I have been in a situationship before. Or maybe I just can’t remember. Truthfully, it looked more like I was the only one making the other person wonder, What are we? I was just a confused teenager.

I grew up in a Nigerian household – the OGs know what I mean. Because this meant one thing: you can have a friend, but you don’t have a friend. I didn’t experience any of that high school love stuff, but this is not what we are here for.
I did have a crush, anyway - that’s permitted.

A situationship has one goal:
To leave you constantly guessing whether you are friends or whether you have passed the friendship level.

It looks like seeing a green light, but the light is somewhere between yellow and somewhat lemon-green. You receive some level of care that you would normally expect from a supposed partner, but there is no clarity.

There is always this sense of belonging and intrigue, as though you are both on the same page, even though you are never quite sure. Nothing actually becomes clear, but for some crazy reason, one of you isn’t willing to ask, What are we? because you are afraid the answer might not be what you want it to be.

It is more like a perfect mix of closeness and distance, with confusion as the butter icing.

Very soon, sooner than you think, you become okay with the undefined “ship” you are in. After all, labels are too much. You accept the highs and lows as something that simply comes with being in a “ship” that is neither a friendship nor a relationship.

Here is the poison in the cake: The physical closeness.
The hugs. The warmth that the other person brings. The comfort of having someone who seems to be there. That becomes the rewarding poison because your eyes are blinded by the fact that because he or she is here, it feels like that is all that matters.

But deep within you, there is nothing tangible telling you that this person belongs to you, and vice versa.
That is why your heart will squeeze so hard when you see him or her relating sweetly with someone of the opposite gender.

Your mind will update you – like it always has.

Then again, you both will step out, holding hands, and you will smile like everything is alright.
But that’s a sweet lie.
The idea of being exclusive won’t come up because neither of you is ready to make promises. You are both fine.

Until one of you leaves the environment.
Then it dawns on you how many ways you have said I LOVE YOU in inaudible words.
And much later, you find yourself in a defined ship and remember how much of a clown you played, and how that confusing, exciting, emotional rollercoaster of a mistake pushed you towards a definition.

But perhaps that is the problem.
Sometimes, the situationship isn’t confusing because the feelings aren’t there. It is confusing because nobody has been brave enough to give the feelings a name.

And that is where boundaries matter.
You can enjoy someone’s company. You can care deeply about someone. You can even find yourself becoming emotionally attached. But at some point, you need to know what you are participating in.

Because a situationship may feel like a ship, but eventually, somebody has to know where it is going.

You’ll not be far gone.

Yours sweetly,
Captain.

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How does she feel looking at her lifeless body?
How does she feel seeing her parents and siblings call out her name, and she doesn’t respond? Is she calling out to them and hoping that they hear her? Is she calling out to them and wondering why they can’t hear her?
Is she scared? Is she alone? Is she calling me too, and I can’t hear her? Did someone come to pick her up? Does she need to find her way alone?

After finding it hard to accept this person’s forever absence from the earth, I was forced to ask, “Where is she?”

You may have heard of me say that I was once a worldly good girl. One of the beliefs I held deeply then, was that people die when they are old, and I would give my life to God later, when I am older.

My close friend who died was younger than I was. Maybe 2-4 years gap. I had started loving the Lord before she died, and I had also begun to learn many truths from His Word. But the question of, “Where do people go when they die?” still scared me.
It scared me for years before I gave my life to Christ, and if not for anything else, that was one of the reasons I gave my life to Christ when I did. I was afraid of death. I was afraid of what came after it. But as I began to grow in the knowledge of His Word, I started to understand that the question was not one I needed to live in fear of.

And truthfully, as much as I am tired of the struggles I face in this world, death still scares me.

It scares me because it is not a place that I have been before.
It scares me because no one can fully tell us what it is like to walk that path and return to explain it.
It scares me because, unlike Hezekiah and others who were given a warning about their death, most of us don’t know when it will come.
It scares me again because there is no manual for it.

But then, I have asked myself this again and again:
Which scares you more? Leaving this world or not enjoying the Father?

You may ask, “Can I not enjoy both?” Who said you can’t?

But the more attached we become to the things of this world, the harder it becomes to let go of it. The more comfortable we become with the temporary, the more difficult it can be to long for the eternal. And sometimes, the struggles and turmoil of this life can make us forget that there is a Father waiting for us beyond all of this.

Don’t misunderstand my perspective or think that I’m trying to make you crave death. No. I simply want you to understand that as we enjoy the frivolities of this fallen world, it can become harder to want to leave it. The toxicity of this fallen world can also affect the love we have for the Father.

If only we could embrace the reality that there is a much more real world, incomparable to the one we are living in, just maybe we would not hold onto things longer than we should. Just maybe.

People’s mindsets often surprise me in all of this. Some believe that the spirit of a person is still roaming until a proper burial is given, or that the weight of words spoken at a person’s service of songs and the number of pleas made to God can somehow change the destination of someone who has already left this earth.

But if your search about where people go when they die hasn’t led you to Jesus – the Way, the Truth, and the Life, then I dare say that you haven’t truly started searching, or perhaps you’ve been searching in the wrong direction.

I crave comfort.

And when I came to understand that my friend had received this comfort, I cried again. It was a Joy that pained me a little too much because she wasn’t breathing the same air that I am.

THERE IS A PLACE THAT WE GO TO! It is either Heaven or Hell.

And in all sincerity, I want you to embrace the truth that you will go to a place other than where you are right now. In the grand scheme of things, Hell was never created as the destination God intended for humanity. It was prepared for the devil and his angels.
The place where you enjoy the Father is the place prepared for you. And the invitation is simple: accept, believe, and love the Creator.

Because the question is not only, “Where do people go when they die?”
The deeper question is, “Where am I going?” And perhaps, even more importantly, “Who am I trusting with my eternity?”

Yours again,
A friend in thought.

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My Dad had once taught me, that once a person always complains or seem to carry the negative flow of energy, then it means that only the negative energy resides within that person, and s/he is closer to witchcraft.
It sounded silly at first to me, and at some point, I never understood, until I started seeing the traces. Lol.

Let me help you by answering the question of why you are in so much disagreement with a person you just met and tag it that she exudes a bad energy, while the main reason is that you notice she’s better dressed than you, or why you are always keeping tabs on this person and getting worked up at every little success that they have, or why your heart shrinks so hard that you feel like crying when you hear news that appears to be good, but for one reason or the other, you are wishing it had been a bad news.

You’d expect only witches to have such attitudes. But you’re not one.

This would have been a different conversation if we were referring to a Christian sensing the change in the atmosphere because of the presence of someone, or having a strong perception about someone – but this talk has to do with our feelings and how wicked our hearts are.

Early last year, I got to a point where I could no longer celebrate the victories of those I referred to as my friends had, I hadn’t even realized that I was acting the same towards those that weren’t my “friends”. I only found out when the virus had found its way to the association of people I had cherished.
I was angry at myself for feeling that way, but still, I wanted to feel that way. Why aren’t I the one winning? Why aren’t I the one being promoted? Why aren’t I the one??? I did what I knew best, CRY.

Upon feeling this way, most of my prayers were channeled to me wanting what they have as if that would make me feel okay. One of those times, the Holy Spirit rebuked me and said, “You are not a witch”.

There will be times when your head speaks before your heart – or your heart before your head, but most importantly, I am here to write to you that you should learn to not fully trust both less you’ve examined them honestly. I find this scripture interesting,

“Think about things that are pure and lovely and admirable. Think about things that are excellent and worthy of praise” Phil.4:8.

My heart has squeezed so tightly before that it made me want to wish something so dreadful upon a harmless someone – someone created by a loving God.
Why?

I wouldn’t tell you not to compare yourself (because, you’ll find yourself doing that), but I’ll tell you not to make room for comparison to cheat you. I’ll tell you not to allow comparison twist your thinking and make you look less, because you’re definitely not. I’ll tell you not to allow comparison to make your heart look like that of a witch, because you’re not one

This is not about rejoicing for people so that your own miracle will come. I realized that most times, we are conditionally happy for our friends, families, and foes. We are happy only because we believe that our own miracle will find us by the reason of being happy with them. And when the awaited miracle doesn’t find us, the conditional excitement wears off. Can’t our happiness be genuine without any expectations? Can we simply be happy because their progress doesn’t take anything away from ours? Well, yes. If a neighbor excelled, it’s because I am a good neighbor and always encouraged him/her into embracing her goals. Miracle can be on the streets, and my own miracle may not be what I had exactly put up.

Can’t we be happy for people, because it means that we ourselves are good people too? Imagine being the reason why someone didn’t genuinely succeed at something. Basking in the satisfaction of that only means that your maleficent wings are growing.

Why not rejoice for your friends and intentionally give yourself the accolade of being a good friend? It counts!

So, the joy shouldn’t necessarily be that you need to be happy because you’re the next to rise (be expectant though), but because you are a good friend, because the Lord is helping you to help others.

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Hello, remember that I am writing to you from a place of my learnings and happenings, as Jesus is leading and we follow.

I can recall the last time I failed at something – and truthfully, it was recent. I don’t think of myself as a super genius, though I am in love with someone who is. To the most significant failure I experienced this year, I say significant because I had prepared for months and it still went downhill, I had to give it a lot of thought, the person working with me asked me countless times, “are you sure you want to shut this?” and I was surer than ever – I had been told to do so.
And honestly, I didn’t think I would have the nerve to have done it without the instructions.

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I remember detaching myself from a lot of places and wanting to be alone and not give into crying, but that liquid stuff still managed to come out.

I have been disappointed before – I mean who hasn’t? It took lots of conversations to not feel disappointed in myself, and again, if you have heard me talk without me mentioning how I can’t wait for Jesus to come, then maybe we haven’t discussed. Because most of my days are tied to that beautiful day. I try as much as possible to not want to scare people, but to let everyone live with a consciousness of Maranatha. For me – that’s the greatest escape from this life.

One of the reviews from the newly started business (yoghurt business to be precise) left me thinking whether this life is worth all my effort. I almost slipped, but again, I love my sister. I love my sister so much that I know that at this stage of my life, I can’t do life without her. She was the first to drag me up after my significant fall, and in her words, “Failure is not loss”. And in this present time, she still did.
It was not random, at least not for me.

As much as I am not trying to sound motivational, I hope to remind you that it is very okay to fail.

If you had started something and didn’t get good at it, well, you started. And if you choose to start that thing again, the next failure won’t come from where you failed last time, because the last fail made you wiser. And having to do something at some point in your life can sometimes mean that you were to do that at that point of your life, because you will be in a better position to educate someone else when their own time comes.

But, Failure is just what it is – nothing more. People fail at relationships, businesses, academics, projects, and that doesn’t redefine who you are. That makes you 10 times better than someone who has never ventured into what you did that didn’t materialize. You become a failure when you genuinely believe that you cannot succeed at something! You are bound to make mistakes along the way, and even sometimes, failure still happen even after the best efforts has been put to the task.

Even though your heart hears this all the time, I need to remind you again, that Failure is what it is – nothing more!

Yours truly,
Ozyy.

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This feeling…
The one where your head can’t explain how your heart feels, but you know your heart is beating faster than it should. Is this how it feels?
Every hair on your body stands on end, and a shiver runs through you, sending jitters all over. Even though the weather is cold, there is this warmth that spreads through my body and goosebumps that still refuses to go down…

Then comes the tears.

Not the one that comes from pain, but the one that comes because…I’m in love.
The one that comes because nothing else can contain the emotions welling up in me, so I have to release something to contain the overflow within me.
The tears that come because…I cannot love him the way he loves me.

Let me take you to the beginning.

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I had a chaotic Friday.
I had just started a Yoghurt business and an order came in, but I didn’t have the packaging material for that particular order.
Thankfully, the customer didn’t need the yoghurt immediately, so I set out to go to the market on Friday. I’m a planner, and I try to do everything to the T – except when I don’t feel motivated. My list for Friday was, wake up at 6, prep the yoghurt, cook for the family, do some cleanup – all before 10am. And I won.

You know what I said in The Art of an unnecessary 30min. devotion? That you don’t need a rushed soulless 30min, I had a full day.
I had wanted to have some music in the background whilst doing all that I was doing, but for some reason that I couldn’t pan out, I didn’t.

My run arounds ended around 3pm, or so I thought, when I had figured that I hadn’t gotten something really important. I could have texted my sister to get it for me in the supermarket, but she came in almost immediately, and that left me with one option – go out again and get the required product.
I was sore all over from the day’s runarounds, but here I am, trying to build a business.
Something in me told me to step out with my EarPods – but I was just going to get some products that I could obviously get in the market, I thought.
Angry at nothing, I stepped out- and that’s when it happened.

I would have easily gone to the supermarket straight, but he took me round the area, because he wanted some lone time.
I have heard people’s testimonies about the fullness of God, and sometimes you sit and wonder – why can’t I have this same feeling?
I love feeling those feelings – but I had never experienced them in a street where I couldn’t care less. It has always been amongst brethren.

With the volume turned all the way up, the phone raised to my chin and my hand supporting the other, I was walking slowly through the market to look for what was not there.
“That is why I told you to go with your EarPods”

With the weak body I had, I realized my destination had been the supermarket and I slowly walked down the road, without realizing that something liquid called tears was streaming down my face.
I felt overwhelmed, full to the brim. I enjoyed every single slow step I took at that moment, because that was an evening stroll with him.

Getting back home, I grabbed my music box, left the song on repeat, spoke in an unknown language while jumping like someone who had just won a medal.
He had told me something on my way home, and that made me cry the more. I didn’t even notice that people were staring, at least I had my glasses on.
He said,
“This is the best way to love: to put your life on the line for your friends. I love that I did that for you. You were worth every single stroke”

This feeling…
It is beyond the words that I have to type, but with every ounce of my being, I love being loved.

Have you ever looked at someone who is in the spotlight, and seen them offer something you know that you could have offered? Something you even feel you could have done better?

Let’s talk.

I had a lot of things, but confidence wasn’t really the top of the list. I wasn’t shy, but I wasn’t outspoken either. I just existed somewhere in-between.
My fears were simple: “what if I eventually step out in the spotlight and mess up?”
So, I just decide to run my race in my safe space.

But then I would see people do things I felt I should have done better… and I couldn’t lie to myself, I had to admit the feeling of “If I was the one up there, I would have done better”.

I stayed in that cycle for a while, until life – and God, started exposing me to many things I never thought about myself.

First time I handled a platform, I spaced out.
My head was banging from having talked for many hours and I felt really empty inside. Empty, not because I had nothing to offer, but empty because it felt like I had given everything I knew at that level of growth.

That was the first time I realized something uncomfortable: Maybe I didn’t lack opportunity, maybe I lacked depth.

I had asked God countless times, countless unnecessary questions about me, and one day, I got an answer that offended me greatly.
To summarize the response in a word, I didn’t have something to give. I argued it in my heart more than once that I did – until I began to understand what he actually meant.

It wasn’t that I was empty – it was that I haven’t grown into the version of me that could carry what I was asking for.
Just maybe you have been in these shoes, or you are currently putting them on, I’d love to reason with you on something.

What if the reason it wasn’t you yet had nothing to do with your desire, and everything to do with your depth?

I told you I’m in the mood to talk, yes?

1. Raw Rice

I consider eating rice in a raw state a spiritual problem – because it was part of the anointing sessions I watched backed then (courtesy of Late. TB Joshua).

The issue is that we want to eat or rather be eaten when we are still in a raw state. Who wants to eat an unprepped food? A lot of BTS goes on before we can eat.
Coming out undone and being served to others is a spiritual issue and a reason why it can’t be me or you – at least at this stage.

God is also very into the detail about the people that we are being offered to or the people that we think we have something to offer to.

No one appears and suddenly starts saying what they had never known all the years. Most time, we think we are prepared enough, but well, till we see the mirror.
Don’t mistake this for growth on the job – God trains his recruiters on the job, but the tasks are appointed according to the strength of the trainee and how much s/he has learnt over the years.

You know how you still salt your rice, even after it is done – that’s preparation even in a ready state.

2. A Dry Well

There are things that look like readiness on the surface but cannot survive depth.

When you read the story of how Abraham, Jacob and Isaac had consistently dug wells, you’d be forced to ask, “what’s with the digging of wells?”. It wasn’t a one-time activity. It was survival work. A strong source of Life.

What does wells give? Water.

Water doesn’t come from a shallow effort, and maybe that’s the difference – the depth of the wells.
The fun part is that we can dig a well. But maybe we haven’t stayed long enough to dig out water – not the dirty one though, the one that will sustain.

So, when it wasn’t you, it wasn’t due to rejection – maybe it was a reminder to dig a well that will sustain.

3. You forgot that, “Na you be pepper, na you be Salt”

I just don’t have a better way to explain what I want to without adding this heading. But honesty, sometimes, we are the cause!

Not trying to embrace blames, but I can count how many “No’s”, I’ve said because I was scared, and later regretted saying “No” in the first place.
Was I prepared? Definitely! what I was not was to be Courageous.

Sometimes, what stops us is hesitation, not lack of ability! We have been graced with it. We suddenly forget that God has high expectations of us.

It can be you a thousand times, but maybe not this version of you and not this version of me either. Readiness is also a part of Grace that has been extended to us.

To the shallow version of ourselves, to the unformed version, to the fearful version, it aff do.

From my version.

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10:15am, 19thJune.

I’m seated in the office, journaling the next few hours and trying to put every emotion I expect to feel within the next 24hours onto paper – or rather, a digital one.

Every January, I begin anticipating my Birthday.

I count in months and by the end of May, it’s nearer than my anticipation. It’s been like that for years, and this is not because there are birthday cakes (that stopped when I was like…13), or because parties are thrown (girl!), or because of this and that and stuff…

It’s largely because it is my day.

I know it like the back of my hand that I was born on a Thursday, and maybe I love Thursdays because of that. My family make it make sense for me, my friends too.

I love Junes…

But for some reasons, I didn’t want this year to happen.

Lately, I have been the highest advocate for Jesus to come quickly. It comes from a selfish place, I know, but even though…

There is something I have always said: Every new year is another year to stay with Jesus – I have left many times, I have run so many times, but he stays at the same spot – waiting for me.
This was actually the age bracket I anticipated when I was 10, 11 … 16 even. 20s looks so grown to me. It looked settled. It looked like someone who knew what she was doing. But the moment I crossed the 20s line, um…there were lots of umms.

This is somewhere between the growths and grey hair – the necessary but unsolicited advices, the having to figure it out alone but you haven’t for the longest time, the having to meet up with an invisible line and many other expectations that you never really thought of how you’d get there and wondering who drew the maps in the first place.

8:01pm,19th June.

Work happened.

As much as I wanted to pour out my heart into this piece while at the office, work insisted on being worked. Beautifully, it is also my CEO’s birthday today.
And for some reason, I am starting to feel like I am about to fall sick.

Funny.

On the eve of the birthday that I never really wanted – up until I did.

Before this week, I had constant reminders about 20^th being my birthday. First from my Bank – and I figured that was so funny, because I was basking in Birthday blacks. Funny how I never thought that was a real thing till this year.

Right now, I’m seated in my room, rejoicing in the Holy Spirit, setting out this atmosphere with the presence of God and typing out this piece, hoping to complete and post it tomorrow – which is apparently today, (by your read). What change?

Understanding.

There was this lady I loved and admired deeply because of how she loved the Lord. For some reasons, she downplayed birthdays. I never really understood why.
For a while, I tried to convince myself in her light, but over the years, the Holy Spirit has taught me different things, different years – and that remains my biggest celebration.

My days on earth are significant, and a new year isn’t simply a new age – it is a new responsibility.

Truth is, I was starting to dislike birthdays because they felt like evidence of moving time, but statutory events. There are the annoying questions and statements like, “you will settle us soon with man na, abi”, keeps popping from unrelated persons and this looks like a lot to handle – even as a developing frontal lobe baby.

I am getting a little teary writing this, especially because I do not have the full picture. The chills from a place of conviction that God has been my legs keeps me standing. It is so sweet how at this moment, the sound playing at the background is, Emmanuel by Sunmisola and Yinka.

And I am reminded thar the greatest gift of a new year is not a life filled with ticked boxes. It is the presence of God inside an unfinished story.

Maybe, that what I keep forgetting.

I keep forgetting that the moment I see the full picture, that it means that there is nothing left to discover. Nothing left to anticipate. Nothing left to become. So, perhaps, the beauty is in waking up each day to find another puzzle piece and jumping up on realizing that it fits.

I am celebrating what is place before me, thanking God what was taken away for the table to set in the presence of my enemies, and remembering that if I have not won yet, then the game is not yet over!

9:52am, 20th June

I woke up several times this morning. Family phone calls, emotional messages from my girls and my bank and just like that –

Right now, I am rounding up with this article, having some parfait and turning on the television for the second time this month.

It is my birthday today, and I want to feel like it is – because it is.

There are parts of my life that requires faith more that certainty, there are prayers I am still waiting to see answered, there are prayers that were not answered, there are dreams still in seed form, then there is ME.

The one person whom God made, looked at and said, “what I made is GOOD”.

Grateful for another year

Grateful for another chance to pour my heart on a paper

Grateful for another journey with Jesus – till he tells me, “It’s enough”

For me, that is enough.

HAPPY BITHDAY, OZIOMA.

1:36pm, 20th June

Editing to publish.

I have always felt a bit backward in life, but never this kind of backward. It is so safe to say that I never really loved the fact of having to headstart anything, but so comfortable to be led. Maybe that’s the issue – having to use your head.

What I did? Avoid conversations that had to do with: “So, what are you currently doing?”
I never felt it was a proud thing to say, “I am a writer”, because the next question always has to do with, “ouuu, really? what type of writer”, what was I supposed to say? Billboard writer?

“What exactly is your progress with this Job search? Your mates...”

And there it was – your mates.
The one word that shakes everything in me and makes me want Jesus truly come so that I could be free of my mates.

I’ve seen them – my mates.
They are married, mothers, cooperate baddies, everything I can think of. They have the picture of everything I thought I wanted… till I figured out that I am my mate.

I overheard this loud lady over the phone one day. She was talking to someone about another person, and then I heard it again: “your mates…”

Her response? Divine.
“When God created me, He didn’t say, see your mates.”

That was the first step of liberation. I may not remember the second step, but that sentence opened something in me.

So, I started asking: who exactly are my mates?
Those I graduated university with? Those I attended secondary school with? Primary school? NYSC camp?
If your mates are not in these categories, then you can define yours yourself. And if you’re done defining, then, I still want to add these categories that we keep jumping. Some of your mates…
Are dead.
Are not where you think they are.
Are not living the life you see on social media.
Are struggling silently.

So, why have you found it suitable to only compare yourself with the ones in a flashy light and not all the mates of yours?

Still circling the question of “who exactly are my mates?” I just start thinking about something beyond me.
If God really did categorize us, wouldn’t he be unjust to not give everyone the same mind, same pace and timing?
Why would he give 5 talents to one, 2 to another and 1 to the other? They all should have collected the same number of talents!
It really was never about the number! But the strength that they could channel into it.

I am of the opinion that if the guy with one talent wasn’t foolish, he would have achieved more, because he’d have a one-eyed focus on what he was to do.

I digress.

There is no category to living. There are just discernment, availability and responsibility.
I am not writing to fan your grief, I can very much relate and embody it – I am only writing to tell you that when you’re hurting, do it side-by-side with Jesus.

YOU TRY!

If no one sees how much you wake up every night and read for that exam to pass, how many job applications you have sent, how many times you go to the gym, how many occasions you have missed because you want to avoid many unnecessary questions and many times you have silently survived, I too don’t see it, but I want you to know that you have 1 talent – the strength to not give up.

The difference between you and the foolish servant is that you will invest yours. Because someone else might have five talents and still be doing nothing with it.

Soon, you will get that Job, pass that exam, marry that man, loose that weight – but they will still not be enough to prove to you that you are not in competition with your mates.

And for the records – there is none!

Then to the one who is expecting result while doing nothing to leave the situation:
I hope you wake up one day and realize that this is not the picture that you have always wanted, and that you won’t get a different picture by just existing.

You have more than 1 talent! Maybe 5. Maybe more.

But at the end of the day, I hope you wake up and cry again because you remembered how tough things were for you and how your present moment beats all the categories you were placed in.

All my Love,
Ozioma.

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Heads up: This Letter is utterly my unfiltered thoughts. In case you read it and find some incoherent sentences or words or...anything. I hope you understand that they are coming from a clouded mind who just brought out her laptop and decided to pour out how she feels on a Sunday morning.

I was given birth to, and I became a Christian. I don’t remember agreeing to become one. I was baptized, without my consent too, but with good intentions. Following the tradition, I did my confirmation, not fully understanding what I was signing up for – but only understanding that I had to be confirmed to be able to partake in the Eucharistic feast.

15-year-old, I am still a Christian, but a worldly good girl.
The type of Christian who became part of the church committee in her secondary school because she believes it is right to do and because it will stay as a façade from all the sinful things she does. The type of Christian who memorizes all the creeds and know half of the hymns. The type of Christian who is ready to debate for any talk that has to do with God, and makes sure that God’s name is not sullied, but also the type of Christian who doesn’t see anything wrong in doing malpractices in class or stealing a few things or lying because her life depends on it. Also having to behave like other non-Christians, because she is in Rome, and have to be a Romans…or whatever.

stay with me

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16-year-old, This Christian girl has cried her way to the Altar for an uncountable amount of time, but still haven’t known who she cries to. She logically knows all about Jesu and his saving grace and is very much confident that the righteousness of her parents is the one that will lead her to heaven. Having watered down countless times the experiences of God that she as had, she knows way too well the head knowledge about God, but her heart is far from him.

At 18, as she transitioned, so did her Faith. With opened eyes and mind, she wanted to know more about This God. The one who abandoned her at 17 and allowed the world beat her and make a mockery of her innocence. This Christian girl vowed not to follow God again because of that, but somehow, the mercy of The God that she has little knowledge of kept finding her. She did keep looking until she genuinely found him at 19.

Then she started questioning her feelings about him. Till date, it became so obvious that she has never loved him enough, because she never can.

How do I feel about God? I will explain that you – because I am that Christian girl.

I spent a whole day watching movies. A whole day.
Monday – Friday, I am working. I intentionally created an excuse for missing my morning prayers, even though I wake up and see him seeing sitting beside me, waiting for our lovey-dovey talk.

“Not now – I’m late” I said time and time again. He kept coming.

This Saturday, I dedicated my time to my phone screen - without my glasses. I woke up feeling so drained that I couldn’t do anything. I haven’t seen a movie in months, and a whole day drained me. I picked my Bible – Psalm 177:1-2. Then he asked me,

“How do you feel about me?”

I’m sad. Guilt too.
My sadness isn’t that I was seeing a movie, but that I would have found something to add to the list that fascinated me or made me cry about him. Just like I found out at 19 that he really didn’t abandon me at 17.

I figured that I cannot love him the way I want to love him, but I have to love him the way he wants to be loved, and that…that can only happen from the abundance of HIS love.

My thoughts are not done, but I don’t know how else to put them in writing. I only wish that the reader who goes through this understand that s/he can’t love the Lord by just being a Christian. That s/he can’t love the Lord by the duties. That s/he can’t even love the Lord with his/her own terms of Love. But that s/he can only love the Lord by sitting down with him like a date and finding new things to love about him EVERYDAY.

We forget every day. That is what I know. I forget every day.

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My name is Passion.

I still remember the nights we lay in bed, crafting the picture of your success; you on stage, sharing stories of struggles and triumph, teaching others how to stand firm against temptations and pressures.

Those images of your future were vivid. You looked radiant – strong, confident, unstoppable.

It was picture perfect!

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I saw you talk down an opportunity, even after I had reminded you that I am not enough to help you to the top. I had spoken to Knowledge, and he agreed to give all you that was needed.

Patience even volunteered to keep you steady.

Yet, the moment counterfeit appeared, everything we worked for fell apart.

Suddenly you feel tired, because you ate in the same table with Comparison. Now, that explains why I can’t feel myself in you.

You’ve been looking so worn out. The Word of God (BIBLE) that Joy gave you has been missing for two months now, and you don’t seem to care. The Diary we used to write down our dreams and goals is right under your bed gathering dust.

You’ve changed. The dark circles under your eyes, the weariness in your soul – I can see it all, no matter how well you choose to hide under the makeup that Pretense sold you.

But here’s the thing - I see through you, and I’m not leaving.

Our relationship was one of the best things you ever had, and I will fight for it. I will fight for you. I’ll help you find that Diary and open it to the very first page. I’ll remind you of the dreams we’ve built together, and this time we’ll guard them better.

I have good news for you, but I’ll wait until you return to me. I’ve already called in reinforcements: Relentless, Confidence, Joy, Strength, Contentment – they’re all ready to stand by you. And Patience? She’s the group admin, coordinating everything.

You will reignite me. You will make things right. And together, we’ll build something greater than before.

Yours lovingly,
Passion ❤

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I once enjoyed eating porridge with a mixture of soybean powder, because my aunty had eaten it one time, and it seemed enjoyable. I stopped anyway.

I started listening deeply to Maverick city and I still love them till date, not because I found them first – my sister had so much talked about them and I got caught up trying to check them out.

I started praying at night because my best friend often mentioned in our conversations, …while I was praying at night. I realized that I never really did that, and beyond sounding admirable, I wanted to experience some of the things she shared with me.

I started to see people beyond the normal façade and try to understand them whenever they talked about how harsh life is, because a friend of mine always want me to help him solve problems by putting me in those people’s shoes

I started journaling so much, because I saw my sister write almost everything down, and whenever she spoke, journaling somehow came up too. I thought it was cool, so I started.

I became fashion conscious because I was part of this amazing Christian community where a particular sister dressed gorgeously and consciously, I thought to spice up mine in an inexpensive way, and it worked.

I strongly believe that life is not simply black and white, and also in the miraculous because I sat under the teachings of an amazing doctor, who taught I and many others.

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I am bits and pieces of the People that I love, of the people who love me and of the people who went out of their way to see me grow.

So, maybe, instead of only saying that human beings cannot survive in isolation, think about how grey and dusty life would feel without the imprints of others.
Have you ever wondered how bland, blank, colorless even odorless life would be if we had to exist entirely outside of one another? What if you were born and kept in your own planet to grow, what color would it be? You’d probably be the only one there

Maybe that’s why I believe that Life is not so black and white. Because somewhere in-between, I learnt how to dress, I learnt a phrase, a lifestyle, a habit, a routine - from someone.

The way I gesture a child to come into my embrace, perhaps because I was once gestured to that way too, or I probably saw someone doing it and it registered. The way I love, because I am been loved or because I have be hurt by it too. The way I unconsciously look left and right even without a zebra crossing in my country, all because a primary school teacher’s words stuck with me.

It’s not just the small things, Life taught us some lessons, because we saw it play out in someone’s life. Families, society, friends, foe and the list goes on.

Now I wonder, how many of me really belongs to me

If I hadn’t met certain people, would I have experienced the Love of God in its full measure? Would I have known how to handle extreme situations? Would I have known how to talk and react or even love the things and people that I now love?

It is humbling.

How much of you is you?
How much is borrowed?
How much was placed in your hands?

Maybe it is not all about, “Show me your friends and I will tell you who you are”
Maybe it is “Show me everyone who has left a mark in your life, and I’ll tell you what you’ve become”

But more importantly, who is walking around with a piece of you?

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RAIN.

I liked you for a moment. I loved how dark everywhere becomes before and after you appear. Maybe because that’s how movies make it look – lovers cuddled up, everything calm, beats on the roof and drops on the windows. Or maybe because you make the world feel…cool.

But that was for a moment.

Now, my shoes are spoiling because I race in and out of you. I don’t have light because the electricity company claims that the wires need to dry before the power can return. The clouds get thick and I am reminded that this is how my life feels right now – thick and unsettling.

Then I am wondering why you are showing up when I am supposed to be smiling and become bright.

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Now I am wondering why I needed to be beaten continuously by life. Is that how growth feels? Things are not working out, and I am told by the people around me that it is because I had offended God and sinned against him, but truthfully – I only asked him to help me grow.

I didn’t choose this season.

The season where I can’t even see the beginning of the tunnel before hoping for light at the end of it. All because it is raining hurt and confusion and pain. Suddenly, everything feels stuck.

And I thought to myself – maybe all I need is a little sun…or so I thought.

SUN

I heard that this is the part where flowers bloom and clothes dry.
Everyone loves you, and I quickly jumped in to love you too, because I believed that, this is what Joy looks like – But you burned me.

You made me feel like I had no excuse to be tired. Like I had no right to feel overwhelmed. Holding an umbrella under your sky felt like I was doing too much – yet, I was been affected by your rays.

No one believed I was struggling or even drowning, because I looked undeniable. Whenever I shared what I was passing through, I was met with, “your own is even manageable...” but was it really? Everywhere was hot and everything was red.

I didn’t choose this season either.

The season where I couldn’t hide that something is going on, but somehow managed to appear fine. I strongly believe that you will not smite me by day, but what is all this sun-burn?

Now, I look ungrateful for complaining too much. I appear as an ingrate for complaining that the free gifts I received are hurting me. But it is fine…truly.

And somewhere in all of this, I understood something I once read about Job.

The weariness and hard moments of Job was simply because the Lord boasted of him. God had taken great pleasure and excitement in Job that he was grinning ear to ear so much, that he had to say to the enemy,

“Have you noticed my servant, Job? He is the finest man in all the earth. He is blameless – a man of complete integrity. He fears the Lord and stays away from evil”

So, when I sing,
“Jesu, Jesu my Lord. I want to make you smile…”, I know what I am signing up for. Just maybe – I thought I knew till the seasons came.

Now I’m done complaining, and I know that a seed does not get to choose its seasons if it really wants to grow.

It will face rain. It will endure the sun – harmattan even.

And all are necessary, no matter how harsh. Maybe this is what it is – a growth process. Not abandonment or punishment.
Now, I’m just a seed who wants to become a tree, though I am not ready for what the growth will cost – but I’ll stay anyways. And when it becomes hard again, I’ll write again.

Yours sincerely,
A seed with tender roots.

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This might not be what you want to hear, but it is something I had to hear myself:
You might not be lacking.
You might just be a bad manager.

stay with me

This is not coming from a place of judgment, but from a place of that I have lived in.

There was a time in my life when lack felt like a companion. And this was not because I didn’t have the source, but because I managed badly.
Living alone on campus exposed me in ways I didn’t expect. I realized I had poor management habits, especially with the little things. I am a picky eater, so I mostly cooked what I liked, yet somehow, even with that, I still wasted food.
Leftovers? I threw them away without thinking twice.
And the worst part? I rarely felt bad about it. Majorly because I had solid and tangible reasons why I had to.

As I became more intentional with my walk with God, paying attention to the “small” things I used to ignore, I encountered a correction that stayed with me.

That hit me harder than I expected. The sooner I realized that if I can waste a meal, I can waste a life, it became harder to accept.

That was not easy to accept. Did I change immediately? No.
It took time. It took discomfort. It took being honest with myself again and again. But slowly, I began to see that God often trains us with the most basic things around us. Just the everyday stewardship.

I remember a period that I was desperate for a kind of growth that required some monetary commitments, my pocket was empty. It wasn’t surprising, but it was painful. When I did what I knew what to do best, kneeling before God, he told me that I still suck at management. Welp!

I felt motivational in a season of lack, but who am I to give motivations?
Lack is sometimes a reflection of how we have managed what has been given to us. Maybe not carelessly, but thoughtlessly.

If you desire big opportunities, do well with the little before you. By little, I mean you can start with the quantity of toothpaste you put on your toothbrush. It’s not some Baba Blue sweet.

This may sound simple, but it is not small. God doesn’t waste resources, and he won’t entrust much to someone who wastes resources too.

Look around you.
What has been placed in your hands that has not been honored? The difference between lack and abundance is not exactly provision…
It is stewardship.

Yours in training,
Ozioma.

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“I don’t know o, wait let me check my phone”. I brought it out from my handbag, it lit up,
“17^th May” I replied, looking up to meet her eyes fixed on me,
“17^th” I repeated, assuming that she didn’t hear me the first time.

She smiled.

“Did you do your Quiet time today?” she asked and continued writing.

“What does that have to do with today’s date?” I asked trying to dodge the question

“But did you do it?”

“I had a 7 a.m. class” I defended. Perfect alibi.

“That’s why you couldn’t remember today’s date”. She said, eyes fixed on whatever it is she was still writing, then a slight smile that didn’t really form.

I shock fess. I turned to look at her,
“Because I had 7am class?” I would have added an annoying, “what are you yapping” but she was way older than me.

“No,” she said, finally looking up at me.
“Because you didn’t do your Quiet time”

That was the first time I heard something like that. Does Quiet time now reveal some kind of unforgettable mysterious dates? And as ridiculous as it was, I couldn’t find the connection between remembering the date and having my quiet time

Until one day, it clicked.

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Quiet time format:
Date, Topic, Text, Exposition.

The days that someone actually sits with their devotion; they don’t forget the day/date. Not because you have a photographic memory, not because you rolled on the floor and blasted in tongues to pray, not because the exposition filled half the page of your journal – just because you actually sat and had something that stood out.

So, this is an issue of staying.

As I pondered on the convo I had with his lady back in Uni, I figured that I could spend time in my Devotion or Prayers such that I literally pour my heart into my Journal, maybe because I had a rough yesterday or maybe because life is happening all at once and the patches are rougher than expected, or maybe because the topic of the day pulled out something in me or just maybe, that day felt too dry that I couldn’t even make a sense out of what I stayed with.
But either way, I just remember something that could be the date.

So, I want to ask you, what is today’s date?

Not because I want to measure your devotions, because even after having a swell time in his presence, we can still forget the days date, I mean…. not everyone has a photographic memory.
I am asking because Devotions has become a part of our to-do-list.

There was a period, two weeks or so, I’d wake up, do my devotions and have nothing.
Nothing!
When I mean nothing, I mean that I had no evidence of sitting to pray, my journal was empty, and so did it seem in my mind.

This is not an argument.
I don’t believe that you can sit at the table with the Holy Spirit and have nothing to write down. Excuse you? I thought we have one teacher not two.

I had to pause and asking myself, “where am I rushing to? Who am I actually fooling? Am I fellowshipping with God… or just clearing my conscience?”

Because we often think we are doing God a favor or rather that he is attention deprived.
You mean that oyigiyigi is attention deprived?

I agree that a sincere, heavy “Thank you Jesus” can carry more weight than flipping pages just to tick off the guilt of not having a quiet time.

So again, what is today’s date?

Did you forget because you were busy or because that time of the day didn’t fully have your presence? Or just so that we could add the phrase, “during my prayers this morning”,
what then is the difference between us and the Pharisees?

A rushed and soulless every morning 30 mins – 1 hour is unnecessary.
God doesn’t need the act, he needs the person, and if we can’t converse properly, let’s not converse at all.

You don’t think this is about cramming the date, do you?
Oh! my opponent, you’ve been deceived.

This is about staying!
About not chasing the owner of the house like a visitor who has somewhere else to be but his home. It is about letting something actually sit with you before, during or even after that moment.

Because when you truly stay, something always remains.

And maybe…
just maybe…
That’s why you remember the date.

Scratch that, how are you?
Not like I’m trying to get all deep on you, because let’s be honest, “I’m fine” is one of the most common lies ever. You’re fine…until you’re not.

I want to share my life list with you…or maybe not? I will anyways.

Have you seen the movie Life List? I think I might try what the protagonist did. Except, I’m definitely not praying for my mom to die, or to have a strained relationship with my dad, or to spend hours watching old videos while trying to tick off a dusty to-do list from age 13.
It’s a nice movie, but realistically? I’m Nigerian.

So, you either become the violent who takes it by force, or…you just take it by force.

Now to the real gist.

Before my best friend got her Law school posting, the tension was real. We had a dream state in mind, and a second option (you know, just to fill in the gap). Of course, that second option came with a lot of, “God, please don’t allow this one to happen.”

Long story short, she got the second choice.
We had moody talks, “what-ifs”, and tearful moments. But, we also held hands, smiled through it, and had faith for the tomorrow we were worried about.

But guess what? All that worry was for nothing. Every concern that we has (especially about the hostels) was handled. Now tell me – why shouldn’t I trust God?

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My Life List (The Original Draft)

• Finish secondary school at 16

• Graduate at 21

• Serve in a touché NYSC state

• Land a high-paying job

• Marry a doctor

• Have fun

This was part of the very first list I had. But the list kept changing - because I kept growing. That’s the beautiful part.

Leaving secondary school at 16 seemed to be the only thing I managed to tick boldly from the list. I forgot I was in Nigeria and that strike is a thing. And at some point, I stopped being drawn to doctors (no offense).

But my list? Still pretty attractive, if I do say so myself.

Then I met God at the point where we was waiting for me… and I started learning what it truly meant to trust. Just like my bestie and I made detailed plans for Law school, I had forgotten something crucial:

I was playing God, trying to bend him to fit my list, forgetting that He is God.

As I grow and get clearer directions, I see my plans aligning with the Gospel (cause that’s my name). That was never in my 13-year-old list. But it was always in God’s.

He has scripted my days. He knows what’s going to happen in the next 1,095 days… and I’m racking my brain for a 30-day planner.

Don’t get me wrong – I still plan. But I don’t do it alone anymore, and I don’t obsess over the specifics. I still doodle what I know that I can do and I still write to God what I want to become and what I want to do, then I watch him do what I want the way he wants. I am a strong believer to the word that “what I am searching for is also searching for me”

I’m learning that God cannot mismanage what belongs to Him. My life is His. He loves it too much to mess it up.

We stressed over law school, but when the best came, we didn’t even realize we had initially wanted cheap.

So what am I saying?

• Let God do his thing. Plan, yes. But hold it with open hands.
  “Many are the plans of a man’s heart, but the Lord’s will prevails”
  Remember when God told Habakkuk to write his visions down? You don’t think he edits too? God is an editor!

  He’s not asking you to figure everything out. He’s asking you to trust him and get ready to walk the journey he’s already mapped out.

• You’re not in control. I had to make peace with this too.
  I’m a control freak, but I learnt that this life is really not mine. We are all passengers – who don’t even “know the way

  God: “Give me the car keys and get in”
  Me: “Yes, boss”

• You’ll be fine – you just don’t know it yet. My friend and I often talk about how tough life can be and how some things are out of our hands. But we always end the convos with:

  “Las las, everybody go dey alright. Everything go better.”

  And we mean it - not because it’s cliché, but because we’re confident in the One who’s driving.

I leave you with this…

Jeremiah.
God made it clear to him that before he was born, he had written about him, he knew him. Imagine Jeremiah ignoring that and trying to figure out his stuff, then going into politics or cooperate hustle when he was born to be a prophet?

“You saw who you created me to be before I became me! Before I’d ever seen the light of day, the number of days you planned for me were already recorded in your book.” Psalms 139:16 (TPT)

It was a Sienna, and the trip was to Calabar. I knew I was officially a big girl the moment I could travel alone.

Scratch that – I really knew I’d entered womanhood when I couldn’t pass through any area or stay in an environment without hearing how fine I was.
I am light skinned, and that alone is a full-time job.

“When you get to your uncle’s house, don’t let your bad character get the best of you” my mum warned over the phone

“I don’t have any bad character. Stop saying nonsense” I snapped

“You’re already showing it. Motor never move o, mtchew” she hissed

“Dammy, don’t forget to buy…”

“Please I have to go, I will call you guys when I arrive” I cut my younger brother off.

“oya na. Bye-bye” my mom said and I hung up.

And that’s when I saw him.

Wine-red kaftan.
Neatly ironed. Beard lined up. He was asking the driver if the car was full, and my stomach did a little cartwheel when the driver said NO.

I wanted him to sit beside me.

stay with me

Let’s be clear, I wasn’t about to shoot any shot. I just wanted him to notice me, be blown away, and do the chasing. Then we’d exchange contacts. Life is not that hard.

But then, he walked away.

“Driver, how many persons remains for this car, abeg? We go sleep here?” I asked, uneasy. Majorly because the fine man had stepped out.

“Madam abeg abeg abeg. Na only you I go carry go Calabar? no dey put mouth for my business” he said, irritated

“I’m just asking if that guy is still entering. He walked away” I asked, a bit soft.

“He wan do POS na” the man responded sharply

“Okay okay. E don do”

All I’m saying, he’d better be in this car, or… well, nothing. But still.
As if on a cue, a round woman appeared.

“Is anyone sitting here?”

“Ermm…”

“No” the driver responded as he stood beside the door, adjusting the door to allow the woman enter.

A real definition of the weapon fashioned against me.

Silently fuming, I had hopes because the Kaftan guy was still entering the car.

He ended up at the back, diagonally behind me. His cologne filled the vehicle for a minute, and boy!! I stole a few glances. He was glued to his phone, head bent, still as a statue

“Die-hard fans”, I angrily muttered under my breath and gave up.

Maybe he was out of my league. Or I was out of is league. Whichever.
3 hours into the journey, I was knocked out. Sleeping like I paid for two seats. Something so natural yet embarrassing to me, because of a kaftan guy!!!?
Give me a break.
To make matters worse, the woman beside me was snoring in a surround sound.

Just my kaftan guy and another man were still awake, when I woke. I stretched, letting out a relieved sigh as my bones cracked.

“Ah-ah, see bone cracking. Na your type dey go gym” a voice said.

I turned; it was him.
He’ve also been admiring the back of my head? he definitely saw when I was sleeping too…nnaeh!! mess up!!

I smiled awkwardly. Just enough.
Realizing that all it took for him to talk to me was just a Bone crack.
A BONE CRACK!!? oh please 😒

“It’s just the bones” I replied, fishing for a conversation that didn’t yet exist
“I’m Daniel.”
“Damilola”

That was it. He noticed. And for me, that was enough.

I have acted in church dramas more times than I can count. And I have never wondered or questioned why Drama ministers pray intensely before and after ministration, because why won’t you pray?

You don’t just act a message; you step into it. You embody a character that might be good or bad, and you open doors in the spirit.
So, every door that is being opened for a negative impact need not just to be shut, but sealed properly.

For the sake of this story, let’s call him Buchi.

I didn’t meet him when I joined the unit, but his testimonies preceded him. He was the kind of member that the drama unit could barely do without. Dedicated, reliable, fits into any role perfectly. Until one day, a role ate him up.

A drug addict.

The ministration was powerful. Not just emotional – powerful! The message was clear. People wept as knees touched the ground. Prayers were made for the congregation and the drama ministers.

Now, I wish I knew what went wrong. Or it could be that sometimes battles we haven’t won are being mirrored

Few months after I joined the unit, certain prayer points often followed by heavy spirits and tears began to circle repeatedly.
“May affliction not arise the second time” - it became a steady Prayer point.

I had questions and I got answers.

Buchi had started using drugs while in school.
He was in his finals when a bullet ended his life. I wouldn’t reduce it carelessly to peer pressure - Life is rarely that simple.

Did we Pray? Yes
Did the Church Pray? Yes
Were visitations made? Yes.
But I believe that there are doors that others cannot close for you.

stay with me

It broke something in me to realize that he left the church because he was hiding, or just maybe he wasn’t in need of scrutiny or fingers being pointed at him.

I would have asked him how heavy it was to realistically embodying the character that he once preached against.
If he was in need of help and we didn’t know?
If he hated what he was doing but couldn’t come out of it
Or if it was a battle he had to win before he was given the role and no one knew about it.

The ones who are not targets are the ones who have already been shot down. Light will always be opposed and the closer you stand to it, the more intentional you have to be about guarding your heart.

Scripture says that the one wo puts his hands on the plough and looks back is not fit for not the kingdom. Not because God is cruel, but because divided focus is deadly.
The plough demands attention and one distraction can cost you all progress, at worst – your life.

This story is a sobering reminder that Everything is warfare.
Even writing this feels like a resistance, but Truth is rarely a neutral territory.

I didn’t write this to create fear or pull you back from engaging in Spiritual activities but if for anything, to push you into spiritual activities, because our weapons of warfare are not carnal, and you will find the best armory in spiritual units.

I pray none of us is lost.
That none is found wanting.

Amen.

“All I and your mother do is to ensure that you and your siblings are happy, and that you lead a good life” - My Dad.

6 out of 10 times, he uses this line when he is trying to reprimand me for an act that I didn’t do well or encourage me for something I did too.
7 out of those times, the decisions crafted out don’t exactly make me feel good, because…we all know why.
8 out of those times, I love that those decisions are not championed by me, and I go ahead with them, trusting so hard that those decisions are made out of Love and with my best interest at heart. Also with a notion that if anything goes haywire, it’s on them (I repented tho). Also giving them the Grace that as humans, there is a limitation to what we know and what we don’t.

Growing up, I depend so much on my Parents for counsel, asides from making me feel confident and backed up, I never imagined I’ll have to get to point where I will have to create the options myself and still choose from my not-so-good option.

I am still growing up, but at this point, where my understanding about God and his Love is growing too, I can’t help to wonder if He really wants me to be Happy.

stay with me.

I prayed for him to let me grow, it started raining.
Do you know what happens when it rains? you obviously get wet. Because for the plant to grow, it will be beaten mercilessly by the rain.

I didn’t understand that part of Growth of just been beaten by the rain, getting all wet, and then it looks like there is nothing happening - but there is something happening - getting wet and adding an inch.

The moments I felt so filled with desire to want to do something for God, I just needed him to send me on an errand. The kind where I cry, “Lord use me”, and he really starts to use me, but not in the way I envisioned to be used.

Because why am I crying everyday, after Praying, “if it is not your will, let it pass”, and it eventually passes.
“…so you mean this is not your will? as perfect and beautiful as it seems?, does my happiness matter to you at all?”

Then I asked for understanding, and my Prayers turned into,
“…you know I don’t want to let this go. But if it is not it, don’t allow me cry for long”.

I came to understand that the plans of God goes beyond How I feel. If he said they are for good and not of evil, I just have to learn to trust!

Are my feelings wrong? Oh no! They are just perfect for any kind of jagajaga happening to me.
I was still looking for a Job, and I would wake up every morning, cry for 10-20 mins before having my devotions and starting my day. I know that not one tear drop that came out of this eye goes unnoticed to him, and he knew how rough I was feeling.
But whatever that season of my Life taught me, it was a chance to become like Christ.

God does not want me to be HAPPY, He wants me to become like Christ. And in Christ, there is JOY, not happiness.

My Dad taught me that Happiness is a temporal excitement that is based off situations, but the JOY of the Lord is where all the Permanence to sweetness lies.
God’s ultimate purpose is to see us become like Christ, and becoming like Christ is not sweet. It is carrying a heavy cross trekking to Golgotha.

If I give God the way that I want to become like Christ, I would consider 95.5% 99.5% of my comfort, the 0.5% to raise a finger.
That contrasts his Blueprint of, “if anyone wants to be my disciple, he must deny himself, take up his cross and follow me”

So, If a particular task which may seem promising enough won’t add anything to our becoming process, God doesn’t consider it at all.
Our definition of happiness contrasts.

When Scripture says that a father would not give his child a stone when he asks for bread, I imagine it this way:

The child asks for plain agidi, not because it is the best thing, but because it is what he knows and what feels familiar enough to call satisfying.
But the father knows that the child cannot truly grow on agidi alone, who does!?
So instead, he places something richer before him, perhaps some Egusi soup and poundo, as a side dish, then a full grilled chicken as an appetizer, a…(ok, I’m misbehaving) something the child did not ask for, and maybe would not have chosen.
This is not the Father refusing the child, but because he understands nourishment better than appetite.

Would a child ask for bread and receive a stone? No.
But sometimes the bread God gives does not look like the bread we imagined. Sometimes it comes wrapped in delay, redirection, stretching, or even disappointment.

Yet His intention is never cruelty. It is always formation.

Because God’s deepest desire is not merely to satisfy the immediate hunger of His child, but to raise a child who is well-fed enough to gradually resemble the image He is shaping.

I’m trying to find the right words for this letter to you, and I think I have.

You complained about how heavy your school bag was, and truly it was.
The books felt like bricks, the homework felt a bit unfair and the tests were war, whenever you failed them, you’d pray for the coming of Jesus.

I need you to know something gently - You weren’t being dramatic.

That was the heaviest life had ever been for you.
If you had known that those bags were the easiest, you might have just held them a bit longer, but what about growth?
Needless I remind you that those bags still exist, but they are no longer on your shoulder – they sit on your heart and mind.

Your fears then were failing a test, now those tests don’t come with question papers but as responsibilities. Deadlines. Expectations. Silence from prayers you hoped would be answered quickly.

You used to count down to playtime, because siesta looked like a punishment; now you can’t wait to hug your bed. The freedom you thought adulthood promised revealed itself as a weight.

But listen carefully;

And as much as this transition has its pains and tears, I wouldn’t lie to tell you how beautiful it is. This may not be the adulthood you signed up for when you dreamt, but at least you did dream - Doctor. Lawyer. Minister. Everything possible.

The world just got louder, choices narrowed, fears grew and comparison crept in. I still need you to hear this:
You did not ruin anything.
You did not “sleep too much”
You did not waste your life
You did not miss your moment
Your mates did not pass you. (God didn’t create you and slotted you into a category of your mates, aiming that you all will grow with one head).

Life simply became complex. And yet, the God who watched you recite nursery rhymes off-heart with smiles on your face is still watching you now.

The promise did not expire when you grew up, (2nd Peter 3:9). The Faith you held so simply as a child – the one you believed without overthinking, they are still Green.

Right now, I am learning to protect your grown self. I am learning to not let frustration speak harshly to you, not to let comparison bully you, not to let responsibility erase your wonder.
You were not foolish for dreaming, and I refuse to let adulthood shame you for it.

You are not behind – you are still becoming.

You never lost to life, and that is something. Adulthood is heavier, yes – but you’re stronger and only you can live your type of life in Christ.
It may feel less obvious, but you’re walking on the shores of Mercy.

So, rest.

We’re not finished, neither is your creator done with you. We’ve not outgrown the promises spoken over us.

With tenderness,
Your older self.

The other day at the park, you wore a T-shirt drenched in body spray. When you sat beside me, the scent was nice and strong for a while, until it wasn’t. I could tell the fabric was damp. Too damp to release an unpleasant stench.

The sun had not finished its work.

I know the weather hasn’t been favorable lately, I also know you were in a hurry to catch the bus, I know you didn’t want to miss the moment. But no matter how beautiful damp clothes are, they are still damp because they are not rid of what they should be.
You noticed this too, that’s why you sprayed more. And when I told you about it, you got a little upset.

But Christy, I gently need you to hear this:
When we rush process, it shows.

This is not because people are cruel, but because unfinished things have a weight to them. Time is a revealer.
If the sun doesn’t fully pass through the fabric, it doesn’t matter how good the perfume smells – the dampness lingers.

I’d be a liar if I tell you that I don’t understand the urgency and reason why you wanted to wear what wasn’t ready. I do.

You wanted to be seen.
You want the world to know what you carry, and I am not in any way kidding you, what you carry is HUGE! It is something beautiful.

But becoming takes drying.
It takes exposure to heat.
It takes time stretched out in uncomfortable stillness.
It takes correction and repentance.
It takes been unseen longer than you’d prefer.

When we step out half-formed, it doesn’t just affect us, it affects how our gift is received. It affects how people remember us and even the weight of our voice.

Not because we are unworthy, but because we are unfinished.

If that cloth had stayed a little too longer in the sun, it would have carried a fragrance instead of dampness.
The stage you desire is not against you; it is waiting for a finished version of you.

What you are looking for is also looking for you – but not a half-baked you.

Not a YOU allergic to process. Not a YOU resistant to correction.
Christy, your season is not in danger. It is inevitable. But harvest still respects sowing. I am rooting for your becoming.
Not just your appearance – YOUR BECOMING.
I am one of your top fans. Actually, we are many waiting.

Stay in the sun a little longer – you’re not wasting time.