Recent Posts

Trusting Him only…

Trusting Him only…

I have often wondered how Mary, the mother of Jesus, betrothed to be married to Joseph dealt with the news of her pregnancy when the angel announced she would be carrying the messiah. I think of this in the context of that era where sexual […]

Called to WAR

Called to WAR

amablog2

How to be a Better Lover

How to be a Better Lover

Ann Voskamp is one of those rare finds that l keep going back to. She writes beautifully and so raw on her christian perspective and how her walk of God is basically ‘a day-to-day so help me God’ journey. She talks family, God and how […]

Lagos-first impressions…

Lagos-first impressions…

Arrive in Lagos, and you can feel the pulse of the city; sharp and strong like blue cheese. Lagos doesn’t wait for you to get your head around it. Even in the enclosed space of the airport, it envelops you with its ebullience and in […]

The Unending Journey

The Unending Journey

A year ago, we began a journey of renewal to find out if l was ready for the next epoch. l didn’t have the map or pre-knowledge of what this journey entailed.  To be honest, l didn’t even know we were on a journey. All l could discern was a major shift was occurring and it demanded my attention. For a control freak like myself, l wasn’t in the driving seat. I had relinquished all control to an invisible but powerful hand. The only reason l tried to keep sane was because of a promise. I, the strategist, who had life plans and to-do-lists was jumping out on a promise from someone l didn’t see but had experienced several times. He wasn’t a man to lie. If He had said it, then l knew He will do it. And while the result might not be what l am expecting, in the end, l know it will work out for my good. I have a palpable apprehension of missing out on what He had in store for me always and this journey was no different

He only gave me a glimpse of the closing act and a song. I remember someone had once said “a song is a prayer said twice.”.That song became my anthem and always launched me to realms l didn’t fully comprehend. The song spoke of  being led into choppy waters; l didn’t know how to swim. He promised to lead me. I held on tight. Other alternatives weren’t available or did l choose to ignore them? I will sing the song with every fiber of my being, expressing to Him my fear, my hope and my desire to please Him. All other things could wait.

The storm raged, He called me out into it. He is in the storm. You see, l had been to the wilderness and had mastered it. I had wilderness qualification; the storm was a different ball game, I didn’t swim. Before this journey I was walking and ticking all the right boxes. But He says He is looking for more. He wants to launch me deeper. He disrupts all things around me to get my attention fully focused on Him and l strive to keep up. All he asks  is listen, trust the voice speaking and obey.

There are days l feel lost and wag my hands at Him, what are you doing?! Is this you or do l have to bring out my warrior prayers and begin binding and breaking? It is easier to fight than simply trust and obey. It  is easier to fight an invisible hand than leave the reins to the one who knows the way totally.  l go in search of the contention, there is dead silence. All He asks again in my cry of despair- worship, listen, trust and obey. How difficult is that right? What I didn’t understand was that His original plan for my life is beyond anything l could ever have dreamt of or ever envisioned for my self.

How did we get here, you ask? A seemingly innocent request had set this storm in motion- wanting Him alone to lead me, desiring heaven but yearning for a greater impact here on earth. I didn’t want my time here to be wasted. So here l am, in the storm, a test of my mettle – a re test of the test. A journey to double-check if l had the skills to take on this challenge He was bringing me into. For in the challenge and the pain there of are the answers. Was l ready to take on the heady stuff? Was l ready to confront my deepest fears? The things l brushed under the carpet and hid from all including Him? Was l ready to show Him my all, including the parts that screamed broken and incompetence so He could take it on and help me grow? The truth of the matter was that on the inside l wasn’t all l purported to be. This Christian needed Christ to give more of that precious blood and grace. This Christian needed Christ in His infiniteness to keep providing. Growth pains are evident in this provision and l want to run and deny Him.

The storm breaks me in parts and in the same breath ushers in new things. In my brokenness, l take a stand on the core matters of my life. I know the being that lives in me more and confront the hidden weightier matters.  The breaking is painful and relevant. It births more that it lost. The storm’s benefits are coming to light. My death grip is loosening and l’m learning to dance in the storm.

The journey hasn’t ended, l don’t think it ever will.  For now l know how to ride the waves better and can swim holding on as He leads. Even on dark days when the clouds refuse to dissipate and eventually swallow me, He is here. He will not leave me, His powerful arms encircle me and shield me until the dark clouds give way to a burst of sunshine. We will conquer the storm. The final act have l seen. My anthem is playing, l ask him to take me deeper, we will get there.


From others

How to be a Better Lover

How to be a Better Lover

Ann Voskamp is one of those rare finds that l keep going back to. She writes beautifully and so raw on her christian perspective and how her walk of God is basically ‘a day-to-day so help me God’ journey. She talks family, God and how to walk this life in this cover called christianity. This piece was my first introduction to her and mostly reading it, all l did was keep nodding. She talks of the kind of love that is rare in our day and how marriage isn’t what the movies are showing us. Love is, as she says, “laying me down and picking us up”. Go to her page and find more gems!

 

I‘m sitting there on the side of a windblown road, waiting for the Farmer to bring me a jug of gas.

We’ve knocked on a door.

Asked if we could patch through a call to home. Levi picks up.

Yes, Levi says, Yes, I think Dad’s out in the barn. I’ll go get him.

I’ll send him with gas.

But I know there’s no gas in the jug in the shop, nothing in the shed.

I know there’s nothing at home to fill us up.

We huddle in the cold of the van.

Hope does next week’s piano theory. She rubs her fingers hard. I don’t even know if the Farmer’s home, if Levi can find him. February howls bitter right through us, moaning for something more. I pray he’s coming for us. Think of that first time he took my face in his hands and kissed me too long in the dark and what he said.

His eyes had caught the light, and he said it slow and I was too young and I’ve gone back to that moment, the way it flashed, a thousand times.

“One thing you can count on is the way I’ll love you.”

He was twenty one when he took my trembling hand and slipped on the band and forever and under the veil, I was still a girl. Girl who hid behind long hair and fear and a prescribed calm that she swallowed down with the water.

The Farmer, he knows how to grow things.

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The kind of man that when his wife wavers, he’s held. Girded her with prayer.

When she’s cleared out a bedroom closet to fill it with books, held down her side of the room with words, and on his side he reads the farm paper and the book of Proverbs and in the middle, he’s met her, and he’s drawn it all close, and smiled when she’s created and nodded for her to go and said no to any performing and yes to just being.

And, crazy man, whispered too often about beautiful and asked, please, to believe him and he always, always, always said that everything, always was good.

Everything, always…

He has always come. He has always filled up. And when his wife’s canned stories, instead of pears, and doubted what it is to be a woman and calmed when rocking babies and stitched lines instead of threads, clicked shutters and keys and opened life up to glory, he has always come and and said it is good. Said yes, live.

The way he has loved has made his wife a woman. This is what a man can do to a woman.

The way he loves her has made her live.

I don’t care how cold the wind blows. He has always come and in air that’s only smiled, he’s strengthened the stalk of me, opened the petals of who I am and I have fit my skin.

It’s near dark when I look in the mirror and see that pick-up truck of his coming down the road. When he hauls out a gas jug from the back of the pick-up. I knew he would. I watch him in the rearview mirror. I can’t feel my toes.

After he’s emptied the last of the jug, he opens my door a crack. The wind whips.

“Thank you.” I whisper. He smiles into everything blustery. “But where did you find any gas at home?”

“Town.” He winks.

“You had to go to town? You had to leave all you were doing in the the barn, drive all the way into town, get gas, and then drive all the way over here?” Oh. my. I feel …. ill. Frozen and ill. “I am so sorry.

I look him in the eye. Why? Why would he?

“I love you.” He says it simply. Says it sure into the wind.

And this is why.

Love is not passion. It is the pulse of sacrifice.

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We get home and I make hot chocolate. Wrap my numb fingers around heat.

Write a love note to him in my half of the our love letter’s journal

Marital love is a demanding and dying thing compared to the stuff of movies and mirages.

The love of imagination — it’s a different beast entirely than love made in the image of a Saviour with nails in His hands.

The Farmer writes little with pens. He’s a man who prefers to write his love letters with his life.

I need to write down my thanks.

After the kids are in bed, we sit with our mugs and our vows.

I rub his back and ask him about the barn and his work and the things he’s thinking about. Some tanks can run dry and it takes time to fill them.

 

There are no standing lovers: the only way to love is to lay down.

Lay down plans.

Lay down agendas.

Lay down self.

Love is always the laying down.

This is how to make love out of a marriage: Love lays down it’s own wants to lift up the will of another.

Love lets go of its plans — to hold on to a person.

In the dark, we set down our mugs and turn out the lights and the wind moans on and I hear it and it can come and it doesn’t matter what blows.

Love always come too.

In our room, under quilts, we lay down beside each other…

Filled and warm and close.


Musing

How to be a Better Lover

How to be a Better Lover

Ann Voskamp is one of those rare finds that l keep going back to. She writes beautifully and so raw on her christian perspective and how her walk of God is basically ‘a day-to-day so help me God’ journey. She talks family, God and how […]

Boy Meets World

Boy Meets World

Serendipity! Great word but spelling can be tricky 🙂 I like the word because that is how many things come into my life and sometimes people as well.  So l came across this interview by Taiye Selasi for Saint Heron on her interview with Moses […]

My plastic bag

My plastic bag

My flip-flops gather a mini dust storm as l walk back home. The deed was indeed done and dusted, even if the prospect wasn’t as exciting now. The war between my needs and wants had ceased, with the former winning. The final bargaining chip was […]

The stock i came from.

The stock i came from.

l grew up with feminism personified in the form of my mother. It wasn’t a word l knew but it was lived daily in my home. Although my mother did not identify her self explicitly as a feminist, being an independent, assertive and vocal woman […]