namwano

It is not the easiest thing to feel like a royal priesthood every day. It is easier actually, if you ask me, to feel like the Israelites. A bunch of fearful, traumatized individuals walking through high walls of waves with the possibility of death any time. This pandemic has served a cocktail of sturdy and fragile days. Sometimes I feel like Peter, the confident Christ follower who knows Jesus on levels deeper than the seas; levels where flesh and blood do not reveal some intricate mysteries. On other days, I feel like Peter the traitor. If asked to defend Jesus, I’ll outrightly betray him. Because standing up for Him would mean losing myself, yet I like this version of me, and I am not ready to let go. On a daring day I may go all Delilah on you, and go about life hiding my truth until an encounter with Jesus at the well leaves me questioning why a Holy God would still see past the flaws of a thirsty soul. So much so, He would have an in-depth conversation with me, an

“Great people talk to themselves”, said one of my personas during my private talks with myself. Many who see me bet that I am crazy. I know I am and I am not just saying that, it is the truth; because while their opinions should have caused me to revert to more group talks or regular one on one dates, they have actually fanned the flame of open, thoughtful discourse with myself. This pandemic particularly has literally brought peace in and around me. The streets are kinder, thanks to the wearing of masks that has most graciously allowed the ‘crazy’ ones like me to take our internal sotto to the streets without worrying about external ‘threats’ such as glaring eyes and loud whispers about how they witnessed a weird man or woman that seemed light-headed. So here is a recently written monologue before reversion back to sanity (even though speaking to oneself is really the greatest sanity of all). When I was growing up, I heard a lot about the ‘crying stone’. It is a large gibber

“How are you?” For those who may attempt to be courageous and compassionate enough to ask this good question, allow me to give you fair warning, you may want to brace yourself to carry a burden. The answers from the people you ask may include the following,  “I am tired…” “I am sad….” “I am angry at God …” “I am giving up…” “I am worried…” “I feel hopeless…” “I feel alone… “ “I feel like I am losing my mind …” A lot is going on at the moment. And while it is easy to push each other to praise despite our feelings, as I did in my previous blog, I am aware of the reality that sometimes good words spoken in tough times can be more toxic than healing. We may expect people to brave out this pandemic and quite a number may be. However, while hope is said to be a working strategy, on the day when the crack hits bottom, breaking is a strategy too. “How are you?” We ask this question pretty flippantly these days, with an expected “I’m fine”, or “

He was not the easiest to lose sight of in the crowd. His height easily betrayed him. He didn’t seem to care much about the attention though, because well, you don’t get to negotiate things like height with God before you escape the womb. I met him in church. He looked pretty young and while in one of those “let-us-meet-behind-the-tent-after-the-service” meetings it was evident he had wit. Our conversations were majorly brief and for an introvert like me, shallow waters are not my thing. I love to dive deep, wade in troubled waters to get to the heart of personalities and expressions. But he was too rigid to break through, and unless I really value you, I won’t lay in wait on your walls. If I can’t peel, I’ll deal. And that is fine with me.  He would make himself comfortable in the back left row, strolling in a few minutes just before the service began, making his silent petitions while awaiting the service to begin. You see the beauty of being a church instrument