My Beloved

Hey sweetheart, you are beautiful.

I know we are yet to meet but something within me tells me that you are awesome, wonderful and everything I ever wanted.

For countless years, I walked around with a list; a list of who and what you should be. When I shared with some, I was advised that it is not possible for one such as yourself to exist but I reminded myself that if I can dream it, God can create it.

So I kept dreaming of how we would meet, and yes I kept planning our wedding and how we would live after we were married. I imagined myself striving so hard to be the perfect wife, while you strive so hard to be the perfect husband. And because our efforts are other-centered, we both get our cups filled.

I imagined the things that would make you angry and make you want to stop talking to me, I imagined us resolving that difficulty and learning how to treat each other better next time.

We would be in love, and our love would conquer all. We would be best friends, that you tell me everything and that I do the same. We would watch your favorite sport, as much as you would try to read my favorite books or give input on my blog.

We would travel together, play music loud and dance when we can. We would mess up on the lyrics, maybe even argue as to who has the better voice but it would be a pleasure to be in each other’s company because we would be best friends.

We would help each other’s weaknesses and enforce our strengths.

We would bear each other’s burdens, be a shoulder to lean on, share our joys and our sorrows. We would run this race of life together and promise not to give up on each other.

And then when the time is right, I would mother your children. They would probably have my dimples and my eyes but be as strong as you are. They would be beautiful reflections of our love. We would nurture them together and help them grow to their full stature, holistically.

I also imagine the worst. You’ll be tempted to hurt me, as much as I would be tempted to do the same but the promises we will make to each other and to God will draw us back to each other.

We would be an example of a beautiful home.

These are the plans that run through my mind as I notice your absence in my life yet. But I know, when I look at the moon that such thoughts are running through your head too.

It is only a matter of time before our paths cross, and we write our beautiful history.

I love you before I meet you!

Know Me, Love Me

To be fully known and fully loved: a beautiful phrase that has recently occupied my interest. As a matter of fact, I stumbled on a beautiful piece that suggested that being fully known and not loved is painful, being fully loved and not fully known is somewhat scary but being fully known and fully loved is definitely ecstatic!

Truth is we all want to be loved, accepted for who and what we are. In as much as wearing a mask is what we occasionally do, the rationale is simply that deep in our heart of hearts, we do not want to live under a fake pretentious garb but want to be seen and read by men, and be accepted at the same time.

One evening, I was being taken home by a group of friends and noticing the silence in the car (except for chit-chats here and there) I suggested that we play some music. It was immediately suggested that I be the DJ, which entailed that I play music from my phone. Nothing scary about that… yet.

We were a group of five Seventh-day Adventist young men and women who were coming from a church outing. We were affiliated to a mission group. As a matter of fact, two of us held significant positions in that mission group whilst the others had their own sphere of influence. Remember, we are SDA!

And so, being nominated as DJ, I quickly put a disclaimer that songs I’m about to play may not prima facie be the ideal SDA music, but “there is depth in the lyrics guys!”

Fast forward, the songs (and not hymns) start playing and we all danced and sang along till I got home. Bliss!

There is something about that moment that made me feel at home, gave me a sense of belonging. There I was, jamming my favorite songs and nobody gave a stern look at me, nor judged my taste. Its like our minds had met and there was no way of undoing that!

So often than not, we try to twist and squeeze ourselves into something we aren’t just to be loved and accepted but I heard somewhere that the best things in life are free; that you do not have to squeeze and stress yourself to be loved, because genuine love, loves inspite of who you are. It sees, it hears, it understands, it embraces and it transforms. Genuine love is love that is all-eyes, all-observing, alert yet doesn’t excuse faults but embraces them so much that they are consumed in love.

For a certain part of my life, I craved the acceptance and went to great lengths to obtain it. It was stressful! When I stopped chasing the wind, I discovered that I became free, happy and content in my own skin. My faults were plainly seen and lost in the genuine love of those who truly cared and instead of striving so hard to be accepted, it came naturally.

There is this beautiful hymn (I’m SDA after all) that concludes “He looked beyond my faults and saw my need.” That is the love that knows, that sees but loves anyhow. That is the love that transforms you into being a beautiful version of you and lets you have fun while doing that!

There is nothing more precious than the feeling of being at home… where you are fully known and fully loved.

The Stones That Built Me

So today, I went down to a place I had never been in 6 years… As I walked past the familiar roads, memories of how I got there in the first place flooded my mind. It was almost hard to believe that I had grown so much…  A lot had happened in the past 6 years, so much that I could barely recognise myself… But all this nostalgia just reminded of one thing: every stone I get is building a monument.

So I remember the toils, the stress in primary school. I remember being the nerd with a short temper, I remember exchanging one or two punches with some kid who thought I could be a push-over, I remember crying for certain things, not being content about other things… I remember the joys too, the good grades and everyone knowing my name… every stone is building a monument.

Fast-forward into secondary school; a place of growth and identity, meeting new friends and reigniting old friendships. It’s so painful to think that those few years not only shaped my character but determined my life path… as dismal as it may appear to be, every stone is building a monument…

2017, almost wrapping up my university tenure, uneasy about life, wondering if I served my purpose in the past four years, wondering whether am battling with regret or satisfaction, I just want it to matter that I lived!

Looking back, a few years from now, I’ll definitely see a pattern, a plan, and I’ll realize that some of the failed dreams, some of the life experiences, the people I met, the sorrows were all simply but building blocks for a monument. And one day, when I become the Madaliso God intended me to be, I’ll look back and realize that indeed ALL things work together for good, because every stone was building a monument.

For My Good

Seated at home all day, studying… preparing for my mid-year exams starting the coming week. It is a chilly day, the day before my birthday. Trying to keep warm, and whilst trying not to be too comfortable, I grab my sister’s lab coat and continue studying.

Something moves me to stand up, and as I do, I am met by a reflection of myself in the mirror. In that instant, thoughts flood my mind. 7 years ago, I had dreams of going to medical school after completing my high school. Was I in med school now? Hell no. Instead, I had just graduated from law school and was sitting here preparing for my bar exams. Things changed along the way.

As I continue gazing at myself, I am a mix of emotions; regrets, longing and wondering where I would have been had life turned left. I guess there is no way of finding out now.

One thing I have learnt through it all is that my plans are not God plans: something I had read in the good book and probably packed at the back of mind or recited in church. However, little did I know that God had plans alright, plans that were not even remotely resembling mine. Little did I know that 7 years later, I would be seated here, typing this. In my righteous imagination, I thought that around this time of the year, I would be running from one ward to another, doing my student rounds, or what they call being “on-call!”

It really is so easy to share stuff from the good book when you are far-detached from the story, when it’s a mere recital to someone, without an ounce of empathy. It is totally a whole different story when the advice is repeated to you.

And so today, on the eve of my 24^th birthday, I can safely say that I learned first-hand what it means to submit your plans to God, I learned first-hand what the Bible meant when it said “as the heaven are higher than the earth, so are my plans higher than yours.”

I can’t say I completely understand why it happened, neither can I completely say I’m happy with how it happened; however, the only thing I can say with certainty is that He couldn’t have brought me this far to leave me because somewhere in the good book, He said “I know the plans I think towards,… plans to prosper you.”

And so, He may have called me to give up my dream, and it hurt when He did, but I trust that ALL things are working for my good because what He promised, He is also able to perform.

On graduation, a good friend of mine sent me a message to say:

“Remember how hurt you were about not studying medicine, yet today you are graduating as the best student in law school. God had a plan!”

And so today, I remember that God had a plan, and He still does. I may not see it, I may not like it, but He still has a plan. And I would be damned if I didn’t believe that it has “for Madaliso’s good” written all over it!

Are You Done? (Sequel to 'Answer Her Lord')

Are you done?

Do you still need to speak further?

I’m really not so glad that this is how we get to meet. I have been longing to have a conversation with you and when I thought I finally had the chance, that I finally had your attention…. You spoke. As usual, you didn’t hear me out. You want me to answer you but you never cease speaking. Perhaps therein lies the problem. Would you please try to listen?

I know you are hurt. I have done certain things or allowed certain things to happen to you under the proverbial “God knows best!” I know that is perhaps the last thing you want to hear and quite honestly, I don’t blame you. I mean, I am God, you are man, my precious little girl who doesn’t see me living up to my role any more.

But here is the thing: when it hurts you so bad that you feel enveloped in gross darkness, that you feel I’m not there anymore, I am there with you. Hurting with you.

Why don’t I put a stop to it, because I’m God right? Well guess what, I love you too much to let you be “the spoiled brat!” so because I love you, I let you go and grow through this because I trust and know that you will pull through.

I may have seemingly failed you a number of times but one thing I just ask of you is to trust me. It may not make sense and it may be way easier to throw in the towel and give up on me but trust me child.

So I ask you to trust me. Through the storm and through the pain, just trust me.

You remember when I said all things are working for your good? I meant it.

I don’t want to bore you with theories and stories but I ask is that you trust me. Just one more time!

Running On Empty

It was a great purchase. Pricy but still great anyway. Somehow, the manual is forgotten and it becomes a matter of trial and error. Given your level of ingenuity, you figure it out. You were created with intellectual capabilities anyway, so it comes naturally for you to eventually figure it out after exercising your reasoning powers.

You seem to have it all together, and for a while it seems to be working out just fine. Until one day, you hit a wall, a brick wall and that’s when you are reminded of how clueless you really are, that you were actually running on empty, and that what you thought you knew was actually bits and pieces. It suddenly hits and you go around looking for the manual. Oops! Why you looking for what you never had?

For a while, you had trusted your ingenuity and forgot about the manual. In other words, you are dealing with a complex machine and you don’t know how to operate it simply because you were too foolhardy to forget the instructions. So you are stuck, as you should be. The maze of life!

The machine called a human being. See somehow, I got stuck and confused because I actually don’t know how to operate myself. For the greatest part I had thought that I had all my stuff together, that I knew how to handle me, that I possessed so great ingenuity to leave behind the “manual!” woe benign, I was too foolish. But, as all fools do, I ran on empty, deceived by the false mirages of succeeding at little things so much that I became completely oblivious to my goal, my purpose and all the big things I could actually succeed at if I had the manual! Damn!

I read somewhere in the Good Book that I was created for His glory but honestly, as I look at the mess I have created, I fail to see how that glory is being depicted. I see how I fall short of His purpose but why, oh why did it take so long for me to notice and wake up from the miasma?

And so I pull whatever strength there is left and run- not run on empty this time- but run to the Designer, the Person who actually made this machine before it crumbles and a life that could have been well-lived passes by into nothingness. I carry myself to Him, asking Him to pilot this ship, else I’ll sink it.

It’s so easy to get caught up in routine that it becomes so hard to tell whether you are in motion or progressing. Know the difference!

Desiderata

Something to chew on....

Answer Her, Lord.

I am seated in the corner of my room, surrounded by a deep darkness… a darkness of soul and body. I am failing to comprehend how a God many refer to as being Father, Friend may be so heartless, and so distant when needed…

How is it possible that you choose to stand by while one person you claim to be your child, gets wounded, hurt and bruised? Does your love not hear or sense their cry for help? Are you suddenly too busy to notice, too busy to care?

All I ever wanted was some reassurance, to know that you are near… but it seems the more I asked, the further you stepped away… you just left nothing but empty pieces of a broken heart, all because you chose to stand by and watch me burn!

Each time I cried to you, it almost felt as if you turned a deaf ear to my cry, and you chose to cover your face because the sight of soaking face seemed to displease you…

My entire life has been a torment, a torture- I can only look at what I want from the lenses of others. In all these, I begged, pled and entreated you to take it all away, but no! You just stood still, silently still.

They said I should keep trusting you, that you are there in the storm… honestly, is it so hard to just pop out your little finger as a means of reassuring a despondent child that you are there? I tried to tell them that what I needed was not their empty words of encouragement; what I needed was Him! But He never came through. So I am here wondering what was meant by ‘seek and you shall find’ because I have been seeking alright, He just chose not to be found!

And so my pain, anger, confusions, emptiness carry on, while you just watch!

I try to exercise faith and lean on forlorn hope. I get up and try to believe that you still care. I push myself to the altar, hoping that this time I will find you. Staggering, I carry myself, with a glimmering faith… but like a little child whose father keeps breaking promises to, my heart is wounded again! It seems the more I try, the more you walk away, and bombard me with more hurt. Tears are definitely my language, and I hope the sight of my little face makes you happy!

So tell me, what did I do wrong that you hide your face from me? Are all my ‘am sorry’s’ not good enough? Should I cut myself, go on a pilgrimage just to show my remorse? Carest thou not that I perish? Do you not see my tears? Why do my pleas for help seem to fall on deaf ears? Why do requests seem to go unattended?

I stare in the blue sky, and ask myself where I got the idea that you are looking down on me, because honestly, blue sky is all I see… and feel!

Paint Me A Picture Of God

She walked about with a face downcast, clueless, faithless, and sometimes hopeless. As usual, she had the smile on her face, the smile that ‘confused the masses’ and made it seem like all was well- but it was not.

All along, she had faced it all: life’s highs and mostly its lows, heartbreak, heart rent, shock, disappointments, maybe even un-appointments. Through it all, she had carefully, albeit gracefully carried the burden with her and made it seem like, well, all was well, but it wasn’t. The only thing she wanted was a perfect understanding of this so-called God that the pastor spoke about, the God that the choir sang about. But, surrounded by a million people, who are apparently supposed to be His representatives, she failed to clearly see God.

And so she carried her burden, her anger, her pain. Every day she looked up to the sky and failed to decipher how He, who apparently so loved the world would torture her like this. Sometimes she wondered why He bothered to go to Calvary because the only thing she wanted was one who would help her carry her load, as opposed to dying for her because heaven knows that what she needed more was a constant friend as opposed to someone who had hang on a tree some 2000 years ago.

And so the search continued, craving for attention, craving for recognition, craving for a sign that the Omnipresent was there with her, but nothing. It hurt the more she thought about it. Could it have been a lie all this time? Does Jesus really care? Did He really leave foot soldiers?

All she ever wanted was a picture of God, a picture of grace, a picture of love. She sought it but found it not. You know why? It was not because God does not exist anymore, nor was it because He was not as powerful too… no! The picture of God could not have been painted because the person with the paint brush had refused to use it. Rather, the person with the paint brush had used it to paint another picture!

It is quite disheartening to note that God would choose you to paint a picture of Him. Disheartening because it is a sacred trust, whose impact is almost never realized. So what did y’all think He meant when He said your parents shall be like God to you? You thought it was a light-hearted ‘bring em up in the fear of the Lord’ kinda thing? Well, guess what? He meant just that- not the light-hearted thing, but the ‘they shall be God to you’ kinda thing!

That when a child is born has their parent as their first point of contact should remind you of how Adam felt when he awoke from nothingness. That the child looks a little like you should remind you of ‘created He them in His image’. That your breasts get all sour when you child has awoken sure should remind you of Isaiah 49:15!

You, mama and papa are the first picture of God your child will see. If you get the paint brush wrong, your mess up the little girl or little boy’s perception! Girls and boys struggling to see God in their life do so because their father-figure was a mess!

And so what if you are not a parent? Do you think you profession of Christianity is just enough to help you slide into that innocent girl’s DM? Ever heard of the line ‘you are the only Jesus someone may ever see’? Well, guess what, they mean just that!

There are places God would rather be, there are hearts God would rather touch but He seemingly doesn’t because He has put you there to do the comforting, encouraging and blessing. But alas, the only picture of God we paint is a flawed one.

Leonardo Da Vinci does a better job!

What If Jesus Was Black...

So I sit here… wondering how we all go to the point of looking down on others, sidelining one another and having these myriad dissentions. How did we get here? From whence do we get the audacity to state that one colour, race or tribe was superior, better or smarter?

And so I ask this question, what if Jesus was black? Yeah, like dark-skinned, walking the African soil, being beaten by the blazing African sun kinda black… would He have black disciples? Would He tell His followers to keep their hair kinky, to drop the drum beating or would He let them be comfortable in their skin?

What if Jesus were black, would He be found chanting #BlackLivesMatter? Would part of the reason He would be crucified be because of His skin colour?

Would He let our elders preach in their shirts only, without requiring a jacket? Would He tell the white and black sisters too, to shun from braiding their hair and work on the inner man? Would He allow a few brows off on some, and tell others a little lipstick makes you look like Jezebel sister?

Would He encourage the payment of lobola, without calling it too barbaric?

If Jesus were black, would He mix with white fellows? Would He still sanction that the gospel be preached to the ends of the earth or that it just be kept in a little calabash? Would He dance to the African beat? Would He have Christmas celebrated in the northern hemisphere, yet call it a pagan feast in the south?

You see, it would make no difference if Jesus were black, because I am persuaded that a black Jesus would be as loving and as empathetic as a white one too. Because Jesus is the same, yesterday, today and forever, I am persuaded that He would do away with all these disparities between the blacks and whites!

Am almost certain that if Jesus were black, life would still be the same as we know it now! So maybe the problem isn’t the history of Christianity, the problem is with the Christian! There is need to step out of our race, skin colour, intellect, career strata and see people for who they are, for what they are because in the end it all won’t matter, except do you have the Son?

Do you have the Son? Not the black Son, not the white Son, but the Jesus Son, the one that came to seek and save the white, black, poor, rich lost! Because if Jesus were black, the Bible would still have 66 books, with the same words, and the same message- the message of love, and salvation!

So, is it a black Jesus we need, or an experience that rises above the strata we have created?

There Is You, And There Is Me

A glass of water sitting on the table, filled with liquid, but not to the brim, slightly less than three-quarters.

She sees it half-empty, I see it half-full.

Is either of us wrong? I don’t know. And, that is the law of perception; directly tied to it is individualism.

See there is absolutely nothing wrong with seeing things a certain way, but what is wrong is forcing your opinion on another. In fact, what is worse is forcing your personality on another.

It is indeed a notorious fact that no two persons are the same, take Jane and Jennipher, identical twins but totally different. It would be a huge aberration, if not treasonous to force Jane’s ideals on Jennipher. Why, because there is Jane, and there is Jennipher.

Sadly, we do not want to accept these differences; instead, we make those who are slightly different uncomfortable in their uniqueness. Because we forget that if there is more than a thousand fish, then there will be more than a thousand human beings. But, we hate what is uncommon and make it seem like the dreaded.

The only thing that irks me the most, apart from failure and betrayal is superficiality, a wanting-to-fit-in kind of mentality that destroys individuality. See, if God wanted a world replete with calm people, He would have, with a simple “Let there be.” Instead, He said let there be, and out came shapes, types, kinds and categories of people. So then why is it seemingly an offence to be oneself? Why are people never taught to be confident in their skin? From whence do we get the ideology to let people feel out of place, judged and harassed simply because they are sanguine?

One day, someone said something, that I feel went to the very root of my individuality. I felt insulted. So to everyone out there who is too boxed to embrace, who is too short-sighted to discern beauty in apparent messes, to anyone who thinks we should be cut out from the same cloth, it is time to come out of the mediocrity and embrace the diversity. There is nothing wrong in being different, and nobody should feel there is.

Attack my incompetence, my irrationality, my irresponsibility, but never my individuality! There is beauty in being different.

“I took the road less travelled, and that made all the difference.”