Whine or wine?

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Mr I will be successful, u just wait…

Now that’s a statement of intent, if ever you heard one. It hogs you attention by the mere sighting of it.  Years back that was my Facebook profile bio. Captivating, concise and exuding confidence. I’m sure the folks at Cambridge Analytica reached that very same conclusion.

Funny enough, I deleted my account years later but you know what they say, “The Internet never forgets.” How could it forget?  A statement of such epic proportions was just too good to be deleted.  And so, my old bio was obliged to resurface when I googled my name. You might wonder why I was googling my own name in the first place. Don’t ask me that, that’s a story for another day. Besides, admit it, you’ve probably done the same or if not, have thought of doing it.

Anyway, before I digress, back to my awesome bio. As I was saying, the internet could not bear the terrifying thought of losing such a riveting bio. Quite simply unthinkable a prospect. Maybe I should also add that I never deleted my Pinterest account which was linked to my old Facebook account. This could perhaps explain why my old bio is still around. I prefer the Internet not forgetting. It’s a more plausible explanation. When I think about it, I drafted that statement in 2008 or 2009. Almost 10 years have come and gone and I am still, ‘Mr I will be Successful, u just wait.’

You would think I’d have a story to tell. You would think by now I’d have a stable job, a flourishing and fulfilling career, a loving wife, 2 lovely kids, a villa near Two Rivers, a top or the range, Range. Well, I don’t. I’m still trying to figure out how to monetize the talents and the education I got. I’m still single. I’m still living with my parents. My Shoe-baru impreza is still going on strong. Back then, when I drafted the statement, I was almost 20, now I am almost hitting the proverbial ‘third-floor’ while spotting a couple of white hairs.

It’s not that I haven’t tried. It’s not that I delight in not having work, or not having a family. Life just hasn’t panned out as I thought it would. Does it really anyway?

You plan to move out by 24, get your first million by 27, marry by 28, and have kids by 31. Then through personal experience you discover that, “In his heart a man plans his course but the Lord determines his steps” (Proverbs 16:9). You set about charting the course for your life only to end up veering off course. 

Through the pit stops and detours you discover that, “Many are the plans in a man’s heart but it is the Lord’s purpose that prevails.”(Proverbs 19:21). You realize those 5 year or 10 year plans are just that, plans. You conclude like Jeremiah did, “I know, O LORD, that a man’s life is not his own; it is not for man to direct his steps.”(Jeremiah 10:23)

That can be quite frustrating given that people will compare you to the above or similar timelines. Some will ask, “Why can’t you be like nani?” This being in reference to your more illustrious colleague, relative or neighbor. All the while you are supposed to be still and know that He is God (Psalms 46:10). This doesn’t come easy, you know.

Ecclesiastes paints a true depiction of these events in chapter 9, verse 11, which reads, “The race is not to the swift or the battle to the strong, nor does food come to the wise or wealth to the brilliant or favor to the learned; but time and chance happen to them all.”

I’m patiently waiting for time and chance to happen, they seem to be taking their sweet time though. Good thing there’s Lamentations 3:31-33. I sup up the encouragement therein, which reads, “For men are not cast off by the Lord for ever. Though he brings grief, he will show compassion, so great is his unfailing love. For he does not willingly bring affliction or grief to the children of men.”

I draw comfort knowing that, “He made everything beautiful in it’s time.”(Ecclesiastes 3:11) That includes my future which obviously I am yet to see. God’s sight is not limited to the present or past. He doesn’t operate on a linear scale and isn’t confined to a time-space continuum.

All the above doesn’t mean it’s easy to wait. It’s hard. It really is. You know they are different kinds of waiting. There is waiting for a politician to fulfill his pre-election pledge. There’s waiting for Arsenal to win the EPL. Painful, oh so painful waiting. There is waiting for someone to apologize for a wrong you perceive they committed against you. There is waiting for that cute chick or guy to notice you and un-friendzone you. There is waiting for the pay check at the end of January.

Then there’s waiting for a break-through. Waiting for the AHA moment when you finally extricate yourself from whatever malaise you’ve been in. There’s waiting for your back to heal 2 years on. That’s my story.

That waiting is especially difficult when you look around and see people you know seemingly flourishing in their careers, being interviewed by journalists, some making the Top 40 under 40. You attend their weddings, you see them drive their cars, share pictures of their cute babies on social media. You’re happy for them. You are. Unfortunately, you can’t shake that nagging question, “Na mimi je?” You’re almost pre-conditioned to compare yourself to them and inadvertently, you wallow in self-pity as a result.

Truth is that everyone has their own season of waiting. Everyone has their own wilderness. Everyone has their own winter, that lengthy interlude of seemingly being dormant and mark-timing in the periphery of life so to speak.

That waiting for me has been a blessing in disguise. I’ve had no stable job to identify myself or define myself by. Neither have I had a girlfriend whom to place my identity in. My wallet has been more accustomed to business cards rather than bank notes in that space of time. Lasagna has had to take a back seat in favour of KDF and CMB (Chapati mbili beans). As a result, I’ve learnt that money doesn’t determine my self-worth. Waiting in the winter teaches you these things.

As a believer, I am compelled to find my self-worth in Jesus. It’s at that point when Acts 17: 28 comes alive, “For in him we live and move and have our being.”

Who I am is not my job. Who I am is not my ministry. Who I am is not where I serve in church. Who I am is not the phone I have. Who I am is not the clothes or shoes I wear, whether bought from Deacons or from Soko in Kawangware. Who I am is not the restaurant I go to, whether Talisman or a kibanda. Who I am is not the mode of transport I use, whether a 46 or an Uber X.

Who I am is not in how cool I am or how much I can keep up with all the latest trends. Who I am is not where I live in, whether in a maisonette or in a bedsitter, whether in Lavington or Eastlands.

Who I am is not in how many ladies I sleep with neither is it in how many ladies I can make swoon over me. It’s not in how charming or funny or cool I can be through the memes, parodies or vines I share.  Who I am is not the money in my pocket, neither is it in the money I make. Who I am is not the no of followers I have on social media neither is it the no of likes I amass from what I post.

Who I am is that I am a child of God because I believe in Jesus. (John 1:12-13) Being a child of God makes me a Prince, an heir to a glorious inheritance. (Romans 8:17) It makes me royalty, a royal priesthood to be precise. (1 Peter 2:9) Moreover, I am his ambassador, a diplomat representing the Kingdom of God and appealing to others to come and be a part of it. (2 Corinthians 5:20) I am known by him, I am secure in him and I am loved by him.   

Who I am is that I am a saint. A saint who hasn’t got it all together. A saint who succumbs to temptation sometimes but a saint who will get back up by God’s grace and will continue to wrestle with sin till Jesus calls me home. Whether jobless, single, broke, my worth doesn’t change and most times it takes being stripped of the above earthly measures of self-worth to realize that.

I may be assailed by affliction. The winds of doubt and adversity may threaten to blow me away. I will not fall apart like a house of cards because Christ is the rock solid foundation I stand on. It takes the ivy-league education the winter provides to know this.

The winter is not a period to be spent whining and comparing myself to others or perceived societal norms. I can’t go about griping that 5 years since my graduation and still no financial stability. I can’t be entitled to solicit pity from others and let my pride convince me that people should feel woiyee for me.

The winter is not to be shuddered but embraced. This period of adversity or affliction is not to be seen as a time of being cursed by the devil. Instead, it is to be seen as a time of building. It is to be seen as a time when God refines you like silver, when God makes a diamond of you through the furnace of affliction and dry spells.

Winter isn’t the justification to leave God based on the assumption that things with Jesus should be nywwee just like Airtel. God never said it would be easy. He did say he would always be there with you. (Hebrews 13:5). God does his best work in the waiting.

Fairly often, we are not ready to receive the blessings God has for us. It takes God to use the winter to shape and mould us to worthy recipients of the blessings. Our Money over Everything Culture (MOE) predisposes us to shortcut our way to the blessing. We view the winter as an unnecessary inconvenience. A journey to be side-stepped at all costs. Truth is we need it. We need God to prune us during this period and make us more fruitful for whatever purposes he had for us.

David was made a king in those years of wilderness as a fugitive not when he was appointed by Samuel. Abraham was made a father of faith in those 24/25 years of waiting for God’s promise. That Quarter century took his faith to unprecedented levels. It taught him to trust God to provide an heir even when faced with the test of sacrificing his only son and heir.  Moses became a leader fit to lead a people for 40years of wandering since he himself wandered in the winter for almost a similar period. Years of obscurity in the wilderness prepared him for years in authority leading the Israelites in the wilderness.

And Jesus? We know Jesus started his ministry at 30. At 12, Jesus was able to reason with the teachers in the temple (Luke 2:41-47). Surely then couldn’t he have started his ministry before 30? Couldn’t he have started at 29? Couldn’t he have started at 27? Couldn’t he have started at 24, that time when most of us are fresh out of campo and yearn to get a job from the get-go? How long did he have to wait in the wilderness of obscurity? 2 years? 3 years? 5 years? 6 years? 7 years?

The way I see it, I think he waited even longer. When you think about it, he didn’t start planning for his ministry when he checked into Earth, it was long before. Long before his parents were born. Long before his great grandparents. God started planning our salvation way before. After Adam sinned, Jesus was prophesied to be the one who would crash the serpent’s heal. (Gen 3:15) Jesus didn’t wait for years. He didn’t wait for decades. He waited for centuries, to come on earth to die for us on the cross.

He gave us his Spirit to be our helper in the waiting. He gave his Spirit to work on us to will and to act according to his good purpose (Phil 2:13), to shape and mould us to his likeness. He gave us his Spirit to remind us where our identity truly lies, in him, and not in our circumstances as we  are prone to forget. We are esteemed because we have Jesus. Not because we work. Not because we have a spouse. Not because we have children. Not because of our possessions or behavioural qualities. Having Jesus makes us esteemed. Even in the waiting when we lack, we are esteemed.

Comedian Basketmouth once said they were two things… I concur and add you have two choices. You can whine. You can complain. You can cry serikali all you want. You can play victim and gripe about how the world has conspired against you. Or you can drink the wine of the waiting. Imbibe copious amount of it. Drink it to its dregs. Drink it in sips or take a deep long draught of it.

Jesus drank his cup of suffering during crucifixion. We too, can drink the bitter wine of pain, adversity, affliction and waiting. Afterwards you can savour the wine’s aftertaste of sweetness as you realize how God used it all to build you up and refined you. You can savour how you mature and age gracefully as wine does while you wait in God’s cellar. Waiting while he conforms you to his likeness in the wine cask of the winter.

Don’t just yearn for that blessing that seems to be taking ages to come. You are already blessed, you’re blessed to know the blesser and be loved by him. Take a sideways look at it like James does in James 1:9 when he says, “The brother in humble circumstances ought to take pride in his high position.” Did you see it? The HUMBLE circumstances are a HIGH position. I agree they are a high position because the blesser seeks to use the humble circumstances of the winter to ELEVATE you in your relationship with him.

Which one will it be as you wait? Griping or Growing? Moaning or Moulding? Victim or Victor? Whine or wine?

Don't let it pass you by

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Cheza chini. Shkun. Chorea. Mtiaji. Should the aforementioned words bare some semblance of Kiswahili but you haven’t the slightest idea what they mean, fret not. You are in good company. Neither did I and for the longest time I wasn’t even close to figuring out what they mean. Such is the evolving and progressive nature of Sheng. One word today, a different word tomorrow. Not that I needed any reminders that I was growing old, but there you go. In a few years’ time, sheng will progress faster than I can keep up and a host of words will just end up passing me by.

Not that they haven’t already. One time I was watching a football match when someone cried out, “Nyoka!” The cry was a loud one so I’m pretty sure most people heard it. Ordinarily, you would expect such a cry would result in people scampering in all manner of directions. That, or people yelling hysterically as they jump off the ground hoping the said snake wouldn’t snap at their heels. Neither reaction was forthcoming. On the contrary, the players and spectators were completely unperturbed. Their tranquil disposition, as they remained preoccupied with the game, led me to believe that the word, ‘nyoka’, had to have an alternate meaning than the one I had earlier thought. I was later to discover ‘nyoka’ was sheng to describe the misfortune of failing to control a pass, with the ball rolling under or over one’s foot as a result.

I wish the experience above was an isolated one. It wasn’t. Years back, another memorable incident occurred at Toi Market. I was whiling away the afternoon at Toi as was custom. Back then, I was very fond of window-shopping. Ignorance is bliss and so the saying goes. It is bliss except when you buy an item and later discover you could have bought it for far less had you known comparative prices. Ignorance then becomes regrettable. Window-shopping was thus of utmost significance so as to ensure I got a good deal rather than regretting later because of spur-of-the-moment buying.

As you may already know, vendors in that part of town can be quite persistent. They afford you VIP treatment as they beckon you to pass by their stall, haranguing their compatriots who try to convince you otherwise.  “Brathe jeans, khaki,” they inquire. More often than not I would politely decline except for this one time. One guy’s display of second-hand apparel had a particular allure and so I drew closer to take a longer look.

One item of clothing in particular appealed to me. I studied it keenly giving the impression I would buy it. I can’t quite remember what exactly the clothing item was but I do recall the ensuing dialogue between me and the vendor….

“Unaezaje?”

“Rwabe.”

“Ati?” I asked ( I heard what he said, it’s just the word sounded so alien I wanted to confirm my ears weren’t pulling a fast one on me.)

“Rwabe, uko na ngapi?”The vendor continued.

I politely told him I didn’t have anything and would return when I did. With minimal fuss, I walked away never to see him again.

Never have I been a fan of card games, but at that moment, I wore a seriously convincing poker face. I masked my ignorance of sheng pretty well because I hadn’t a clue what he meant by rwabe. I was in no mood to ask either. Why bother the man with a question on a word of sheng if I wasn’t going to buy anything from him? That sounded plain rude to me so I did the easier thing of keeping mum and walking away.

I would belatedly learn he meant shs 200. Were I to go to Toi today or Soko in Kawangware or Kongo, I’m sure a new monetary term in sheng will have me just as confused.  I think the confusion I have is not too dissimilar from the one people have when they encounter the message of the gospel or of God’s grace.

As much as the message can be communicated in  English, Kiswahili or Sheng, the message of the gospel can be so difficult to sink in for some. When you present the narrative of God, incarnating himself as a baby, it will no doubt draw incredulous stares. When you go on to explain that you don’t have to earn his love or forgiveness but he already did it for you by offering himself as a one-time sacrifice for your mistakes, it sounds too good to be true. Ridiculous even. Isn’t religion supposed to be about earning God’s love by righteous acts, what do you mean I don’t have to earn God’s love? What do you mean by ‘Grace’?

Grace has been confounding to many and I think this is why. Grace is God’s undeserved favour to an individual or a group in spite of their sins. Love is said to be blind, grace is when God turns a blind eye on your flaws and lavishes you with his blessings.  In spite of the skeletons in one’s closet, he still is compassionate and kind towards you. Grace is intricately related to mercy, which is about God withholding punishment that is deserved.

“I will have mercy on whom I have mercy, and I will have compassion on whom I have compassion. It does not, therefore, depend on man’s desire or effort, but on God’s mercy.” (Romans 9:15-16). That just illustrate how mercy and grace ranks in God’s eyes. That can be difficult to wrap your head around. Then again, when you consider  God’s ways are higher than our ways and his thoughts are higher than our thoughts (Isaiah 55:9), it makes plenty of sense.

To put it in perspective, think about the sins you dabble with. The ones you chose to be silent about and desperately pray no-one finds out about them. The ones that people would cringe at if they did and talk behind your back in hushed tones. Those are the very ones God pardons when you accept Jesus into your life. They are the sins he chooses to blot out and remember no more, not just for your sake but his as well. (Isaiah 43:25) Not only that, but even when you lapse to that sin, even when you struggle to rid yourself of committing them, grace means that Jesus still loves you and identifies you as a child of God in spite of those struggles.(John 1:12) A child of God? Despite my struggles to be holy?

Huh? Too good to be true? Too simplistic.  Too implausible for a world that is naturally inclined to think God’s love is earned on merit because that is how trust is earned amongst ourselves. Like David I often find myself asking, “O LORD, what is man that you care for him, the son of man that you think of him? (Psalms 144:3)

It would have to be love. His love for us. Not that we loved him but He loved us and sent his one and only son as an atoning sacrifice for our sins. (1 John 4:10)

No-one on this planet chose to be born. We all just found ourselves here bar one exception who was Jesus. He chose to be born. He chose to swap his heavenly throne for the womb of a woman. Jesus, who didn’t need food or water to survive, chose to be utterly vulnerable and dependent on the nutrients supplied to him through a placenta. He didn’t chose Gertrude Children’s hospital  but a manger, accompanied with the smell of hay, animals and animal droppings to usher his entry into the world.

He exited the lofty highs of Heaven and stooped so low to our level as to consign himself to suckling milk from his mother’s bosom as a baby. He chose to grow up in a low class family, shorn of riches or comforts. Jesus left his celestial palace encircled by angels for a life of obscurity as a carpenter in lowly Nazareth.

He left his Heavenly residence for a home-less living on earth. (Matthew 8:20, Luke 9:58)  He didn’t chose the Post Modern world of advanced transport, enhanced healthcare, and pervasive social media. He chose the world of ancient civilization, rudimentary amenities, analogue communication in the form of scrolls and capital punishment by crucifixion.

He lived a life of rejection. By his siblings. (John 7:1-9) By his hometown (Luke 4:14-30). By a large cross section of the Jews and their religious leaders despite bringing miraculous healing, despite providing relief aid  and despite resurrecting some. Despite healing people of incurable diseases, some cared less to thank him. (Luke 17:11-19) Despite driving out demons, some thought it prudent to drive him away from their town. (Mark 5: 1-20)

To cap it all off, He accepted to be betrayed for something a little more than the rwabe I earlier mentioned. He accepted to be falsely charged, tried and condemned to die on a cross despite achieving the unequalled feat of committing no sin. He accepted that an insurrectionist, a murderer and a criminal  called Barabbas would go free and that he, a man of peace, a life-giver, a righteous man never to have sinned, would be condemned to die on the cross.(Luke 23:18)

He accepted to shoulder the responsibility of atoning for the sins of an entire world. He accepted a public flogging for doing nothing wrong.  He accepted the excruciating pain of whips, a thorn of crowns, nails on his wrists and feet to pay the cost of our defilement, to pay the cost of our nakedness and shame, but ultimately to pay the cost of our redemption.

When we wonder where is God when wars, injustice and suffering take place? When we wonder where is God when my mother or closest friend dies? When we wonder where is God when a positive cancer diagnosis comes our way? God showed up years ago, in the flesh, battered, bruised, marred and nailed to a cross with the added indignity of being stripped of his clothes before an audience baying for his blood when in all honesty he shouldn’t have been there. There was God, dying a brutal death, we ought to have died. There he was taking the punishment that was rightly ours. All this because He loved us and wanted to redeem us from our condemnation, our depravity, our dishonour, our fear of evil spirits and reconcile us to himself.

Thereafter, he resurrected, and claimed victory over sin and death. He disarmed the powers and authorities, he made a public spectacle of them, triumphing over them by the cross. (Colossians 2:15)

These riches and victory, he shares with us if we confess that we are hopelessly sinful and incapable of saving ourselves. That we instead, put our faith and trust in him to pardon us for all our sin and save us as a result of his sin-cancelling, death-triumphing, self-sacrifice on the cross. Saving us not just from sin’s dominion over us, but for the rest of our days on earth, saving us from sin’s influence to succumb to temptation and finally saving us from sin’s presence when we die and take our place besides him in heaven.

Easter usually reminds us of this larger than life sacrifice by Jesus that confounds us. It’s difficult to understand God going through all that for our sake. It’s difficult to contemplate a merciful God loving us even when we constantly reject him by following our ways instead of his word. It is difficult to understand God loving us even when we profane his name by our lives of compromise and duplicity. Like Sheng, it doesn’t sink in and may pass you by but when you do understand and accept this message, it gives you the license to live free like nothing else.  To live free of labels, to live free from the chains of past mistakes, to live free from others definition of who you should be. It instead ushers you to a new realm of possibility to a world living as God’s child, deep in his love, deep in a righteousness of faith he imparts, deep in his acceptance, deep in his undeserved favour and deep in his pardon. The only pre-requisite to this is just to believe and accept Jesus. Too surreal, too easy, too simplistic.

It took me years to accept this, it doesn’t have to take you the same. Believe it. Accept it. Live it. Don’t let it pass you by.

#Ngarishachallenge

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Have you noticed how fond we have become of challenges lately? Ice-bucket challenge. Mannequin challenge. Museveni Challenge. When did we become so eager to test our mettle? Maybe it's the thrill of doing something difficult? Maybe it's the sense of accomplishment that comes with surmounting whatever obstacle you face? Whatever  reason it may be, this enthrallment with challenges doesn't appear to be ending any time soon.

Not to be one to be left behind, I too plunged head-first into this sea of challenge. I do it quite often matter of fact. My challenge is the Ngarisha challenge. A long, long time ago, long before I was born or even a concept, legend has it that a group of sages converged at secret location. It is believed that these men engaged in extensive discussions.The aftermath of that meeting led to consequences that have reverberated in households over the world for centuries. Dishes are not to be washed by men they said. A lady’s job, they said. Sons shouldn’t be found in the kitchen or near the sink for that matter, they said. I, for one, refute those claims. Not only do I disapprove of them, but I am an exception to the rule, I am a living embodiment to the contrary. I delight in washing dishes. Delight and wash dishes! In the same sentence? Yes, you saw right, I do. There is something therapeutic about working with my hands. Not to mention it is God-glorifying as I share in God's nature of being a worker God but now in human ways.

I find fulfillment in clasping a scouring pad  and scrubbing the living daylights out of a piece of crockery, tupperware, or even a pan. Matter of fact, a pan will form the subject matter of my blog today because it stands heads and shoulders above the rest when it comes to dish washing. It is the reason behind the Ngarisha challenge. Friends, without further due, please give it up for the Ugali pan.

The Ugali pan deserves a standing ovation for it has certainly outdone itself. The ugali pan is the undisputed no 1 when it comes to the toughest dish to wash. Let’s just say, if dishes had an EPL, The Ugali Pan would be Mancity, winning the title of ‘most difficult dish to wash’ by a canter.  It is a class apart and  streaks ahead of everything else, sometimes virtually unplayable at their best and almost unbeatable. I reiterate almost unbeatable because a certain team from Merseyside, even without Coutinho, proved Mancity are human after all and the same goes for the ugali pan.Well, the Ugali pan isn't human but you catch my drift, right. I mean the Ugali Pan isn't invincible.

Unquestionably, the Ugali pan represents the most formidable challenge in terms of dish-washing. Sometimes one takes a look at the charred bottom, the embedded Ugali crust on the sides of the pan and one can immediately succumb to the crushing feeling of defeat. However, just like Mancity, Ugali pans can be put to their place and here’s how.

First and foremost, after laboring to cook the meal dubbed, ‘corn-meal mush’, soak the pan, preferably in soapy water for at least 6 hours. That is to say, fill the pan with soapy water. That ‘tenderizes’ the ugali that has caked itself on the sides of the pan. The ugali is left with no option but to say sayonara to the sides of the pan. After 6 or so hours have elapsed, you can drain the water and the ugali sediments out of the pan. Level 1 is complete. Here is now when things get difficult.

At the base of the pan, reposed defiantly, will be dark soot stains.  Trust me when I say, they will offer determined resistance. Yours is not to yield but to persist. Scrubbing with all your might with supabrite will not dislodge these villainous rogues of impunity. These stains will sigh at your pathetic attempts to dislodge them from the pan. They will goad you to try harder and give you the impression they are leaving when covered with soap lather but as soon as you rinse the lather off, the stains will say, “Pickaboo.” They will have the nerve to belittle you with “Is that all you got?” This, dear friends calls for drastic action, this calls for Liverpool-like action.

Ditch the Supabrite scouring pad and arm yourself with Steel Wool, the equivalent of the Fab 3 of Salah, Mane and Firmino. Now as the Effervescent front three of Liverpool showed, press relentlessly and be ruthless in putting away your chances. Scrub as if your life depended on it. Scrub upwards, downwards, sideways, clockwise, counterclockwise. When your hands get tired, pepper that pan with soap, sodium bicarbonate, vim and/or axion. Do not relent my friend. Rinse the pan and then sprinkle the pan with a generous amount of baking soda or vim, pour water just to coat the stained base and bring it to the boil. Take it off the stove and scrub the base of the pan with that hot water, vim, baking soda mixture. Those sooty stains may be tough but they aren’t that tough. They can not withstand such relentless pressure. Begrudgingly, the stains will be forced to raise the white flag.

Your right arm or left arm's biceps will be put to task more than bicep curls would have required them to work. No pressure, si you said you wanted to lose the fat, the kitchen will be your gym in the most unexpected of ways. Eventually the stains will submit. You need to make a statement to these stains. Just who do they think they are? Don’t answer that, I’ll tell you. They are nothing. I will emphasize that,NOTHING. N-O-T-H-I-N-G. And after all that scrubbing, that’s what they become, nothing. Those stains are forced to disintegrate to nothingness, never to be seen again.

As you can tell from the above excerpt, I put my negative energy to constructive use. No point in going to Social Media and ranting about everything under the sun, take your frustrations out on those stains. They are the real enemy.

You may have come to the conclusion that I have lost the plot. Rest assured, I am perfectly normal. Haven’t been to a psych ward and I don’t intend to. Where am I going to with all this you may ask? To answer that, scripture in 2 Corinthians chapter 4 likens Christians to jars of Clay who possess within them the treasure of the gospel. In a sense, we Christians are vessels with the treasure of the gospel and by extension, the capacity to be filled with the Holy Spirit. However, as vessels, we have been marred by sin and iniquity. We possess stains that we struggle to rid ourselves of. Oft, we lose heart because try as we might, the stain of our sins and iniquities remain embedded in us. They refuse to be dislodged.

We despair when despite our best efforts, we relapse to our past sins. We  take matters to our own hands and figuratively speaking,scrub, scrub and scrub only to find that our human, ‘supabrite’ scrubbing does little to remove the tough stain. The stain of sin defiantly stands its ground in our lives. It doesn’t flinch, and coupled with the Devil, it mocks us when we succumb to temptation. For those who put their faith in Jesus, that Stain was dealt with a long time ago.

It was cancelled by Jesus’s one time sacrifice on the cross. Jesus, rolled up his sleeves, and took on the stain head on. There was only ever going to be 1 victor and that was him. His blood and his body nullified the stains of an entire planet on the cross. He scrubbed and the result was that we are spotless. His cleansing work on the cross was all-scrubbing, all cleansing, all stain-erasing more than soap, baking soda, vim and steel wool combined.

The thing is that our salvation from sin isn’t just a one-time event. Putting our faith in Jesus does not  mean we can rest easy and rest our feet on the couch all the way to heaven. Sin may have been cancelled but its influence still looms large and we have been suckers for it. We fall prey to the temptations of our sinful nature time and time again and enslave ourselves to sin. Now, it takes Jesus lifelong scrubbing through the Holy Spirit in us, to help us rid ourselves of sin over a lifetime.

A lot of people mistakenly think that victory over sin is always earned instantaneously. They think getting saved means struggle with sin is no more.  Some sins fall under that category. The bulk of them are a life-long struggle. Thankfully, Jesus did not leave us helpless. He gave us his spirit who helps us overcome these stains day by day. Sometimes our sinful tendencies may appear insurmountable. The Holy Spirit empowers our will to say "No" to them.(Titus 2:11-14) The Holy Spirit reminds us of Christ’s larger than life sacrifice on the cross which emboldens us not to give in. The Holy Spirit enables us to find satisfaction in Jesus instead of the fleeting satisfaction of sin.

Our stains may have us believe they are unbeatable. They are wrong. They were defeated a long time ago, the onus is on us to take hold of the victory Jesus earned through faith. The impetus is for us to trust God to satisfy us rather than our stains. The imperative for us is to draw on his strength and his grace to say no. Some require weeks, others months, others years but make no mistake, our God is able to bring into completion the work he started in us.(Philippians 1:6) As he save us from the influence of sin and conforms us to be more Christ-like, he enables us to wipe out these stains one by one.

To the onlooker, it may seem the stubborn stains will never be dislodged despite the constant prayers, retreats, purity resolutions etcetera. As a result, frustration wells up in your heart the moment you fall for the umpteenth time. You may fear confessing it to a believer or a small group because you think they will feel you don't have your life all together. It may seem you’re entrapped to a pattern of victory-falling-victory-falling. You have nothing to be ashamed about. The Christian life is one of repentance. It is one of pursuing perfection and catching excellence in-between despite the occasional falls here and there. God’s cleansing grace is bigger than your stains. The Stubborn stain is no match for his cleansing blood and the relentless sanctifying work of his Spirit. No matter how long it will take, when he’s done scrubbing, sanctifying you through and through, you will be clean and rid yourself of those sooty stains once and for all.

What’s your stain? Is it a difficulty forgiving others that manifests occasionally as a siege mentality? Is it a difficulty forgiving yourself for being naive in the past? Is it an addiction to either one of alcohol, drugs, pornography or gambling or all three? Is it a slothfulness that ensures you’re unable to wake up early to have quiet time with God? Is it a tendency to take lustful glances at people of the opposite or the same gender and undress them in your mind? Is it an eagerness to please everyone, placing your identity in their validation to the point of compromising your beliefs and values? Is it a fear to speak out your beliefs and convictions at the thought of being ridiculed or marginalized and labelled, a hater? Is it a propensity to flaunt your material possessions, your good deeds or even your physical looks to showcase your sex appeal?

Whatever the stain, whatever your iniquity, Jesus is more than able to sanctify you from it. By his grace, you will have your victories and the stain will disintegrate gradually. Never throw in the towel and despair if it’s taking forever or you relapse to the old habits. He picks up the righteous and cause them to rise again,(Proverbs 24:16) so rise up and keep on trusting him and obeying him so that he may work in you to will and act according to his good purpose.(Philippians 2:13) Keep on abiding in him, keep on pursuing his righteousness. You know he secured your victory centuries ago, he will gladly give it to you if you ask him for it and accept his help whatever it might cost you.

Even as a charred vessel, he still has use for you. He won’t discard you, but he will take you as you are and use you, whilst cleaning you in the process. He will enable you to conquer your stain, no matter how stubborn it appears to be. He will sanctify you through and through and ngarisha you in a way you never could.

MR DEPENDENT

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He scarcely could contain himself when he first laid eyes on her. There she was, swaddled in clothes and not in her mother's womb. She was finally here. He duly obliged to carry her in his arms to her mother's request. In that instant, he had well and truly become a doting uncle. It was so surreal for him. Only a few years ago, he was sitting his KCSE exams, now he was an uncle holding his 2-month old niece.

As soon as she awakened from her slumber, everything began to go wrong. As young as she was, she quickly discerned the man carrying her was a novice at carrying babies. Patience was a virtue she had yet to develop regardless of the fact that the man holding her was her uncle.Her flailing arms and legs were growing evidence of her displeasure. Enough was enough, she decided. Despite his attempts to appease her with a pacifier, her desperate and strident cry for mummy reverberated across the clinic waiting hall. The clinic receptionist, more accustomed to carrying those of her ilk, rushed to her aid and put her clueless uncle out of his misery. Immediately, baby found her in place in the arms of lady, she was an island of tranquility.

Uncle watched in amazement with an overtone of disappointment and frustration in himself. He couldn't make out how, but he knew he had been carrying her wrong. As he watched his own niece being cradled to sleep in the arms of a stranger, he felt a gnawing sense of inadequacy. As he floundered as an uncle in the simplest of tasks, he could only shudder to think what kind of father he would be.

The floundering uncle happened to be me by the way. My first encounter with my niece was both a delightful and a chastening experience that served to underlined not only how much I needed to grow up but how much I needed God to help me grow up.

Any visions of grandeur or self sufficiency I had were promptly put to bed. I need God. I really do. I can't live this life without him.  I've been made acutely aware of the need to grow and develop into a better man and quite frankly I desperately need God to become that man. It isn't enough to be the honest guy, to avoid intoxication, gambling and philandering; there is much more.

I need the dynamism of the Holy Spirit to relentlessly pursue becoming the man God desires me to become. I need God to bestow on me a holy discontentment with mediocrity and going through the missions. Like an importune beggar, may he constantly prod me to dynamic action to pursue those God-given dreams the moment  I dither in passivity. I need his courage to attempt the audacious, to face and overcome my fears, to confront what or who needs to be confronted.

I need the Holy Spirit to continuously remind me that I am loved, that I am accepted, that I am treasured. Irrespective of the state of my pocket, the hue of my clothes, the faded Samsung label on my phone's screen, I am still of immense worth in his eyes. I need him to remind me that my Identity is in Jesus, that he defines my worth, that I need not waste time proving myself, neither do I need the validation of others, his is enough.

I need him to give me the grace to defiantly say no to the snooze button morning after morning. I need him to work on myself and work as if my life depended on it. I need him to keep my heterosexual passions in check to not to lead women on, or to let my eyes wander or to let my mind drift to places it shouldn't. I need him to keep me from letting my savior complex running wild and being too keen to help others at the expense of my impoverishment and declining emotional, financial health. I need his wisdom to counterbalance the need to grow myself and the need to empower others.

I need his peace, his transcendent peace that He is in control. Even when my faith is ridiculed, even when my credentials are called to question, even when I appear no closer to my dreams than I was  years ago, may his peace be my fortress. May he remind me that He is sovereign, in utter control of everything and may that put me at ease.

I am nowhere near close to being the finished article of a man. That I am pretty assure. Despite the progress I've made, despite how far  I've come, I still need to become more.

As I make my way there there, I will unashamedly speak of my dependency on God. Why shouldn't I? He is the reason I've come this far in the first place. I need him more, and I will need him every step of the way. God, help me become the man you desire me to become and the man I need to become. Amen

What's in a name

Curiosity or observation has always been a fort of mine. I guess you could say it makes up for my aversion to talking at length. I prefer being mum so as to see, look and observe. No surprises then, that one day a 'missing cat' poster grabbed my attention. Nothing extraordinary about a missing cat in Nairobi but there was something strikingly different about this one. The missing cat went by the name of Stevie Wonder. Yes, you heard me right, Stevie Wonder!

As much as I couldn't help feel sorry for the family that  desperately yearned to be reacquainted with their dear pet, nor could I fail to imagine the sleepless nights they spent agonizing over their lost feline friend; the name Stevie Wonder had me trying hard to stifle a chuckle. The fact that the poster actually mentioned that the cat would respond if you called him by that name made it all the more difficult to keep a straight face.

We recently lost our own cat, Mystique, and never did I imagine  crying over the loss of a cat but I did. The loss was massive. Our family member of 15 years would no longer grace us with her presence. I was devastated and so now in hindsight, I'm more empathetic about the missing cat case but back then I was as indifferent as they come.

I had thought to myself, "How do you name a cat, Stevie Wonder?" Really, how? Were the cat's miaows so musical and captivating that he had female cats swooning. Was Stevie quite the wonder? I wonder(excuse the pun) how Stevie was like? Whether Stevie was found or is alive, one thing is for sure; he won't be forgotten in a hurry because of his name.

Speaking of names, I recall that my birth was one fraught with a series of fortunate occurrences that my parents sought to name me, Bahati. As luck would have it(excuse another pun), it didn't materialize. To think, that I would have also been introducing myself with swag by saying, "Ni Bahati tena." As fate would have it, Kenneth Sambu Mwinamo Minishi would have to suffice.

Names can leave quite the impression. They can stand the test of time and leave you with a lasting memory of a person. Centuries have passed, yet a name far surpassing that of Stevie and a host of others remains on peoples' lips till today. That name, is the name of Jesus.

Jesus, for billions of people represents hope, represents life, represents identity. Jesus is the name in whom I and so many believers pray, and upon finishing our prayer, are bestowed with an indescribable peace in the knowledge that God has heard us irrespective of whether our prayers are answered or not.

It is the name by which demons and evil spirits take to their heels, submit or are rendered silent dependent on the command stated before invoking the name of Jesus.

It is the name we honor through how we live our lives, in submission and service to God, while loving God and our fellow man.

Most importantly, it is the name belonging to the God-man who laid down his life as an atoning sacrifice for our many sins. It is in his name where we put our trust and confess that in ourselves, we could never hope to meet God's demands of a righteous life nor pay him back for the wrongs we committed against him. The sweet name of Jesus, gives us  the reassurance that our dark past no longer hold us captive nor define us but it his abundant mercy and grace that cleanses us. A grace that compels us to keep on pursuing him and his righteousness irregardless of the numerous times we fall short.

His name is hope for the day of our loving savior's presence. More than that, it gives us hope for tomorrow, that one day we will see him in all his glory and when that day comes we will sure know in great detail what encapsulates his name.

For some, the name Jesus is a curse word, be it in the standard English version or the Naija version.  For others, Jesus is a name that should be relegated to the pews on Sunday morning and uttered nowhere else. No matter, this time of year offers us the chance to reflect over that name. Not only is it a time for parties galore, a trip back home, a time to gain weight but a time spent thanking God for the birth of his son. A time when out of the abundance of the heart, the mouth speaks or should I say sings in joyous gratitude to God. Joy to the World, The First Noel and The Little Drummer Boy are just some of the songs that evoke in us a special warmth synonymous with this special time of year. Jesus, is the name the world will celebrate in different ways come December 25th. Regardless, of the long year, with all its ups and downs, it gives me a chance to reflect upon the faithfulness of Jesus towards me.

Many years ago, Jesus birth heralded hope for mankind. It was a joyous time for his parents, the shepherds and the wise men. His name will continue to live long in the memory and I will no doubt give thanks to Jesus yet again for his profound impact in my life.