An influential contact can make things happen

She spoke in a low tone. Her voice sounded rather subdued, not like her usual vibey and bubbly self. I could tell something was wrong even before she told me. She’d been working on an incredible project and was excited about it. Super excited. I’d seen some of her work and she was killing it. The project held a lot of promise and I was proud of my friend. Fast forward to this week when I got a message from her. It seemed she’d hit a snag.

She wasn’t getting the payment and recognition for her hard work and for the results she’d delivered. She’d made good on her end of the bargain and the other party was failing to deliver on theirs. Excuses abounding, they kept pushing her from pillar to post and despite her efforts, the other party seemed to be getting away with not honouring their agreement. Meanwhile, she needed to pay the service providers she’d worked with. “I feel defeated,” she said.

“I’m crying out to God saying, ‘Lord, you’re my father. Where are you when evil men seem to prosper? Where are you to defend the defenceless?’ I wish that I knew someone, someone influential that I could call,” she bemoaned. “I don’t have a contact who can step in, deal with these guys, and then my payment would just come through.” As she spoke, my heart went out to her. I could tell she felt demoralised and was at her wit’s end.

I responded to her voice note, encouraging and empathising with her as best as I could. She’d been planning to put together a testimony but was waiting until she was in a better frame of mind. I get that. I’d have probably done the same. I’d guess that we all probably would. Yet, I think it’s just as powerful, if not more, to testify and give God the glory when we feel dejected, when we don’t feel like doing it, when we haven’t seen the end result yet, when we’re still waiting for a breakthrough. I think that’s what faith is – trusting and glorifying God when we don’t know how it’s going to work out.

I shared this with her and ended off with, “I know it sounds cheesy. I know it sounds corny, but you do know somebody. You know God. Listen, this is the creator of the universe. It doesn’t get more influential than that! I’ve seen him, time and time again, come through when there seemed to be no way out. Yes, he doesn’t always come through for us in the way or the timing that we anticipate but he does always come through.”

She later told me that whilst she was still listening to my voice note, her mum called and told her that God had placed a Bible verse on her heart – Psalm 118:22. She shared that she didn’t know who the verse was intended for but she encouraged my friend to read it and meditate on it then sing a song called “Take All the Glory.” When she got off the phone, she listened to the rest of my voice note and I seemed to be saying the same thing at more or less the same time – the glory belongs to God despite the circumstances.

My friend took that to mean that God was speaking to her, perhaps not in the way she wanted him to respond to her but he was responding nonetheless. She felt much better after that call and voice note. She felt enlightened. Meanwhile, I was encouraged, touched, and inspired by her experience. I still feel grateful and honoured that God partnered with me to minister to my friend, that I could play a small part in helping her in her situation. She does know someone very, very influential indeed 😉, someone willing and able to influence events for the good of those He loves.

Love,

My Lord He Died for a Kingdom

There’s a song I learnt in school which I absolutely love. It’s interesting that I didn’t particularly love this song at the time that I learnt it. In fact, I totally forgot about it until many years later. I’d finally accepted Jesus into my heart and now had a personal and intimate relationship with him.

I was going about my day when God reminded me of this song. The lyrics and the tune to the song popped into my head as clear as day. It wasn’t even Easter time at the time. I was surprised that I remembered it… Well, the first half of it 😄 Surprised but not shocked.

I’d come to learn and understand that God speaks to us all the time. This was just one way that I discovered God speaks to me. I remember asking Him why the song? I thought I didn’t get a response at the time. Looking back, I realise it brings a sense of jubilation within me. I’m filled with joy and celebration as I sing it and remember what God has done for me, for you, for humanity, for all creation.

Jesus is a King who gave his life for the citizens of his kingdom. He died to redeem and bring us into this kingdom. Anyway, check out the lyrics to the song. It’s called “My Lord He Died for a Kingdom”. You can also listen to it on this link. I hope you experience the same jubilation, the same revelation, the same encounter with Jesus and more.

Love,

Definition: comfort or refreshment; Literal translation: drop

During my pre-school and early primary school years, my family stayed in a small town called Chegutu in Zimbabwe. When I say small town, I’m talking about one main road with a couple of robots (traffic lights) in the entire town, at least when we stayed there. I have fond memories of it like attending Mad Hatter Nursery school which I enjoyed attending. I used to get a few cents pocket money some Fridays and those were my most favourite days. There was this general dealer store that sold these marble sweets. They’d change colour as you sucked them and got closer to the centre. I haven’t been able to find those sweets since unfortunately.

I remember family parties either at our home or at my parent’s friends’ homes. They typically had kids my and my sibling’s age to play with. I remember fruit trees. Most people seemed to have those in their backyards those days. We had banana, citrus, and avocado trees. The best tree by far, in my opinion, was the bird plum tree [nyii] at one of my friend’s house. The tree was huge and fun to climb for us and it yielded so much yummy fruit. I remember when my parents finally allowed me to walk home from school with my friends unaccompanied. I felt like such a big girl and it was a satisfying, proud feeling.

There’s one memory I did not recall at all. A story around a violent thunderstorm that my mum told me about recently. Apparently, it had been extremely hot for a while. The heat was unbearable and there was concern about drought being an agrarian community. We went to church one Sunday and Mr. Garande, one of my dad’s friends prayed for rain; he asked God for “donhodzo”. In typical African fashion, it was long and drawn-out prayer. Mass was running long and the heat in the church was punishing1x. As much as we desperately needed the rain, in that moment many just longed to get home and get to lunch. Needless to stay, that prayer was certainly remembered long after church.

Later that day, the much-needed rain came. It came down in a torrential downpour accompanied by claps of thunder that sounded like they were going to split the sky open. The lightning was blinding. It was a remarkable thunderstorm that seemed to go on forever. While I’m not one to fear thunderstorms, I was not pleased. “Ah! Zvichingobvawo na vaGarande vakumbira donhodzo nhasi,” I commented which means, “Ah! This is all on Mr. Garande who asked for that ‘donhodzo’ earlier.” 😄😄 There’s a take-away in that story somewhere. Be careful what you wish for, right? Be very specific when you pray. God never gives in small or half measures 😀💛

Love,

How God used a stranger to heal my heart

The year was 2008. I was a student living in Cape Town, South Africa and there was an outbreak of xenophobic attacks around the country that year. Tensions were high and many immigrants living in South Africa were badly affected by violent attacks. Countless foreigners lived in fear for their safety and lives. Their loved ones outside the country watched in horror as the reports of violent and aggressive acts circulated on news and social media. Many were displaced. Some lost their lives. It was a heart-breaking and trying time.

The church I used to attend at that time kindly converted the church building into a shelter for displaced immigrants and refugees from high-risk areas. Many other churches, universities, schools, and spaces with means also did the same. As an immigrant myself, I was fortunate to be living in a neighbourhood that was relatively safe. I could move around freely as normal. However, that did not stop my parents, my friends, and other family members from worrying about my safety. Though I was not directly or physically impacted, I was impacted emotionally and psychologically. I watched what was happening around the country in dismay. At times I’d feel outraged and yet have no outlet for it.

I felt indignant and helpless. The country I had come to love as my second home now felt hostile and uninhabitable. Cynicism began to creep in. I remember that I’d look at my neighbours or strangers in the street with distrust. I wondered which side of the fence they sat on. If they knew or discovered that I was an immigrant, would they smile at me then plot my demise behind my back or would they treat me as an equal? Would they be the one to betray a foreigner or were they an ally? Did they sympathise with those displaced and affected or were they secretly glad, telling themselves that finally something was being done about the influx of refugees and immigrants.

So, it was in this mental state that I went to the shops near my apartment one day. I’d stiffen and bridle each time I met someone in public. I worried that they’d strike up a conversation with me with the intention to discern my nationality then harm me. Sure, there hadn’t been any incidents in my area as I mentioned however, I was fearful nonetheless. As I walked, a lady that seemed friendly stopped to speak to me. I looked around and realised there was no one nearby should the encounter turn ugly. I stopped to speak to her all the same.

She seemed friendly and harmless enough.

I can’t remember how the conversation actually started or much of what we spoke about. I do remember her mentioning that she lived in or near the area and that she was indeed South African. She spoke about the displaced foreigners that were taking refuge at the church I attended and I asked her if she attended the same church. I was pretty sure that hadn’t seen her there before. It was a very small church where everybody was familiar with everybody. She told me that she did not. I asked her a few more questions to find out if she knew me or we’d crossed paths before. We hadn’t. Now, though I can’t remember how the conversation started, I do remember very clearly how it ended.

She apologised to me on behalf of her fellow South Africans. She denounced the xenophobic attacks and asked whether I was okay and safe. She urged me to remember that not all South Africans are like the aggressive and violent minority. Lastly, she asked me if she could give me a hug. I said yes and then she put her arms around me, hugged me briefly, then said goodbye. She went on her way and I went on mine, however, I was not the same after those parting words and that parting hug. She said the words that I really needed to hear that day.

The walls I hadn’t realised I’d allowed to encase my heart concerning South Africans, in general, came tumbling down. I realised that bias and prejudgement had begun to take root in my heart. Moreover, I realised that I felt justified for the prejudice I was beginning to harbour. With a simple hug and some kind words, the lady I met on Campground Road in Rondebosch that day helped me to not only realise it but to also change my heart and mind. To this day, I still have not figured out who she was or how she knew that I was an immigrant without even asking me. That’s not what’s important to me though.

What’s important to me is how God used a simple encounter with a friendly stranger to minister to and heal my heart. He knew what I was feeling and thinking. He knew exactly what I needed and he sent an angel in the form of this lady to provide it. When God showed up for me, the distrust and cynicism I was harbouring crumbled. He showed me how I was going astray with the prejudice, but he also began to heal the fear and trauma I was experiencing because of what was happening. What’s important to me is the courage, empathy, and kindness a stranger showed me. It inspired me and left me forever changed and blessed.

Love,

Body Image Matters

Friends, I have to tell you that I’ve started then stopped writing this post so many times. I wrote nearly half of this article last time before I abandoned it entirely. Today I’m feeling a little braver 😊 and so I restarted it again. I feel moved to share my journey to self-love and acceptance as it relates to body image specifically. I don’t know who needs to hear this or who this will encourage but I think talking about body issues is important especially amongst women.

Self-love, self-acceptance, and appreciating oneself are things that are close to my heart. I am intentional about these things. However, this wasn’t always the case. I struggled with liking, accepting, and loving myself quite a bit growing up. I did not appreciate myself for who and what I am. I had to learn and grow in these areas. In many ways, I’m still learning and growing. I haven’t “arrived” yet. As learning goes, it’s a continuous journey. I continue to learn and discover new things all the time.

Let me tell you about my journey from the beginning. When I was younger, I disliked the way that I looked. I felt self-conscious about it and had a long list of things that I wanted to change about myself. I started dieting at a very young age. When I say very young, I mean pretty much as soon as I hit adolescence. No matter what I tried though, I was never satisfied with the results. The one positive that came out of all my various diets is that I developed a love for vegetables, fruit, and other healthy options like unprocessed foods and whole wheat and whole-grain starches.

My mom was very supportive. She encouraged me to eat healthily and not focus so much on the way that I looked. Being the nurse that she is, she encouraged me to care more about my nutritional intake than my calorie intake. She counselled me against comparing myself to others whether they were family or friends or ladies that I saw in the media. The interesting thing is that I felt compared all the time and I hated it. My older sister is slim and looks different from me. People would often ask why we were so different if we shared parents as if sharing DNA meant that we were supposed to be homogenous.

One incident sticks out in my mind. A very misguided and immature guy went so far as to compare my sister and me feature-by-feature from our height to our complexion to our looks. I was a young adult by that time and I could tell that his comments said a lot more about him than they did about my sister and me. Nonetheless, it embarrassed me and hurt my feelings. The words stayed with me for a very long time. The unfortunate thing is that it wasn’t an unusual or isolated incident. I come from a community where people freely comment about others’ weight and looks.

If you grew up in an African community like I did then I think you’ll relate. It’s not uncommon for people to comment on and roast you about your weight or looks. You’ll hear words like, “Ah, Flo, hindava kusimba kudai? Maiwe, ende wasimba. Uri kudyeiko?” This translates to, “Ah, Flo, why have you gained so much weight? Goodness, you’re now overweight. What are you eating?” There are specific words used to describe overweight people which I won’t repeat here. It’s not that unusual to hear someone comparing another to a cow or a hippo to illustrate just how much weight they’ve gained. Some unkind people will even ask whether you’re pregnant if you’re female.

As if this is not enough, we live in an era where everything is overly sexualised especially women’s bodies. As a young girl who’d just hit puberty, I quickly became self-conscious about certain parts of my body because they attracted the kind of attention that I did not want or need. I discovered that some boys and even grown men felt free and confident to comment about my shape and what they liked or didn’t like about it. Others wouldn’t say anything about me to my face but would freely comment about other ladies in my presence which I felt was just as bad. I found the objectification of my body and the body of women around me hurtful and damaging to my confidence and self-esteem.

To be fair, it’s not only women that are overly sexualised or only men doing the objectifying. Guys experience the same thing. Women also objectify others. Some make all kinds of harsh comments and comparisons directed at other women and men as well. I grew up feeling the pressure and the desire to be toned, slender, and appealing. As much as I hated being compared, somewhere along the way I took on the voice of criticism and comparison. I used to watch TV shows about weight-loss and makeovers and vowed to do that for myself someday. I was going to “fix” everything that I didn’t like, enhance what I liked and create a better version of me.

Friends, I honestly cannot tell you when the shift in my perspective happened. It happened slowly over a period of time. I think the turning point was when I realised that I needed internal healing first. Achieving my target weight and body goals were not some kind of magic formula that was going to make everything okay. This realisation came when I read a book on the ultimate solution to weight issues by a popular psychologist. I grasped that no amount of external change was going to fix how I felt about myself. I needed to accept and love myself unconditionally.

This was not an easy thing to do. I’d disliked a lot of things about myself for so long. I was bullied in school for the way that I looked. I’d listened to the critical voices of other people over the years and had taken the criticism on. My voice joined my critics’ voices and I repeated the hurtful things that had been said about me to myself. I remembered a poem that I read when I was younger called “In the Desert” by Stephen Crane which goes:

In the desert
 I saw a creature, naked, bestial,
 Who, squatting upon the ground,
 Held his heart in his hands,
 And ate of it.
 I said, “Is it good, friend?”
 “It is bitter—bitter,” he answered;

 “But I like it
 “Because it is bitter,
 “And because it is my heart.”

It’s a very layered poem with a lot of symbolism and various meanings. It speaks of this creature that is seemingly human yet is debased and animal-Iike as it eats its own heart and delights in that. It reminded me of a Shona expression, kuzvidya moyo, which translates directly to “eating your heart”. It describes a state of being where you’re anxious or worried or stressed or overthinking and, consequently, deeply unhappy. Yet as bitter as it is to be in that state, I figured that it can actually become a comfort zone. Like the creature in the poem, you become a lesser version of yourself, changed by your mindset. As I reflected on this, I realised I had to unlearn disliking my body and even myself. I had to learn to love and accept myself unconditionally. I had to stop “eating of my heart”.

I found it easier to start by accepting myself just as I was. I resolved to accept my body even though there were many things that I didn’t like about it. I figured that it was mine and it housed my soul. I decided to love it and nurture it for that reason. Over time, with the help of a lot of therapy and the support of loved ones, loving and accepting myself became easier and easier. Exercising and eating well became more about health and wellness than the need to lose weight or look a certain way. Don’t get me wrong, I still care about my weight and the way I look. However, it is not the main driving factor for how I eat or exercise. I’m not as obsessive about it as I used to be.

When I catch myself being critical of myself or comparing myself to others, I correct course a lot quicker than I did before. The voice of criticism is not as loud and frequent as it used to be. The breakthrough that established me on my path to self-love, self-acceptance, and appreciating myself was my relationship with Jesus Christ. As I discovered more of who God is, I began to understand just how precious I am to him. The Lord who created me looks upon me and sees a good thing. He delights in me. He sings songs and rejoices over me because I am fearfully and wonderfully made by him. I do not look the way that I do by chance. I was beautifully designed that way!

If you’ve ever disliked yourself or felt self-conscious or unattractive or overweight or not good enough, I want to tell you that you do not have to feel that way. You are fearfully and wonderfully made. You are absolutely gorgeous in your uniqueness. Embrace it. You are loved and accepted unconditionally by God. You deserve to be loved and accepted unconditionally by yourself and by others as well. If you’ve ever been unkind or callous or spoken carelessly about the way someone looks, I urge you to reconsider your position. Make amends if you need to. Do not bully or judge anyone because of the way they look. Be kind. Be considerate. Be compassionate, please. Beauty is more than just skin-deep 🙂.

Love,