out who I am and they run. I have to ask myself WHY exactly.

I don’t know the answer to that. Maybe I’m one of those people who just isn’t good enough. One of those people destined not to have many friends in life. I don’t say I am perfect. Infact, I have often judged others in the same way they do me. But I wish those girls and boys who are all better than me would tell me exactly why.

Maybe I’m supposed to tell you that it doesn’t matter because God loves me, but I can’t. I find myself questionning whether even family members love me. I mean they must love me because I’m ‘family’ but what else. I’m just an annoying, whiny, stupid, unlovable person. I really wish someone would explain to me why they rejected me: why I’m just not good enough.

I am a cliché. I’m that writer who never felt like they belonged anywhere.

The Joy of Romance

Perhaps nobody realises that kissing in the rain (in that position) would be extremely uncomfortable - especially for the man.

During that shameful period of my life called ‘The Romantic Delirium’, I mastered the art of romance from many many deceptive sources. Needless to say, after so many movies and books with the same clichéd storyline, I grew out of my madness and walked away without looking back.

The girl is always ‘not-so-attractive’ although the man looks like Chris Evans (Captain America). He falls in love with her ‘personality’ then realises, Wow! She’s actually hot beneath those baggy clothes and greasy hair! But then boy does something terrible (terrible!) and girl leaves. This is when boy realises that he loves her after all – body, soul and mind – and he chases after her (preferably through an airport). Girl pretends for a while that she’s ‘strong’: she doesn’t need him. But, at the end of it all, these soul mates find their way back to each other.

Cheese at its finest.

Of course there is also an epilogue that shows us their ‘happily ever after’ life after the all-expected marriage. They have kids, a nice house and are still deeply in love with each other. And all is right with the world.

Back in the real world of war, racism and cancer, I discovered the true meaning of romance – in the Bible. You might expect me to talk about Songs of Solomon but I found Solomon’s poems a tad too cheesy. My preference is for the romance between God and David. Psalm 17:7 says, “Show me your unfailing love in wonderful ways”. Then in verse 8, David goes on to ask God to, “Guard me as you would guard the pupil of your eye”. I am impressed!

Jealous of David’s epicly romantic relationship with God, I decided to spice mine up a little bit. I went to God in prayer and asked my lover to show me his unfailing love in creative ways. I’m a wife wishing that my husband would woo me, charm me and physically show me this love he keeps banging on about. Perhaps it’s a tad greedy to want more from God after all he’s done for me. But mama said never to settle for less, so if God in love can give me more, I’m going to take more. If I’m going to live my life to the fullest, I might as well love and be loved to the fullest.

And So I Let Go

As I type this, I am incredibly sleepy, but I can’t just go to sleep without expressing my joy at my new found freedom. I must say that the internet is an utter blessing. Sure, it has its (more than) its fair share of ‘wrong’, but once in a while, I rediscover why it was such a good idea. Today, God spoke to me through a website called Greatbiblestudy.com.

I never really knew how to let go. God is going to have to teach me.

For a few weeks, I have been feeling the presence of the enemy weighing down on me like waves of depression. I didn’t know what to do, so I turned to God. Nonetheless, my relieve was limited – like taking paracetamol when you really need morphine. I got so tired of it all today, that I sinned and told God that I was tired of him. I was tired of how my life had suddenly become one long battle since I gave my life to Christ. Satan’s demons had me good and I felt shame, guilt and more shame. It’s the closest I’ve come to killing myself.

Perhaps I should explain that this is not the first time this has happened. In September 2011, I went through the same process of isolation, irreparability and a sense that if the world knew, I would be condemned. Naturally, I began to condemn myself and soon, I welcomed the thought of death. Afterall, it was my only relief.

If you want to know why I’m obsessed with perversion (especially the sexual kind), it’s because I’ve been through it. I’ve been through the heart of the Devil and my soul wept. It’s perhaps the closest I’ve come to Hell (though I imagine Hell is a million times worse). I hate the Devil and the more I see of the world and of my heart, the more I hate sin.

I remember worshiping God on New Year’s Eve, bawling and thanking him for saving me from sexual immorality – my personal Hell in those days. In fact, I remember so many times when my worship was centred on my Saviour doing what he does best and saving me from the whips of the enemy. And when the pastor, the musicians, the writers and the whole troops of Heaven told me that I needed to forgive myself, I nodded believing that I had.

Truth is, I never did. Truth is, I blamed myself everyday for falling into sexual immorality – it doesn’t matter that I was young and knew not what I was doing. It doesn’t matter that God had washed it all away completely, I still did it and therefore, that was that. I never realised how much it fed into my identity. That canker-worm ate at the joy of the Lord in my life and soon, demonic attack began anew.

Yes, we all know God is love. The Bible-thumpers wouldn’t stop bleating about it for crying out loud! But for me, God was ever-willing to whip me for every mistake and to punish me for every, EVERY sin. It’s no wonder the demons attacked. And this has always been my life. I look in the mirror and I see so many things that I do not forgive myself for. The answer is simple: I do not deserve forgiveness. No wonder I battle with low self-esteem. After eighteen years of this burden, I think I’m finally ready to take another step out of that boat and let God carry this one for me. I think I’m finally ready to laugh.

I want to give it all to God because I realise I don't have the strength to hold on to it any longer.

Long story short, my desperation sent me to the greatest answerer after God. Google. I typed in: When the Devil wouldn’t let you forget your sins. Let me tell you now that when I say attack, I don’t just mean falling back into sexual addiction. It was the Devil and his agents whipping me with the same whip they used years ago. They told me I was always like this and always will be. They showed me things that ‘I would do’ because sexual immorality is my identity. God wasn’t coming to the rescue so I gave up and I accepted their lies. They were about to steal my joy, kill my relationship with God and destroy my family.

Thankfully, God came to the rescue (again). He tells me to let go. Just let go!!! That is all. When the whips have torn out your skin like they did Christ’s, it becomes easy to let go. Perhaps I don’t have to punish myself for every of my mistakes anymore. Perhaps I can be new and banish the spirit of staleness with the freshness of God.

I read a book once where the character asked God to ‘spiritually cleanse her’. I scoffed, not because I didn’t believe it but because I just found it weird. But today, as I end this post, this is exactly what I’m going to do. I am so tired of my past and how she’s always nagging me ‘not to make the same mistakes’ and act all ‘stupid and immature’ as I’m prone to. I can finally go home to her today and present my new partner, Jesus. And together, we can throw her clothes in the streets and throw her out with the garbage.

I Inherited a Battle

I don’t think I’ve ever felt the despair of darkness as much as I have these past months. At the same time, I don’t think the light of God has ever shone so brightly through my eyes. This is my battle, not necessarily with the world but as part of the world.

When a child is born, man celebrates but with renewed eyes, I picture the celebration of Lucifer. Another life to ruin, another destiny to mangle till ugliness becomes it’s identity. Another channel of sin. It’s a full blown war between me and the Devil and I’ve gone past the stage of fear. I laugh in his face every time and I imagine that it burns.

I believe that looking at the world in all of it’s sin and all of it’s darkness is enough to depress one. I try not to do it too often and I try to laugh at the little things. We’re living in a world of bondage and we don’t even know it. I picture Earth enchained and enslaved by the Devil. He is the Prince of the World after all. Though he hides, I see him everywhere.

The world may not be able to see him but with the light of God, I am able to pick him out. I start to see the evil in my heart reflected in his being. I start to see that this is what the Devil exploits. Unfortunately, God gave him wisdom and after so many centuries studying us, he has perfected his victory. Everytime. Everytime. Everytime. He wins.

A friend of mine once told me that the moment you give your life to Christ, you become number one on the Devil’s list. Boy was he right. He screeches and he screams in anger and jealousy. The victory of God is his poison – his fire. No wonder he would never leave you alone till you take your very last breath. The Devil attacks hoping to break me down but God sent me grace and mercy. He opened my eyes to see that my chains are gone. I am no longer a puppet of the Devil and I owe him nothing. I am free.

History taught me that freedom is never given. We fight for it, we bleed for it and we die for it. I told the Devil to ‘bring it on’. The spirit of fear no longer dwells within me.

The Control Freak v. Jesus

Holy Spirit, move in now. Make my like whole again. Spirit move over me. 

The Lord is my shepherd so therefore, this is me. lol

Just like the Bible, worship songs are multi-dimensional. They mean one thing to you today and another the next day. The amazing thing about them is that they always speak to you no matter the situation. For years and years, reading Psalm 23 was just a way for me to banish my fears of ‘evil’ because ‘ye though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil’. I read it today and through it, God became my strength as he ‘restoreth my soul’. I have quenched my soul with living waters.

Unfortunately, the more I grow, the more my insecurities tangle themselves around my identity. I am they and they are I. It came to a boiling point this week as I resumed life back at university. I had been telling myself how stupid and disgusting and proud and dumb I am that it began to manifest – in my mind at least. I was just waiting for that one little thing to come along, ruin my day and make me snap. Then I would go through the Lola-process of rebuilding myself, hiding my insecurities away and feeling fresh. All I do really is take off my smelly underwear, turn them inside out and put them back on. It isn’t very healthy.

I am a lot like Jacob. I am always wrestling God.

At the centre of it all perhaps is my low self-esteem v. my pride. Anyone who faces these issues will tell you that they go hand in hand. Get rid of one and the other follows. Embrace one and you embrace the other. I was beating myself up for my heart; this evil heart. Fair enough I had given it all to God and asked him to change me but really, I couldn’t just let all my wrongs go. All those times I thought nasty things about people or did this or did that. My heart was treacherous and I hated it.

So I gave it all to God this morning (once again) and though the weight has been lifted up, I don’t want to let it go. I’ve held all these problems to my chest for so long that they began to suckle and to nurse. What am I going to do with all this freedom? The lamb sits on his throne of grace watching patiently as I make my decision. Will this control-freak once more take up all her burdens or will she walk away trusting God to do what he will? It’s undecided.

When He Loves Me, I Hurt

If only God could come down and tell the story from his all-seeing point of view. He’s a good writer too so you’ll be hooked right from the first word all the way to the last. Alas! He’s too busy so I’m stuck with the job of telling the uncompleted story from then till now. Here goes:

—

Anticipation of the unknown is deceptively sweet: you tend to picture the good and forget the bad. It’s a bit like sailing on the seduction of the deep blue seas; the sun your compass. It is not until the storm crowds in that you realise Mother Nature’s plans for you. That tranquil journey becomes a fierce battle to reach your destination – maybe not tanned and glowing but at least wet, broken and strong.

Just before the journey. Notice the sunglasses; notice the anticipation.

Avid readers of my blog would know that I struggle with self esteem issues and loathe as I am to bring it up AGAIN, I do so with a new purpose. I must tell God’s side of the story. For someone who blames God for trivial inconveniences, you can imagine the questions that pour fourth when the big, the bad and the scary happens. I questioned God and I asked him why he let the seed of low self-confidence germinate within me. Why did he allow people to water it? Why did he stand back and watch as I myself fertilized the ground it grew on?

Frankly, I no longer care why because my vision has been broadened. For years and years, it took a snide remark or a mocking giggle to cast me into the valley of worthlessness but recently, as this child grew into an adult, her feet led her to her downfall. I couldn’t help it. The world saw what I showed them but nobody saw my heart and as you can imagine, I fell. Down and down into worthlessness till I lost the strength to pick myself up. I felt like people were hitting me, blow after blow after blow. I am a harsh critic of my words, my actions, my decisions, my mistakes and my reflection.

Pampered as I am, I turned to daddy for help. I cried and I asked him to heal my heart but the next day, I woke up in the same pit, my chains doubled. I just didn’t understand where God was. I didn’t understand why he’d left me. Then I confessed all to my cousin and she revealed God’s purpose for me.

I've been moulding myself far too long.

Maybe – just maybe – God left me to touch the fire so I could burn my fingers. The skin would singe and harden and guess what I would be? But it was more than strength. God has always been my strength and clichéd as it sounds, he wanted something more from this relationship. He wanted my heart and my love. Big guy up there was jealous! So he hurts me to get my attention.

My life is a sacrifice for you. Oh Lord I’m available to you. Take me, break me, mould me and use me. 

It’s ironic how I always sang that song but never understood that the breaking process would hurt. Hopefully, the moulding process can begin soon and I can learn to put the love of God over the love of man.

Fairy Tales in Heaven

I woke up this morning and my partner was gone. I searched my heart, but he wasn’t there. Then I looked in my mind, but he still wasn’t there. Dejectedly, I searched for him in the slight smile that curved my lips and ‘made me glow’ but the smile was gone. I was left with an unmoving scowl of false strength. God wasn’t invited into this situation. God does not understand fairy tales.

I wondered and wondered why my lover left me. I fed him oh so well! The best fantasies were laid out on the table before him during each and every meal, we were so compatible and best of all, he was going to be my Prince: the one I waited 100 years for, the one I dreamt of by the fireplace etc. Then I realised that I myself had chased my lover away. He didn’t leave me. In fact, he begged me to love him again like I used to; he was hungry and needed his table laid out. I slammed the door in his face and refuse to open. In the morning he cries, in the afternoon he wails and at night in my dreams, – in that most simple yet complex part of my heart – he howls for recognition. But I threw my fairy tale out because Heaven decreed it so in 2 Corinthians 6:14. Do not be yoked together with unbelievers. For what do righteousness and wickedness have in common? Or what fellowship can light have with darkness?

I mean, c'mon!

Right back to my pre-teens, I remember wanting to be Hilary Duff in A Cinderella Story. I don’t know which I wanted more: being that special to someone or that delicious feeling that comes with it, all I know is that I wanted to be the beautiful princess. As I grew up, chances of being the ‘beautiful’ princess decreased. I didn’t have ‘the look’ and boys didn’t really like me. I told my cousin recently how on average, boys crush on me every once in three years. Perhaps I should also explain that on average, a boy crushes on her every once in three months. You learn to laugh it off.

Before uni, there was Musse, a Muslim boy who liked me and vice versa. In my determination, I hounded this boy, feeding his ego with every nonsense I did. Luckily, Musse never asked me out and I was saved a lot of trouble. Before Musse, there was also Yusuf – an old classmate who professed to loving me over MSN. I was high that night until I allowed truth to permeate. I was 15, he was 17. He hadn’t seen me in over five years. What kind of love is that? In a very surprising move, I did something wise and gradually broke off the ‘relationship’, drip dripping its intensity till there was none left. I still chat with Yusuf sometimes.

Finally, we have the don! (Kelvin). He was my first major crush and I let others feed me the myth that he liked me too. Till this day, I don’t think he did. We were the ‘it’ couple of our entire year but nothing ever happened beyond the writing stupid letters to each other stage. And of course in between this 7 years, there have been others (mostly when I was around 11 and 12 and hadn’t grown out of my cuteness). I look back and I can’t believe how strong I was in rejecting these others. I got so nasty, I wrote endless ‘Nos’ on two sheets of A4 paper then strutted up to him to place it confidently on his desk. He had asked me to be his girlfriend.

Now we have uni, the most exciting, confusing and maddening time of my life. The rate of emotional and psychological growth in my life right now is astounding. Part of the confusion recently would be boy number 4 (insert dramatic music here). I noticed boy number four’s looks – you know the looks – and I ran to God in prayer. My question was, “What was I going to do?” Four months after the question was asked, I got my answer in Corinthians. I am ashamed to say that fantasy got the best of me. I am a writer so dreaming is what I do best. There were times I would wonder what he liked about me or why he liked me (again, see my face for further explanation on this topic) and slowly, I built a possible list of all the things he might like about me. Quelle vanité!

I'm just so glad I don't have any sisters being poisoned by this unattainable love that is spouted constantly by Disney.

Heaven says this is a tragedy masked as a fairy tale. What happens when he wants sex and I can’t give it to him? What happens when I have to choose between going to church and seeing him? I mean I already have enough trouble as it is choosing between Sunday worship and staying home to catch up on my work. What happens when I talk to him about God and he gets mad? What happens when I have to carry him spiritually? It’s just not worth it and I thank God for giving me what I need not what I want.

That said, my heart sometimes gets in the way, crying out for love. “LOVE!” I just have to keep reminding it of the love of God. A christian friend of mine told me how she’s waiting for the right man God will send into her life in order to start a family. Personally, after nine years of this nonsense, I think I’m done. I’d rather suffer the withdrawal symptoms than feed my heart any more of that lard.

My Dad (Or as he’s commonly called: T.J)

A street in Lagos

When my dad carried me on his shoulders, crossing the dangerous Lagos streets to lead me safely to school, he was, like a father, bearing the weight of his child. When he left my mother and I to enroll in a university hundreds of miles away just to better provide and take care of us, he was, like a father, bearing the weight of his family. When he wonderfully welcomed my cousins into his home, holding their hands tightly while carrying me towards the school gate, he was, like a father, bearing the weight of his responsibility. And best of all, when he gave up his life, his home, his family and his nation, moving to a whole new world just to brighten the life of his children, he was, like a father, bearing the weight of his love on his heart.

Not long ago, I crashed the party and invaded the ‘real world’  inhabited by adults. I hate it! Many realisations have hit me, uprooting me from the core of security and planting me into the pit of obscurity. The most important being that the world does not revolve around me. In fact, in the grand scheme of things, I am unimportant, unrecognised and mean so very little to so very many. With this haze of self-importance dropped, I can finally see those around me. I can finally see my father.

I am conscious about the fact that gushing about his merits would turn many people off because, unlike me, they do not know him nor do they share a personal relationship with him. Nevertheless, T.J (as I refer to him) has been unfortunately, highly disregarded in my life. I had diamonds and wore it casually around my wrists, scrape, scrape, scraping them, believing them to be worthless. Yet if I was to go to the throne of God today, I would thank him for who my father is.

I pray everyday that God continues to supply my father with this amazing strength, hope and joy that he casually drapes around his being. T.J comes back from work exhausted and hungry yet denies his flesh just to bless my mother. T.J takes my brother to school while my mother rests. I see him encouraging my mother each and every time the clouds settle in on our  bulb yellow flat. I used to think my mum was the stronger link but T.J proves me wrong everyday. With his penchant for talking way too much, T.J encourages me every opportunity he gets. My tired father tells me not to give up though things might be hard for me! I can only laugh at the irony.

How can I not love Tom and Jerry?

And finally, his joy.  A friend once asked me why I seem to only like the music my father likes. “Do you not have tastes of your own?” Well my father is so involved in our lives, we all just automatically love what he loves – even my mother. How can I not love Tom and Jerry when my father’s loud guffaws fill the living room at each wack of the head Tom suffers? How can I not love this, this and that when my dad finds such simplistic pleasure in them? How can I not love him with all my heart when he still treats my mother with preciousness?

T.J sharpens the knife and slowly, with that annoying patience of his, he butchers the turkey to eatable sizes. He slaves over the gas cooker, frying up the chicken or his classic: fried egg with onions and tomatoes. There’s just something about the way he fries them that makes them incontestable! Basically, what I’m trying to say is that I love my father with a love that is frighteningly passionate. That’s another thing about the real world. You start to love people as they were made to be loved!

2012: My Year So Far

I persisted. I would not indulge in the fantasy that was John 3:16! I would not believe in love. I justified my reason for self-sabotage – the stagnancy of not being good enough. Self-delusion was my defence mechanism. I would plant some more mines in my cabbage field and hopefully, we’d all blow up together into one unfortunate mess. Then I’d have no cabbages left and John 3:16 would come to pass as the useless lie it really was. I soon stepped on a mine and self-delusion gave way to hunger – to cabbages – to God.

God does not teach you how to fish. He sits you down at the edge of the sea and reels in the fish for you. I ask God to provide for me. “You brought me here to the glory of your name. Now, I need to pay my rent, to buy cupcakes and to print out essays. Please, provide for me.” Emotional blackmail. I am now the proud, inexperienced tutor of three bright children. I have no experience and two months into the job, I still don’t know what I’m doing. All it takes is a silent prayer and I am imparting knowledge and understanding. I am doing a job specifically reserved for those with years of qualifications. I am relying on the fishermam for my survival.

God is a God of extremes. When you say something like, “Hold my hand in 2012 or take my life”, expect God to take it seriously. You will either die or he will hold your hand. I did not die. I simply worship God with deeper understanding – a deeper anointing. I burrow myself deeper and deeper into his heart as he opens his kingdom unto me. I carry him with me everywhere, safe in the knowledge that not a second goes by without this perfect creator by my side.

I have laughed and smiled a lot this year. I thank God.

I believe you made me too beautiful. I am lacking in humility. Search the recess of my heart and you’ll find it so. But prayers like, “God, please make me extremely unattractive to the opposite sex so I do not get distracted and turn away from you.” do not work. On the other hand, prayers like, “God please show me what to do with this guy.” are very effective. “God, please guard my heart. Make me a Proverbs 31 woman. I want to be for you and you alone.” The process has just begun.

When the King of the universe salutes you, you reciprocate. Anything else is suicide. God honours faith. It’s cute. He’s your mum driving like a maniac just to make sure she reaches your pointless school play on time. He’s your dad working extra hours just to get you that thing you really want that you probably wouldn’t care about in a year’s time. Faith + no prayer can = healing and deliverance. I am a living testimony. When God honours your prayers, you bow down and worship; you go to the throne of grace and you pour out your appreciation. Failure to say “Thank you” results in possible loss of said blessing.

Prayer Lists (they’re like shopping lists but for prayers). When you write a prayer list for the next year to come, expect them to be fulfilled. Don’t doubt – simply trust. 7 complicated prayers on my list and God chews them up into simplicity. Financial blessings? Check! Walk with me in 2012? Check! Expand my career as a writer? Check! Three out of Seven in two months. That’s why he’s called Jehovah!

Mate, Seriously! No One Cares

Five months ago, on an unusually hot and sunny October morning, I took my first step into a thousand miles. Like everyone else on that day, I came with undergraduate expectations that only university herself could fulfill. Some undergraduates wanted to party till their livers dropped while others wanted to graduate with a first, opening wide the field into a better life. I, on the other hand, just wanted to make tonnes and tonnes of friends, thereby making my life complete during this “greatest time of your life” period. In retrospect, I see the unrealistic nature of my expectation. It was too childish. It was far too simple.

Skeptics of their own league, my parents have been giving me lifelong advice as far back as I can remember. One of my mum’s favourites is how “in life, you don’t have any friends”. She’d go as far as to discourage me (with force) from being friends with certain people or to encourage me (with wisdom) to stop hanging out with certain other people. And although her views are a tad extreme, I begin to see truth in her words. It happens to me, it happens to you, it happens to everyone. I talked to God this morning and I asked how people can be so lonely in a world of 7,000,000,000 people. If he created us to have relationships with one another, why is loneliness trending? Then I remembered my dad’s favourite life lesson. “In life, no one cares how you succeed. They just want to see you get there.”

After laughing at dead hedgehogs in the first half of the lecture, it just seemed necessary for us all to collectively trivialise the suicide of an Oxford undergraduate. This had happened several years ago so that made it alright, and even funnier, he’d decided to finish his essay just before ending his life – as if it mattered. It was easy to laugh, until I pictured his anguish and that terrible darkness that overwhelms us at some point of our lives. Some just go through it earlier than others. Even in sorrow, man has no sympathy. This is where the idea was birthed.

I may be on my own, but I have God. He'll get me through life.

Admittedly, I hold a very pessimistic view of life but where’s optimism to be found in the human race? At least five stories of blood to every story of human love and human sacrifice. This is modern newspapers; this is ancient news. A world of 7,000,000,000 and no less than ten really and truly care about me. A world of 7,000,000,000 and I can’t be bothered to love more than a grain in this bounteous sea.

I woke up this morning with the realisation that my dad was right. Nobody cares about me. It’s just the way life is and somehow, in this big wide world of confusion, I have to make sense of that.

If Undelivered, Please Return To Me

In a way, I gave you a bit of myself

A tiny part. A molar.

A nostril. A wrinkle.

They were important

To me.

Actually, I kept it

For you.

I waited for the owner

To come for it

Like a package

A package you missed.

“Sorry we missed you”

Sorry I missed you

You were to trade it in for a kiss

A hug. A smile.

All from me.

But you never

You never came.

I sewed my molar back on

I sucked my smile back in

You never came

In a way, I opened up a bit of myself

Ready to love you

In every way, I’m glad I didn’t

Love you.