Its 3:00 o’clock in the morning and am craving.

I must admit, I am one lazy lass

I must admit, I am one lazy lass. Do not take me too serious though, this is just but an excuse I use to hide away the fact that am an over thinker with a really short attention span and therefore jotting down my feelings seems like a toddler handling crayons for the first time. There will always be a beautiful mesh of non-agreeing patterns that seem appealing to an innocent eye. But if the same marks were to be examined by an actual art critic the disdain on their faces would probably explain how the beauty of art was being butchered in that 4-edged white space. Thus- my absence despite promising to drop the shades that I wear and show more of my intellectual skin around here. but it being Sunday, I guess we can start life afresh..

I said no to church

Last year I made one of the best decisions in my life. I stopped going to church. Yes, I said it. I said no to church. I remember that day like it was yesterday. One of the most memorable days of my life, but I can’t say I did not see it coming. You know it’s funny how at times we break our own hearts and blame other people for our downfalls… well, it was something like that… I was coming back from school in my then depressed state, and something triggered me to re-evaluate the reason behind me going to church. I thought of my past year in church- not in salvation, but in church. I attended church service late, mainly because the nearer I got to church the more my steps slowed or faltered because I didn’t want to get into a cage where I needed to be someone strong when deep down I was weak from all the emotional confrontations that I had been undergoing at the time. I felt like I was being unfair to God, with him being all good to me. What shocked me was that I realized I was merely attending church as a formality because even though am 22, my mother would still whoop my bum bums if she found me lazying around on Sunday instead of going to church.

instead, it became my prison

I abandoned church because it stopped being a refuge for me, instead it became my prison. I was in shackles- caged because I needed to keep my appearances yet every Sunday was a thrash to my already battered back because I was forced to relive the horrors of my former life. I attended service even though I would go back home and cry myself to sleep. Well Sunday evenings are nap times, but for the better part of the end of last year, sleep was a luxury I could not afford. Let me not get started about the judgmental lot within our worship centers who always have something to say about your lifestyle. Mind you, the bible in itself warns against judging and condemning. But oh well, the society today has been known to interpret the bible in their own words to justify their deeds that may end up opening doors to hell for them. Okay, am getting a bit side-tracked- back to my story…

Anyone who knows me well enough knows just how impulsive I can get. A light bulb clicked inside of me. I was busy living a lie to please the masses who who expected a certain standard of life out of me that I forgot to take care of me. So in the midst of my realization, I reached out into my purse and texted my former pastor’s wife and let her know I was heading down a new path that the Spirit would lead me to, as long as it was far away from the church. It wasn’t a long conversation really. It probably didn’t come as a shock to anyone after all. Life happens.

I was busy living a lie to please the masses

And that, is a short story of how I began my life out of church. It felt nice for a while to stop living a lie. Pretending is never easy especially when you are doing it in front of people who probably have already seen your flaws in the spiritual realm and are waiting for you to confess and get an atonement for your sins yet to you nothing seems out of place. It felt good to be free. Felt good to make a few wrong decisions without having to explain myself to anyone, until I had to explain myself to myself. Its never that easy, especially when you are a believer in the existence of a higher deity to whom you are answerable. If the shame doesn’t consume you, then the guilt will lead you to your redemption. And thus, my cravings for church at 3:00 o’clock in the morning.

So earlier in the year my mama popped the big question- ‘Did you find a church to attend?’ Again. Church for who? (At this point I guess I am tempted to roll my eyes, but we don’t do that over here. Not in an African home. Not near my mother). I knew my answer wasn’t yes just yet. I went with the typical am working on it speech. I wasn’t ready for the big house with a stormy dark cloud hovering over it. I wasn’t ready to put myself back into a systematized life that would dictate my sleeping hours, praying hours or eating hours. I wasn’t ready for a life where I Would be shunned if I didn’t meet the demands and instructions jotted down for me. I felt like God was misrepresented and I simply needed to understand Him on a personal level in order to tame my rebellious and overthinking nature that simply questioned everything and thus always landed me in problems with spiritual authority.

I never ran out of reasons why I needed to step back but this topped them all. Life battles are hard to explain to ordained men of God who will never chase after you to worship Him in truth and in spirit through all the turmoils. The level of perfection expected from you can be emotionally damaging. I think majority of the millennials today run away from church because the church in itself is loosing empathy. We are not only fighting among ourselves within our religions and our churches, but we are fighting against the freedom of expression within the church. Well, I guess my mentality on this shifted a bit earlier this year when I had a sit down with my Bishop, not for the atonement of my sins but just a father daughter conversation on how far life had regressed. And those are the moments I wish to see more in church, where I can sit and talk and not have 13 verses thrown in my face as to why I made a grave error in my judgement. That is the church I long for. That was my turning point I guess; when I felt like I was more of a daughter than a sinner, I yearned to return home. Talk of the prodigal son. Only that this one didn’t squander any material inheritance.

I didn’t need 13 scriptures, I needed a listening ear

Do not get my words twisted, church is amazing. I love worship, I love it when am broken enough for God to minister through me. I only feel that, for me, it is paramount to actually establish a relationship with God within the church setting. If that chance for growth is not offered then pardon me, but I have to ask again, Church for who. There needs to be an actual ground for one to feel loved for the sanctuary to be worthy of attendance. Otherwise all it becomes is a Holy ground with self-righteous folks who do not realize that their actions wreck hearts and drive people from the physical structure. If it is not nurtured into a place of understanding, it becomes a ground for unjustified accusations and malicious acts among members of the church who will smile at your face and deliver sermons on the pulpit but plot your down fall the moment you turn your back to them.

Anyway, my endorsements aside…

Church is love

I think i’m ready for church now though… The above excuses just a tip of the ice berg of the millions of reasons I have given myself in the past year as to why I need to hold back .Do not get me started on the need to play hush hush in order not to offend communities that constantly seek for politically correct dialogues that suit their needs and infringe on the convenience of other parties, or how my perception on the so called saved relatives who saw no good coming out of me almost influenced my decision to run away from my destiny. That is all a past, am now emptying those bags of excuses and taking a step in making sure that the church I want is the same church I am offering to anyone who has an encounter with me. The church shouldn’t necessarily confine our good deeds to the sanctuary. It can extent to our individual relationships with people who look up to us as role models, friends and family. The sanctuary may still have cracks that need repairing, but this temple is ready to begin a journey on its own and be the church.

Sigh- Church is love. I am craving love

Some nights such as tonight I sit upright in my bed and hope for a miracle from heaven that will somehow shift the paradigm of our perception of the church or the roles we play in making the church look bad. but wishing is never enough. the first step is acting right being kind and loving without expecting anything in return. Living a life that can breflect our true selves and giving a listening ear to a brother. Church is never a lot to ask. Church is love. I am ready for church.

First of all, I hope you missed my irrelevant humour, drafting this, am comforted by the sound of rain in the background. The comfort of knowing am within this shell of comfort while chaos erupt outside totally blows my mind. But then again that is just a reflection of my internals… It is chaos in there. The need for gratification for my soul clashing with my unending procrastination of deeds that are meant to reward me is overwhelming. These memories are scramming to break free but it may take me a while to grasp all of them.

The raindrops…

Am I the only one who finds the patter of rain on my windows fascinating. It’s like multiple tiny soldiers are headed to a battle field and they just have no idea they will not be returning home. They land with thunderous blows but slide down that glass pane scrambling for a bit of grasp but finally fall to the ground with a thud. Splashing their imaginary blood across the muddy puddle. It is amazing, I watch the repetitive action over and over, cultivating a sense of joy as the tiny soldiers tumble ot their downfall after picking a battle with gravity. A battle they clearly lost. Sick. I do not know where this dark humour was cultivated from, but life has a way of transforming you, hardening your heart, or maybe it just shapes you differently from the expectations of the society. Not my point though, back to the rain drops. Once in that muddy puddle, they may flow down the stream or remain in an ugly murk in the middle of the road. Children may come and stump on the drops now collected into a puddle of fallen soldiers. For the child, it is a happy spot. But I know the pain that these tiny soldiers feel. Its not just a tumble from grace to shame, It is also multiple trumpling on your broken bones from uncaring strangers. I have been there, I know what those rain drops are feeling. but just like everyone else, I shrug and walk away from my window. It pretty much is not my damn business.

I turn back to my draft; welcome to my new normal

I was accused of vanishing into thin air for the past couple of months. Well, in reality, I was actually struggling about how to come back into all this. At times am swamped with so many emotions, I have no idea if what I put down even makes sense, but then again, am no quitter… and here we are despite it not being where we began at. You know I could have opted out and let my heart wander to new adventures, but writing has always tickled a fancy in me. It is how best I connect with the tangles of ideas and events in my mind. The raindrops are ceasing, the storm is almost over. My window pane is moist. I guess its a stamp reminding us of the soldiers that once were… The chill that comes with it reminds us of the sinister thoughts that come with this weather. We freeze, but rather than cluster for warmth, we are currently scared of being butchered because the society says its okay. Story for another day though. The rain drops are gone and now my mind no longer focuses on the calamities of my life, that chapter is closed, only meant to be told. Am a new believer. It is time to think positively in my draft.

So about my disappearance. Am a social being especially with people that I am well acquainted with. I have insulated my bubble and lined it in a way that everyone has their place and in some weird way my phone acts as a guard to inform me of their presence. So some notification tones turn my insides because I know who is on the other end. And of late my greatest obsession has been about restoring my blog and shaping my writing into a pile of words that feed souls. It’s almost 9pm, the notification comes in, I definitely know it’s my host and I pick up my phone hoping its news about my restored domain. That premonition of doom. An imaginary knife stabs my tummy and for some reason it knocks out all air from my canal. For a second there I had tears in my eyes. Because within I felt repressed, I needed to vent, to chant, to sing if I could. I simply needed to put my voice out there and address the state of my world, yet here was a new stumbling block. My domain had gone on recession

My Yogi, you have been a channel i draw strength from through this journey

First things first, I did what any rational woman would do, I hang up and called my favorite to vent. Not my initial intention though, but emotion over powered rationality. My Yogi picks up my calls and I spend my first few minutes pouring my anger out on her about how I can’t do this anymore, how am thinking of new means of building my brand, and how I had an option of leaving all I had accomplished and beginning afresh. Bitter pill, but I had to face facts. It was either I start afresh or start afresh. She made me face my options and pick the most reasonable. Of course she told me to sleep over it for a few days, but I have never known myself to be patient with my own decisions. I think most of the time I have it figured out.

I guess it was a season of full transformation though, from my depression posts to blossoming, This flower was finally ready to be added to a bouquet that would make some broken hearted soul a little more happy. My journey was pretty easy. See, my body is arranged in some clock dimension that flows against the currents of the normal mundane functioning. I am more active at night than during the day. My muse flows best when the rest twist within their sheets. Most of my posts actually go up at midnight. Bingo!!! That light bulb that lit my mind. Long story short, here we have it, the birth of my new baby, My midnight muse. I felt discouraged at first, because this meant rebuilding my brand from scratch but in reality I guess am peeling off my old skin and taking a new journey from all dimensions. Then again realization hit me, the greatest of journeys begin with these small steps, so I am going to make mine without caring about what lays ahead or what I have left behind. Am simply documenting the now and hoping to find more life and adventure along the way.

The raindrops are back, but with it came a new revelation. Just like a life cycle, the same way they came down, at some point they evaporate, cluster and form clouds before they shower us with blessings. guess when the raindrops hit you, you see the soldiers coming home from a victorious battle, they cluster in a puddle on the ground, content over how well their efforts have made the environment green. On a sunny day, when the wind blows not, the puddle settle and clearly we can see a reflection of how peaceful the sky is. And maybe that calm is just what we are headed for… The raindrops are falling.

Adios Thoughts of the Soil, Bienvenue My Midnight Muse….