Motherhood

Once upon a time you mattered to yourself and it mattered a lot how other people viewed you. Make up, stylish dress were a bare minimum. Should I include the times it was all veggies so that the cute dress or the awesome jeans that cost a fortune could fit?

All this was before the tiny man came. Suddenly it is more about him. Schedules can’t be planned as was before. Waking up early and getting dressed can be changed by the fact that he woke little earlier than anticipated, slept a little more than expected or the flu that comes even though the weather mimics a macro furnace.

Suddenly, and without thinking much about it, your bust is their doormat and they stomp on it with glee as they look for a path to your earrings or the hair band.

These things make you a heroine. You manage two lives and somehow maintain a near normal life in the eyes of life. Yes, some may fault a lateness here or a tardiness in keeping pace with routine but in truth it says that you are special, for God made you so.

I watched a mother and her tyke today and couldn’t help thinking what an awesome God we have, for placing such special people in our midst.

Advertisements

Teaching

Putting it all to thought, the turn of a new year may mean one thing to a teacher; starting the same thing all over again.

Five years into it, I dare say this is not quite true. Look at it this way; does a mother of three have the exact same experience thrice? I don’t think so. The same goes for a teacher. Each class has its unique experience and share of joy and challenge.

One class may have a majority of mature students – motivated to do the right thing at the right time and make teaching a joy. Another class may seem to have all the ‘wrong’ crop of students; a group whose existence is buried in what the next great hip hop beat would sound, or what the hot ‘chick’ teacher might be doing at that moment. Going into such a classroom just may be a pain in the neck.

The art of teaching the same thing in a thousand different ways is the beauty God put into this experience, realising that even as a teacher you don’t quite know it all. You have to be creative about singing the same song with different tunes, all the while being interesting and relevant.

Teaching is not a vocation for churning more human resource into the world of labour. It is a journey one walks with individual students. Some are confident enough to go across the bridge but still hold your hand, others are scared that they will not make it across, yet they do.

It is true that some make a neat mess of everything, and don’t make the cut, but it is they that build our patience and help grow our character. As we pray for them, we learn to lean on hope that they will make something out of life in their own way.

The flipping into a new year is then an anticipation of a new experience, not just with the admission of a new lot, but even with each of the older ones as they face a new class year. The returning of alumni with their flashy cell phones and the outlandish sense of fashion, adds icing to the cake. It is a worthwhile journey.

Mich

You are a gift, Mich. I remember the tight grip of your tiny hand and the bright look on your curious eyes this day one year ago. You never cried much and for a time, I worried much about that. It also took you a while to learn how to suckle but you got it eventually – and became good at feeding.

I am always amused by the memory of you rolling over to get to things then squinting, snorting and shaking your head with glee. You are awesome, Mich.

I looked forward to a lifetime of seeing you grow, feeling that grip and hearing your voice every other time.

I hope to be with you one day, son. I am sad to miss so much about you; your first step, your first words. That can never be retrieved but I pray God will give me something of you to make life bright.

Happy first birthday big boy. I love you.

Daddy.

The Apple

O apple luscious
O apple red
O apple lovely
O apple ripe

In gratitude of heart
Lift my eyes did I
But lo bless me
Another apple saw I

O apple luscious
O apple red
O apple lovely
O apple ripe

Not more luscious
Not more red
I won’t say more lovely
And not more ripe

O apple luscious
O apple red
O apple lovely
O apple ripe

Blink hard tried I
To temptation ward off
Turn away tried I
But all effort vain was

O apple luscious
O apple red
O apple lovely
O apple ripe

Outward my arm held I
A grab to make
But heart got stung
When fruit was missed

O apple luscious
O apple red
O apple lovely
O apple ripe

I called it tart
No good for my tongue
To kill the lust
And bury the want

O apple luscious
O apple red
O apple lovely
O apple ripe

But no fool is sense
Big tool mind can be
The eyes can see
And heart can feel

O apple luscious
O apple red
O apple lovely
O apple ripe

Truth’s a pain
The heart won’t feign
That the apple’s not mine
And another will find

O apple luscious
O apple red
O apple lovely
O apple ripe

Shame

Ah shame
Away with you, for
Error is no chalice
Error is my teacher.

Ah shame
I showed you in, and
My life your home you made
My dignity a mat you trod.

Ah shame
I embraced you, then
Fear in my heart you bred
Fear became my lot.

Ah shame
Your lie I believed, that
To err is to break a limb
To err there never pardon is.

Ah shame
I call you out this day, saying
Draw out my gut if you will
Draw my blood and kill.

Ah shame
I am no longer afraid, so
If death be mine let it be
If healing be mine I will heal.

Ah shame
I am not authentic, then
Let my shame be exposed
Let my folly be seen.

Ah shame
I choose to be real
By exposing my belly
By bringing out my truth.

Ah shame
Away with you, and
Error is no chalice
Error is my teacher.

Mum

It was the era of wooden clothes pegs and as she hang out her laundry some of these broke. I worked out a way of mending them. Our conversation then, was along the lines of me starting a workshop for mending broken clothes pegs. I must have been eight or nine. Not long before that, I had been showing her drawings I had made. In her motherly tone she had marvelled at their beauty, “What would you need to be an artist? ” she asked. “Lots of paper”, was my answer. “Mama, did you know that paper is made from wood? They crush it into pulp at the factory and dry it out into sheets of paper” I had quipped. She promised to plant many trees so that I would have an endless supply of paper – and wood for my workshop.

I was never an artist and no more pegs got fixed but Mama’s compound has many trees. It may seem she led me on with my silly whims but not so. She sensed dreams and passion then became a draught to fan that flame.

Eight years gone today since Mama went to rest with her Lord. She blew some wind beneath my wings to set me aloft, to a place where rising currents caught on and are carrying me higher.

Blessed memory.

ANGER

Great thoughts that touched me.

nekoye

Much has been said about anger. It is many things including scary. Anger occurs generally due to being hurt. When personal boundaries are crossed it is natural to feel hurt. On a serious note, anger wears one down. It is tiresome to be angry.. I mean you are always grumpy having, a long face, feeling like smashing something and what not.

I used to be angry about a lot of things but I came to learn that there is only to be angry and that one is not me. It is God. His anger is Justified unlike yours and mine. So what if your life is not going the way you wanted it to go? You don’t belong to yourself. You were bought at a price 1 Corinthians 6:20..

I was reading the story of Joseph. You remember him, the handsome lad that was the second youngest of 12 brothers. Honestly speaking…

View original post 421 more words

%d bloggers like this: