Prepare Him Room
(Disclaimer: This blog has been rated PG: 13. It may be suitable for children robbed of the sanctity of the magic of childhood. It may not be suitable for adults who have refused touch with reality. Thank you.)
In the hustle and bustle of this commercially overrated season called Christmas, I often ponder on certain things... mostly things I’d like to perform an experiment about. Say, not buying anyone any Christmas presents and seeing if my picture is still on their refrigerator. Which of course has been rebutted by, “Well we won’t buy you presents either then.” Could I possibly be the only person who may not get a Christmas present and be COMPLETELY and utterly fine with it?
When we were growing up in Nigeria, -my siblings and I- my parents never celebrated Christmas in our home. At least not to the extent that America has guided my parents’ children to corrode their wills down to. My mother always told us, when we saw other children receive presents (mostly sweets, and money), that Christmas was not a celebration for our benefit in the way that we were being taught. Christmas morning found us feasting of course, (By the way, Christmas is definitely a time that makes me EXTREMELY nostalgic for Nigeria. We KNOW how to get down with the celebration. NO Christmas here has ever even breathed next to the scale, let alone climb it,) but the point was to remain the point.
I did not particularly care to cherish this wisdom that my mom tried ever so patiently to instill into me. Partly because there was some hypocrisy involved. See, we were not supposed to expect anything from our parents, but people expected things from them, which they delivered. My mom would explain that those people do not have the luxury of the knowledge we had about what Christmas was about. I respectfully chose not learn this lesson because quite frankly, the ignorant people looked happier, and nicer dressed.
Let me explain what a Nigerian Christmas looks like.
If you didn’t have relatives before Christmas in Nigeria, you certainly will have some at Christmas. They will all of a sudden run out of money. You will all of a sudden have these titles that YOU KNOW you hadn’t been crowned with in ANY ceremonies, (e.g.: Chief, Lord, The Main Man, the bomb-diggity, etc).
If you were starving before Christmas in Nigeria, you won’t be starving at Christmas. Just walk into any home, they’ll feed you. They’ll likely feed you enough to last you till next Christmas! You are never hungry because after eating at your house, just walk it off, and when you walk far enough, enter the first house you see and gorge yourself there.
There is music. The kind of music that does not consent to your sitting around; it makes your hips sway, you tail shake, your liver quiver, your groove improve. It’s always there, and there’s always mirth.
There is no anger, no tension. No discomfort. Whoever you’re mad at, you forgive them at Christmas. You can totally hate them after the New Year’s Day; but during Christmas, you love on each other.
If you are a goat, cow, chicken, turkey, rabbit, bush rat, or fish that lives in the backyard, I would begin to be really nervous whenever someone starts to play Christmas carols.
If you are a child, this is the time to be all the mischievous you might have been saving up all year, because you’re with your grandparents; and your parents are powerless and therefore can do SQUAT when your grandparents are around.
If you are the biggest pots in the house, start doing some exercises because you’re about to go to work!
We don’t have Santa Claus, We have Father Christmas. They have similarities like, the outfit. Their stories are different though; Santa Claus comes from the North Pole, Father Christmas comes from “the Galaxy”. Santa Claus comes to the homes of the children in America, in Nigeria, children go to see Father Christmas, and when you do go to see him, he does give you a toy. You usually select from a list and when you go to see him and ask from that list, you get “exactly what you wanted.” Oh, and in Nigeria, Father Christmas is black… ahem… excuse me… he is Nigerian skinned.
Whoever he was, my mother’s children were discouraged to believe in them, because they didn’t tell the truth about who they were. Yeah, I was a really, really, really good kid. My mom was very, very, very particular about what her children imbibed. Anyway, my mother told us that Christmas was about a Lord, who while we hated still, came on earth with wondrous love. The 25th of December was a day that Christians chose to celebrate his birthday. I remember the first time it actually occurred to me that the 25th of December was Jesus’ birthday. I felt bad. On the birthday of everyone I have met, it has always been their day. We focus on that person, remember them, call them, make a fuss over them, and give them presents. On Jesus’ birthday though, I call other people, I remember other people, I fuss over other people, and myself; I focus on other people, and myself. Jesus gets a chapter and prayer on Christmas morning, and it is all about those presents under that tree.
This year the song “Joy to the world!” struck me in a way that it never had before. At the line: “…prepare him room…” I stopped singing and pondered in mid hymn. Do we? Do we prepare Him room? Do we open our hearts to welcome the King of glory who didn’t have to come. Who didn’t have to be born KNOWING that he was going to die for people who didn’t even like Him. He came to be born for Herod who pursued his life. He came for me. He came to remind me that He thinks I hung the moon! I haven’t made him room. I’ve been so busy going about everything that has to be done in preparation for this day, going out and about with family and friends, preparing for “that day”, that I’ve forgotten that I should make Him a cake. I should make him a real room instead of a manger. I should take presents to people who don’t get it on Easter, or Valentine’s Day, or their birthday. I should tell people about Him and how special He makes me feel. I should buy him presents: like, resolutions to live my life better, or to care about someone whom he loves but that person doesn’t feel it. I should make Him dinner and talk about Him, and hear Him tell me what it was like when He was a child.
Our hearts are so cluttered; especially at Christmas. Christ is not the wreath you hang on the door outside, he is not the tree in the corner of the room, He is not the lights you strew all over the place, He is not the presents underneath the tree. He is THE POINT. He is the reason WHY we get to… well… forget Him.
Happy birthday Jesus, I was not there, but it’s nice to know you cared so much to come and save my soul. Happy birthday Jesus, my gift is this life; I can’t believe you came for me. What a nice surprise.
Joy to the world, the Lord is come!
Let earth receive her King.
Let every heart
Prepare Him room…!
Saturday, December 25, 2010
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Freedom
It is one of those nights again. I am forcing myself to go to sleep knowing that it would be a feat fetching no avail. But yet I contend my wide open eyes in hopes it would tire of the insomnia still captured in it.
I don't like these kinds of nights because in them I start to think. Too much. Way too much. I don't like these kinds of nights. And I like them.
I think about things. Memories flood me. Why's, How's, What Ifs begin to bathe my head in retrospect of the past day, week, year… life.
Tonight I thought about a conscious decision I made last year and it almost brought me to tears.
All my life, I have been able to go through any situation, be it pain, happiness, sadness, gladness, sorrow, joy with a minimal amount of a display of emotion. If and when I do display them, I immediately regret it and seize it back into me and keep on… walking. As I grew older, it became almost impossible for me to continue to do that. When I was sad, I cried uncontrollably. When I was happy, I sucked the source of it dry. When I was in sorrow, I felt like I was going to die. That was me. However, these things happened in season and times and just like their simile, they would leave and I would continue on, [not necessarily learning any lesson in the process].
Last year dealt me blows though that concentrated on destroying that in me without intending to. The intentions were to destroy me. In God's blessing however, I believe in the Creator of heaven and earth; therefore, it ended up destroying the evil and leaving me be.
During the trying times of last year towards the middle of it, I felt myself regressing to that which I used to be. I had had enough. It was time to forget; to shove it all as far back into the recesses of my mind as I possible could and continue on with whatever I could delve into to make sure it never reared it ugly head back into my thoughts. It was in one of those moment when in absolute helplessness, I knew that I could not come back to that again. Not again. Not ever again.
I asked God to deal me that pain in all the intentions in which it was meant to release me. I told Him I was not ready to feel better. I did not want to dive into a lot of work to keep from thinking. I didn't want to take whatever medication I was given to make me feel less anxious or to feel less depressed. I did not want to see a therapist and I wasn't going to. (I am NOT disproving or dissuading anyone from doing any of these. I just didn't want to). I did not want to easily have this come and go again…
…and again.
And He did. I felt sorrow like I'd never felt before. In that time, I ate less, much less. I was reclusive, I was quite useless, I had moments when I walked around in a zombie-like state. My mind didn't really think of anything but the pain I was in and the pain I had always been in. I was angry without trying not to be. I was dark and cold and helpless.
In that time also, I found God. His word meant everything it was supposed to mean in my life. I remembered things, hurts, happiness, laughter. I remembered me, the way "me" was ordained by her maker to be. The way "me" had found pleasure in doing it the way everybody but the potter had made her to be. Most of all, in that time I learned to forgive. I realized that all the flaws I had, had been hurts manifesting themselves in undeserved ways. I let it go. I gave it all to God. I forgave those who had caused me pain and cared for those who hurt me. (That is HARD!) I let it go.
Lord of hosts! (Insert relieving laughter here)
Psalm 126: When the Lord brought back the captives to Zion, we were like men who dreamed. Our mouths were filled with laughter, our tongues with songs of joy….
I am sitting here on the couch in my mother's living room and I have tears threatening the rims of my eyelids. I have never had that happen before. I have cried for many things in my life. I have cried for being in the brink of tasting what freedom tasted like and stopping just short of that finish line. Not having just that last bit of gusto to finish. I am sitting here and for the first time, I am crying now because I know it. I know what it is that in all my wisdom and knowledge, I proudly know nothing.
Nothing but this: You (Lord) will keep in PERFECT peace, Him whose mind is stayed on You. Because He trusts in You. (Isaiah 26:3).
I am not completely done being pruned. After the marathon and crossing the finish line, there will be pies, wint-o-green mints, chocolate eclairs and such like. If I need to be ready for this marathon called life, I need to make a conscious to ensure to make brussels sprouts a food group in my life. I am not done being pruned I don't want to be. I am in no shape or form perfect or near it. God likes me this way though. Always yearning for more…
…of Him.
I don't like these kinds of nights because in them I start to think. Too much. Way too much. I don't like these kinds of nights. And I like them.
I think about things. Memories flood me. Why's, How's, What Ifs begin to bathe my head in retrospect of the past day, week, year… life.
Tonight I thought about a conscious decision I made last year and it almost brought me to tears.
All my life, I have been able to go through any situation, be it pain, happiness, sadness, gladness, sorrow, joy with a minimal amount of a display of emotion. If and when I do display them, I immediately regret it and seize it back into me and keep on… walking. As I grew older, it became almost impossible for me to continue to do that. When I was sad, I cried uncontrollably. When I was happy, I sucked the source of it dry. When I was in sorrow, I felt like I was going to die. That was me. However, these things happened in season and times and just like their simile, they would leave and I would continue on, [not necessarily learning any lesson in the process].
Last year dealt me blows though that concentrated on destroying that in me without intending to. The intentions were to destroy me. In God's blessing however, I believe in the Creator of heaven and earth; therefore, it ended up destroying the evil and leaving me be.
During the trying times of last year towards the middle of it, I felt myself regressing to that which I used to be. I had had enough. It was time to forget; to shove it all as far back into the recesses of my mind as I possible could and continue on with whatever I could delve into to make sure it never reared it ugly head back into my thoughts. It was in one of those moment when in absolute helplessness, I knew that I could not come back to that again. Not again. Not ever again.
I asked God to deal me that pain in all the intentions in which it was meant to release me. I told Him I was not ready to feel better. I did not want to dive into a lot of work to keep from thinking. I didn't want to take whatever medication I was given to make me feel less anxious or to feel less depressed. I did not want to see a therapist and I wasn't going to. (I am NOT disproving or dissuading anyone from doing any of these. I just didn't want to). I did not want to easily have this come and go again…
…and again.
And He did. I felt sorrow like I'd never felt before. In that time, I ate less, much less. I was reclusive, I was quite useless, I had moments when I walked around in a zombie-like state. My mind didn't really think of anything but the pain I was in and the pain I had always been in. I was angry without trying not to be. I was dark and cold and helpless.
In that time also, I found God. His word meant everything it was supposed to mean in my life. I remembered things, hurts, happiness, laughter. I remembered me, the way "me" was ordained by her maker to be. The way "me" had found pleasure in doing it the way everybody but the potter had made her to be. Most of all, in that time I learned to forgive. I realized that all the flaws I had, had been hurts manifesting themselves in undeserved ways. I let it go. I gave it all to God. I forgave those who had caused me pain and cared for those who hurt me. (That is HARD!) I let it go.
Lord of hosts! (Insert relieving laughter here)
Psalm 126: When the Lord brought back the captives to Zion, we were like men who dreamed. Our mouths were filled with laughter, our tongues with songs of joy….
I am sitting here on the couch in my mother's living room and I have tears threatening the rims of my eyelids. I have never had that happen before. I have cried for many things in my life. I have cried for being in the brink of tasting what freedom tasted like and stopping just short of that finish line. Not having just that last bit of gusto to finish. I am sitting here and for the first time, I am crying now because I know it. I know what it is that in all my wisdom and knowledge, I proudly know nothing.
Nothing but this: You (Lord) will keep in PERFECT peace, Him whose mind is stayed on You. Because He trusts in You. (Isaiah 26:3).
I am not completely done being pruned. After the marathon and crossing the finish line, there will be pies, wint-o-green mints, chocolate eclairs and such like. If I need to be ready for this marathon called life, I need to make a conscious to ensure to make brussels sprouts a food group in my life. I am not done being pruned I don't want to be. I am in no shape or form perfect or near it. God likes me this way though. Always yearning for more…
…of Him.
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