But God. Yes – but
for God, it would all be different.
And but for Him, I thought I’d come to the end of this
series. Apparently I hadn’t! Something told me – the back end, the backend of
me. Not my neither regions, thank you –
but my internal operations. The inner workings, internal operations, the core,
the backend – things happened there too. Think about it. You changed.
Changed over the Hurting, had to change really to get through the
Hurting like you did. Think about it.
Raging
I remember it. High level anger. Item destroying, clothes
rending rage. Yes I did – ripped up my Victoria Secrets [what we girls call the
evening wear boubou or dirax], and was left starkers, in the middle of my
living room. Thankfully I was alone – or not – I was preggers. What a sight. What
a fury. I was madzers [read that word recently, had to use it] with more than fury
– I do not know if there is a word to describe that level of ferocious I would
get to. But that is gone now. It went with the realisation and knowledge that
it wasn’t about me, it was all outside of me. I could not be furious or ragious
anymore with the Hurter, about the Hurter, and their actions. I stood up to
nonsense, but did not rage. I found things worth my anger. Bigger and better things to get angry at.
Like the injustices of the world –at all levels – personal, community, etectera.
And my reaction was a choice. I could choose even then, if to get angry or not.
Weeping
Boy did I weep. They [don’t know who] say that God sends an
angel to collect your tears in a bottle as you shed them. Apparently each of
them is a prayer. He – the angel was lugging a pool sized bucket to catch mine.
I howled. Tears and mucus. I turned in
spa sized pools of prayers. Over and over and over again. I guess I prayer
floated out of my weeping pain, because I did not drown. And it cleaned me up. It
washed out my insides. For free – because crying is for free. I still cry, but
not for me. I weep for the soul of the Hurter – what a mess, for people Hurted
–what pain and damage, for the perpetuation of the Hurting into the next
generation, for the orphan abused and reviled, for the sick and dying –
especially those who have no God to cling to, for the loss of human dignity in
Kibera and other such places, for the corrupt and sinful leadership of the
nation, for the repentance of the people of this nation, for the conversion and
revival that is coming to this nation. That is what I weep for. That is what
burdens me. I am no longer burdened by me.
Praying
My prayers were ego centric.
Why God why God why God why God why God why God – why me? Was the start,
the middle and the end of my prayer. The post end would be – Help me help me help
me help me help me help me – help me God! Ad infinitum. How narrow prayered was
I. I blush to purple blue under my blackness [though political correctness
requires I should identify as brown]. I never prayed for anyone else or
anything else but I and my problems – okay, I lie – I was not all bad, I’d
throw in a tidbit of prayer for others and their issues. But only a tidbit. Until
I realised that my self centered prayers were really not serving anyone. And I found
a different focus for my praying. Not me.
But the rest of you’all. Send –
prayer requests – for real. Prayer line
is open.
Self-talking
My self-talk was moaning. And gripping. And more moaning.
With a splash of grousing. And a twist of grumble. Did I use to moan! Girl [I used boy before, gotta be equal or
equity-like nowadays] did I used to moan. It was an internal lamentationfest
going on. Repeated in double triplicate. Constantly. And what did it do for me, but bring me to
the dark dumps. I still get there sometimes, but it’s usually for just a
moment. And then I repent, and tell myself all these wonderful things about my
life, my God, and the whole wide world. I
get an internal praise festival going and into gratitude mode. And I say, “Thank You, Thank You Father.”
Sometimes I wonder what I am on, I kinda know, but I haven’t found its unique name
for me –don’t tell me your name for it, I have to find my name for it. Whatever
it is, I’ll take a double of it, all through the moments of my life.
Nattering
For long, no one and no one understood what I was going
through. That was okay. But what was not, was my need to make people
understand, especially those close to me. My mother, my sister, my friends, the
Hurters friends, the counsellor. I got responses such as;
·
We know you – it must be something you are
doing.
·
You are not a good wife, the submissive wife.
·
You are hard of heart.
·
Think of the children.
·
My husband speaks and acts the same, I do not
understand what your problem is.
·
You are just angry – why not go away for a few
days or a week, take a break, and when you come back, everything will be
different.
·
Beware – keep your man for there will come a
time that seven women will cling to one man, saying to him, just give us your
name.
No one got it. Even when they saw some of it. They
rationalised it to fit a reality they clung to, that was logical. They did not
understand that there was nothing based on reason about what I was talking
about, and this was beyond reasonable grasp, because this was irrational. I
wondered if they were handicapped. I wondered if I was handicapped. Then I
realised that their lack of understanding and comprehension was part of the
problem that I was creating for myself. I decided I was not going to explain it
to anyone anymore. I would not talk about it anymore. It just was not worth the
emotion and effort I required I invest into that conversation. Recitation and
nattering on and on and on about it, were serving me nothing apart from a
growing frustration, and thus self inflicted pain. No nattering. No needing
understanding or absolution from others. I am okay with you not understanding.
I am actually more than okay. I don’t care if you get it or not.
Paining
I love my pain. It
was precious to me. Some flee pain. Literally and mentally. I gollumed it. Caressed it to. Made it my precious. It think
I hang on to it as a sort of penance seeking for some form of absolution. I
don’t know. I still do feel pain. Of course I do –I’m merely human. Sometimes
it blindsides me, and wells up unexpectedly, and I am left gasping. And I
realise that freedom from clinging to pain is a process, just like many things in
ife. Now, when the pain comes, I face it, and pray it. I turn the pain, no
matter how big and small, no matter the degree of uncomfortablity, into a
prayer. And it gives me solace. On the item or situation or person, that is the
pain causer.
Blaming
I got blamed. For so many things, even the Hurting – I was
the reason I was being hurt. I blamed me too, many times for things that were
not of me, and even for allowing myself to be blamed. I actually sat down and
would recount the thingini mess that was and I would find various points of
blame and allocate a fair share to me. Then a big point arrived, and poked the
blame outa me, and said I got off off off – scot free. I was blameless. I was
perfect. In fact next to the Hurter, I was a saint, plus an angel. Okay okay –
not yet angel, but its process – right? A baby angel, a cherub? Release from
the blaming were like the golden frizzle balls thrown on the frosting – they
just give that zing to the whole cake eating experience of no reproach. I had
my cake and was eating it too.
Boundaring
I kinda knew them. Boundaries.I kinda had them. But there
were really weak. And would be bludgered and cudgelled until caved in. I also
thought that unlimited giving to those I cared for was kinda okay because –
heeey, I loved them. I was mocked with the Beatitudes. Love and boundaries was
a grey area. Until now. I love you, and I love me even more. I start here. I
stop here. You stop outside outside of where I stop. And yes – you can call it is
selfish. And no – I am not moving the boundary. In fact – please take two steps
back, a turn to the left, another, and march off! Don’t look back. Nyakega – the good one,
usually said derisively – died, and in her stead is me.
Believing
I still believe in people.
I believe in the innate goodness of people. That people are good. That
nurture and sometimes nature warp good people. I will believe you are good
until you show me otherwise. I believe you when you show me who you are, it
truly is who you are are are. I d’int before. I excused what you showed me. I
believed the spoken sorrys. And forgot that you had said sorry before, again again
again again and again. And still did the same thing again to me. Because I did
not believe, I suffered. Remorse is not atonement. Atonement speaks. Changed
behaviour speaks. In loud action. Now - I believe. Most of all – I believe I
believe my glass with nothing is waiting to be filled. I believe my glass is half full. And that my overfull,
overflowing cup has to pour out in order for me to sip. Poured out to the good
of others.
Relationshipping.
There are some who say that you should never walk away, and
that is not our way, especially when it comes to family – parent, sibling or
child. Spouses, they cannot come to agreement on, and can be either end of the
spectrum, to loose or keep. I thought the same. Until I had to let go. I value
relationships. Too much, some would say, and have said. But I am now resigned
to saying goodbye, quickly and easily when the relationship is irredeemable. Though
there are some I say goodbye to that do not leave until their reason in my life
is done. If you change, by atonement, by action, you may get a chance. But the
terms of our relationship will not be what they were before. New terms. And I will never forget.
Awesoming
I knew it. I said it. The Hurter was attracted to me, coz I
was awesome. I yam who I yam, and I yam tops. Then the tops was too much –for
the Hurter. And had to be got rid of. And I saw that if it was got rid of, the
Hurter would probably move up to another, who is tops like I am. But I digress.
I saw my tops being chopped, and I said – nooooo! And that is how I kept my
tops. I wonder if I should keep the Hurter so that they do not ruin another
awesome person – not that they have ruined me, but they have really tried. I am too much. I am extra. I will keep it
that way.
Entering
Before I would enter into spaces without thinking about if I
should be there. I still forget sometimes, and then I am quickly booted out.
Yes, have been thrown out of spaces. Some literally – can you please leave, for
you have no right to be here. Others – more quietly and subtly. But the outcome
is the same. I used to shed tears, feel sad, unworthy, wonder what it was about
me that caused it. I now look at the exiting like I would a physical fall. And
that, I have always handled with aplomb. I remember once losing my step and slip
slip slip slipping more erratically with each step, call call calling, along a
corridor, and finally my outstretched hand reaching the a wall, as I landed on
the ground. I stayed down and laughed my head off. No embarrassment. I had no
fear of what people would think of me, say of me – it was after all an
accident. Now – after my non physical falls, I pick myself up, wipe myself off
quickly, and reflect as I walk on. I am free and liberated, and only my God
cares about me really, so that’s who I should worry about. And the thing is – I
know He is the one who sends me out of those spaces. So now, I always always
ask – Father, should I go through this door, what’s on the other side, and most
of all, will you come with me. So when I get thrown out, I leave in His good
company.
Moving
I was on the move all the time. Doing. Going. Meeting. And
even solitude had activities. Movies. Reading. No silence. Because silence led
to introspection, and that was not good – too much in there. Now I have nothing
days. Nothing planned. Nothing done. Apart from listening. Being silent. Okay,
I get distracted alikubit, but silence is now my friend. And I have found out a
lot happens in the silence. Be still, He said. And I am learning.
Journaling
The process of reflection, I carry out in journaling. I
started out without knowing why. Subconsiously I have come to realise, it was
because I wanted a witness to my truth, someone who believed me. My journal
believed in me. When no one else did, and things got twisted and I would doubt
my memory of things said and done, and events – my journal still believed. Now
– my journal is my biggest tool for my personal development and growth, healing
and redemption. Over and beyond that, my journal got me into using words as my
creative medium. I miss drawing and painting and sewing and crafting –I should get back to at least some of them.
The intention is there for I have bought all the stuff I need. Meanwhile, I
write everything. Yes I do. Because if
it is not written, it does not exist – for me at least. And words are real. Ideas are real. And make everything that happens real.
Worshipping
I had my worship upside down. The Hurter was like a god to
me. They came first in my life. I found out I had priority in life inversed.
God came first. Should always come first.
Then me. That is right. And fitting. Truly it is right and fitting, because
without God, neither I or the Hurter, would be here. The Hurter was a choice I
made, and truly can be unmade.
Faithing
Is a noun. Trust is a verb. It is the living out of that
faith. In complete belief, confidence and the reliability of God. It came to me
slowly. No Damascus moments for me, thank you. And that was probably for my
good. Loud voice, white flashing light and blindness would have probably have
left me still on that road eons later –
He surely does know His sheep. It weakens – my faith, but the seeking heart –
never.
Loving
I hought love was a feeling. That came over one, and one
experienced. Until I met true love. In a roundabout fashion. It is a story I
started writing and have done a few blogs pieces on, but have yet to complete –
I really should. The points of the story – I did not love myself, so how could
I know what love was. I wondered on how to love myself. And purposed to love
me. And the only way was to go to the source of that love. God. God is love. The
reason I did not love myself, was because I had not accepted love from the
source of it. So I accepted the love of God. And it is the most amazing thing
that has so far happened to me. Orgasmic. For real. From the outside of me, the
inside of me, all together combined, because God is everything and everywhere.
Calming
I lived in fear. Google says fear is an unpleasant emotion
caused by the threat of danger, pain, or harm. I was afraid of anything and
everything, anyone and everyone. I sought the source of my fear. Was it from my
inside, or my outside. What did I think kwas dangerous, painful, or harmful? I
read up on fear. The answer that made sense for me, was that fear was the
absence of peace. And thus I sought for peace. Peace that surpasses all
understanding. And thrives in all situations, good or bad. Calmness.
Tranquillity.
Sinning
Sin spots. I have them. Everybody has them. I enjoyed them.
Revelled in them. Because nothing of importance seemed to be working. Until I
knew that I was greater than where I was. And sought to leave the spots.
Repented over and over again. As a heart for God was born. And within it, a
need to be worthy to stand in His presence. The body is weak, and often I fall
short, but His grace, His grace.
Emptying
"I spent many years creating and executing my own
plans, asking the Lord to bless them. One day I understood that instead of
always trying to get the Lord to bless what I wanted to do, it was much simpler
to find out what the Lord wanted to bless, and simply do THAT." So said Chip
Brogden, “an author, teacher, and former pastor who shares "real, simple,
truth" about a Christ-centered faith based on relationship, not religion”.
And that has been my biggest change. I try not to make it about me, but about God.
But God
Ephesians 2:1-9 [NIV] is titled ‘Made Alive in Christ’. Yes
I was, and I am, and will be made alive in Christ. ‘As for you, you were dead in
your transgressions and sins, in which you used to live when you followed the
ways of this world and of the ruler of the kingdom of the air, the spirit who
is now at work in those who are disobedient. All of us also lived among them at
one time, gratifying the cravings of our flesh and following its desires and
thoughts. Like the rest, we were by nature deserving of wrath. But because of
his great love for us, God, who is rich in mercy, made us alive with Christ
even when we were dead in transgressions—it is by grace you have been saved.
And God raised us up with Christ and seated us with him in the heavenly realms in
Christ Jesus, in order that in the coming ages he might show the incomparable
riches of his grace, expressed in his kindness to us in Christ Jesus. For it is
by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this is not from yourselves, it
is the gift of God—not by works, so that no one can boast.’e
But for God, I would be exactly the person I was in my past.
I have changed. Yes I have. And that excites me, thrills me to no end. I
certainly cannot boast, because it is not from myself, but is a gift from God –
the greatest gift of all.
The landscape around me is pretty bleak. A trio of trees. A
number of shrubs. Some scrub. A trickle of nourishment – just enough, for what
I need today. It is like I drew it all in and left nothing outside of me. I
stand still. The enemy is raging outside, within sight, and I stand still. Next
to My Shepherd. And I know He knows how to tend my fold and provide for me. In
all ways. My backend office is being defined right and streamlined. There is
mighty room improvement now and always. We [the God and I mix] did not work
right for a long time. But now that I know better, I am definitely going to do
better. So help me God.
In thankfulness. Of His great love, His rich mercy and His
grace.
I serve!
Amen.
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