...Prepare Him room...!

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…!

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.

The Love and The Law

I am currently sitting in the basement of the home in which I work and live and the vast silence reminds me that it is only 6:30am and I am yet to have gone to bed. I got up a little bit ago because I began to drive my mind crazy with wondering and contemplation and I think my mind has just about had it with me, so I must share.

Lately, I have been struggling with where I fit into this whole Christianity mess. I came to the conclusion a few days ago that I didn't want to be one.

Don't get me wrong; I desire to live my life according to the will of Christ for it, in respect and gratitude for a blood shed unselfishly for me. However, I do not want to be found anywhere near the label of "christian" and here is why...

I grew up in Nigeria and I had the opportunity to visit back again earlier this year for five months. It is a trip I regret in large part... (of course, not all parts of it are regrettable). I still suffer the agonies I sustained from that trip and it is in large part from Christians.
Please understand that this is not a complaint. I do not wish to blame anyone and I don't really have anything to blame on anyone so it is not a blame story.
In Nigeria, we have a practice I like to call Intolerant Faith. We still practice the old time and very under-educated religion. Pharisaical thought and reason that does not allow for strays to believe that there is a God who loves them and does not just want to shove His law down their throat. Shorts are not allowed in chapel, neither is the chewing of gum. These are sins! SAYS WHO?! I don't think Jesus gives a damnation if I chew my gum in chapel! We do welcome the sinners, we have outreaches were we tell them for 13 seconds that Jesus loves them, and then 69 minutes we spend telling them the commandments. When they do show up in church, the preacher gets up and condemns them for their sins.

I have more friends today within the last 3 years, than I've had before then. Before then, (and I am still working on it), I was the evangelist. I wanted to spread the law of God to and fro; and there was nothing wrong with that. I had an answer for every question, every denial, every straying thought. And they weren't necessarily wrong. Sometimes, It's not about the answer, it's not about logic. It's about time, about presence and about love. In all my preaching and professing, I NEVER understood. If you don't bother to find out whether or not there was a drought, then you will never understand why the fruit yielded poorly.
Here's where I might get a bit controversial. A young African child transitioning into America is one of the most scary, invigorating, confusing, emotional, and exciting time. It all in all, is difficult. I didn't understand the ranks growing up and in Nigeria we are taught NOTHING about slavery. We know nothing about it in Nigeria.
I went to a school in the north shore with very few African American students (about 7). In due time, I would find out that I was naturally supposed to "join" the African American clique. I didn't. I was informed then that I was not black... or that I was "playing white". I looked down at my hand, and still clearly "black", I walked on. I get asked often by some African-Americans why I don't have many "black" friends. Honestly, I don't think I walked around deciphering between the races and deciding to shun my own. I have considered over time, the subconscious part of it and this I offer: I don't know how to "act black", and this has believe it or not, been an issue for almost every "African American" I have met. Not all of them, but most of them. I am a Nigerian girl. I grew up in Nigeria, not in black America. I am having enough trouble combining my own accent with the general American accent. I don't need to ghettorize it. I sound ridiculous when I do. African kids who come to America and try to be "black" look and sound ridiculous.
I have more "white" friends than I do "black" ones because I am not "black" enough. If you understand this, you won't be angry with me, If you don't understand, you will be. It's not that I don't want "black" friends, it's that I am averse to being made to feel like a misfit.

I was going somewhere with that anecdote.

I am not trying to utter a fulmination from my faith at all. On the contrary, I am trying to demarcate myself from what I have experienced it to be and what I know it to be. I don't generally feel inferior to anyone except for when I am in the company of Christians. In their company, I feel like I constantly need to change little bits and pieces of me to fit "their" sermon until I lose who God had identified me to be in the first place. I have been betrayed the most by them; there is this sense of family that we create, (like an inpenetrable cult) that we coax each other to share and then we gossip by "sharing" it outside of confidence, plastering "prayer request" on it to call it good. I feel judgment, I feel reproach, I feel intolerance. The best Christian living I have ever seen was through an non Christian.

I don't want to belong to anyone or anything that does not allow me to remain exactly what I was created to be; and if I strayed from that, be patient and kind and without judgment rear me back to home. That is a feat Christianity today is yet to achieve.

I will declare however, that I have been incomparably blessed by friends who have shown me the essence of the Law. Who have shown me that that the Law in all practicality is love. Who have shown me this love.

And I love them... too.

The Nakedness of Gossip

Before I start let me start this post, I would love for you to read a status that was on one of my friend‘s facebook page. Please don‘t skim through this verse assuming that you know it, actually read it.
“If a brother sins against you, go and tell someone else, but do not approach the brother about it. If he sins against you again, go and tell another person. And if he sins yet again, mention it to someone else, then drop a hint to the brother. Sooner or later, he'll get the message. If not, leave the church and find somewhere else to go.” Matthew 18:15 (John Meade).
The point of my bringing John’s status will manifest itself within this blog… and so I begin…
I came across the story of Noah and proceeding to read through it, I was very happy because it was such a familiar story that brought memories of bible story times with my mom wrapping its nostalgic arms around me. I read beyond the flood into what happened with Noah and his family following the rebirth of the earth.
Noah became a vineyard owner and from the fruits of his labor, Noah enjoyed some wine. However, like 140 million of the world’s population, Noah didn’t know when to say when; Noah would get drunk.
It so happened that in one of those “not saying when” phases, the man that God had chosen to assist Him in eradicating just about all of planet earth found himself sprawled on his bed, drunk and naked.
It also happens that his son, Mr. Ham, (no seriously, that’s his name. Really wish I could say I made it up, but I didn’t) walks into Noah’s tent and finds what I can only describe as “at least 1½ years of therapy worth TMI” looking up at him in the form of an unclothed father. Ham runs out and tell his brothers Shem and Japheth who in turn take a garment, put it on their shoulders and walking backwards into their father’s tent, cover him up.
Noah wakes up and finds out what his youngest son had done to him and Noah curses Ham. And it is one of those serious old testament curses where they don’t just curse you. No, like several of your generations pretty much have your evil to live after and after and after them. Cool huh?
Genesis 9:25-26 “Cursed be Canaan! The lowest of slaves will he be to his brothers…”
Vs26: Blessed be the Lord, the God of Shem! May Canaan be the slaves of Shem. May God extend the territory of Japheth; may Japheth live in the tents of Shem, and may Canaan be his slave.”
Yep, that bites… for Shem. All he did was go outside and tell his brothers that his father was lying down drunk and naked on his bed. That was all he did. Right? Or was it?
I always love people’s thoughts on something I write or say, so that if I am wrong or could learn even greater things than I already have been blessed to know I would grow in wisdom.
Ham did what I did everyday but somehow never ever have actually realized or taken into consideration in the slightest bit. In fact, I was so unaware of the fact that I do it, that now I am actually completely and utterly eradicating it out of my life so much so that I don’t even stay in the company of it being done if I can help it. Ham did something that when I would read about it, I would just condemn him so much and say “I would never do something like that” and carry on to Genesis 10. You don’t usually get gossip out of that story when you read it. But I thought more as I decided to actually grow out of the practice really and stop living in the denial of “well we are ‘discussing’ this matter for the well-being of this person” on the meaning of gossip and this is what I came up with.
“Gossip is the conversation between two or more people about someone else that takes away that ‘someone else’s dignity, respect, and privacy. You are not “helping” them by having a conversation about them that only speaks of their wrongs with no intentions of actively ENCOURAGING them out of it. Interventions are such instances where they sit around and talk about the person and then SOMETHING happens. They DO something immediately following that discussion. Gossip is such an instance where they sit around and talk about the person and then NOTHING happens. They DON’T do anything immediately following that discussion; in fact, they don’t do anything a year after having that discussion.
When I was little, my mother explained this story in a way that made me think that Ham had gone outside and blabbed to his brothers and laughed about his dad’s nakedness and I had gone with that for a while until I actually read it again when I was older and found out that the bible said that Ham went outside and told his brothers. It didn’t say anything about laughter or jest. I always assumed that for him to merit the curse that he did, he must have done a bit more than just telling his brothers that his father was naked. I found out a few days ago, that I actually believed that he did just go out and tell them without the blabbing or laughing. Why? Because of the way that his brothers went about covering their father. They went with a garment on their shoulders and walked backwards not looking at his nakedness. There is just a little bit more meticulous care than say… throwing the cloth on Noah and telling him to cover himself up or waking him and informing him to stop making a fool of himself.
Shem and Japheth by getting up after unfortunately finding out from their brother that their father was naked went in with a garment backwards (preserving his dignity and respect) and covered their father’s nakedness (preserving his privacy).
I am not even going to speak on the times that we are absolutely sure we are gossiping. We know the really apparent times, like just random conversations that really really tarnish someone’s image and embitter the minds of everyone else present during your rant who might potentially meet them. I am not going to talk about those times. I am addressing those times that we are more than sure we are NOT gossiping but actually are in an entirely whole magnificently crippling way.
You know that time when I approached someone and told them something that may have occurred with someone else that I thought was really weird and awkward? Yeah that was gossiping. How? Well, if I walked into a room and overheard someone telling someone else about how weird and awkward I was, I wouldn’t appreciate it. The person I spoke about, not only did I not preserve their dignity respect and privacy, I took it away by speaking them out of the sheer nature of that person.
You know when I have a friend who might have a problem and exasperatedly I come to you and vent? Is that gossip or is that seeking solace?
Maybe; maybe not?
What was the outcome of my “venting”?
If my friend and I proceeded to talk about said person and speak on their shortcoming (while of course throwing their “strong points” in there - for good measure), and then calling it a night and then not speaking with that person privately and in a no finger pointing manner, then yes we gossiped. However, if we did it the proper way and found the friend and sat her down and encouragingly while protecting who that friend was, spoke with her, then we did not gossip. Our endeavor was PRODUCTIVE. Gossip is an UNPRODUCTIVE conversation about someone.
Shem and Japheth did not throw a cloth on Noah and say “you have got to stop doing this. Get yourself together and go to rehab or something” (granted AA was not meeting at that time). Would they have a point if they did? Yeah huh! They did not wake him up and point out how ridiculous he looked sprawled naked on his bed. Would they have had a point with that too? Ya betcha! No, they saw the man inside the drunk. And at that time, the best thing they could do for him was cover him up.
… and they did.
So to summarize, gossip is an unproductive conversation that does not protect the dignity, respect or privacy. In gossip I seek to point out the other’s faults and unfortunately for me
… I only end up exposing myself.