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Love and Life – Whiskey Lullaby

Am sitting out here. Somewhere in one of these gardens Wangari Maathai fought hard for. She must have experienced love. Right what am going through to have so much energy and zeal to fight. Because where would I have gone this instance to calm the heart. What better place is there to get peace? Isn’t it just why so many people are throwing themselves from rooftops of 30 storied buildings? No gardens to find calm. Peace.

So You go up there trying to reach God and ask him why. You get to the top and look at the world down there, everyone in their own business not minding how hurt you are, how one person could be so cruel to another. You realize the peace you needed can actually not be found here either. God is nowhere around to answer your questions, you can’t go back down there to so much pain and torment. So you decide to fly. Go further up away from the world. Away from pain and the people and closer to God. You are up on prime time news.

The paper headlines tomorrow
“27 year old jumps from 32 storied building over failed relationship.” “Man takes life over cheating girlfriend”
Tuko and Ghafla make money with you:
17 things you didn’t know about Gusto’s girlfriend. Number 9 will shock you.”

You watch from where you are and smile. Atleast you made some writer somewhere meet his target today. You are in the papers for the next one week. The conversation about love, and young people, and suicide bla bla bla. Everyone giving input of what you should have done instead. Because life is much more important than some woman. If only they knew she was actually that life to you. So many opinions. If only they were in your shoes. Maybe they could understand how life was pointless without her. How you tried so much to get another option. But love is not for the weak. You agreed with yourself. You are weak. Vulnerable. You were not made for love. Whatever people will call you. And all you want right now is peace. What more peace than somewhere asleep in a grave. Right? And off you flew.

You watch from the grave. You hoped the best for her. She gets the news first. On the site where you fell on a blunt object, she comes there every lunch time. You can see torment in her eyes. Pain. She knows she could have stopped this if she wanted. But she didn’t. Too carried away. Tears form on her left eye. She wipes it away fast before it drops. She stands on the cracked ground where you fell. She looks up to see the height. It must have been painful. She thinks. She realises how much she loved you. She loves you. But its too late. Or is it sympathy? You think. But it couldn’t be. She no longer talks to him.

Its not what you had envisioned. You had hoped to give them space. You had hoped she’d be happy. She wouldn’t need to text him and delete the messages. She wouldn’t need to plan meeting him when you are at work. They would have all the freedom to love and fall in love without you coming in the way. You had hoped her the best. Love and laughter. Long life.

She comes with your two kids once in a while. They play around oblivious of her aching heart. Oblivious of the ground you took your life with. She wants answers. They don’t seem to come. She needs closure. Nothing makes sense. She blames herself. No. The guy. She blames the devil. She doesn’t know who to blame. But she knows she lost gold at the sight of shiny silver. Now her world has fallen apart. And she can’t tell what to do.

One day she dumps the kids at their grannies. Today she must find closure. She must get answers. Even if its from you. She arrives the same time she always does. 1.37Pm. The same time you fell from the sky. Only today, she doesn’t stop at the spot. She walks on. Climbs up the 32 floors in a fraction of a minute. She thinks she’ll find answers up there. Peace. She thinks she’ll find God. Or you. And you two will answer her. She takes 2 hours at the rooftop. Crying. She finally finds it. Peace. More than just peace. She walks to the edge. Right where you jumped from. How much she has longed for this feeling. Deep calls unto deep. You don’t know what to do. Its not what you wanted. What will be the reason for you leaving if she cant find that freedom and peace. She should stay. Atleast for you. Atleast for your kids. She has a better option. But you of all people know better. You have been there. You don’t even know what to feel. Happy that she’s coming, or sad she didn’t find the freedom you thought you were giving her.
The media again.
“developing story:Woman takes life 2 weeks after boyfriend.”

It has been 5 days. The guy who brought you here walks to the same spot everyday at 3.37PM. The same hour she took her life. He loved her. And he doesn’t understand why she’d do such a thing when their love was at peak. She had called him 2 hours before she took her life. Told him he caused her do the thing she was about to do. He is the reason she’s miserable. Then she hung up. He needs answers. Closure. Its been two hours since he stopped to check out this place. Today he has overstayed. He looks up at the height of the building, down at the cracked ground where she fell. He thinks long and hard. And then he finds it. Peace. Closure. He knows where the answers are. He takes the stairs.

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Love – When a good girl gon bad

Matchstick Fire. Love. Gustochronicles

He sat on the matatu earphones plugged in. He could hear love. The song playing over and over.

ūüéĶūüéĶWhen a good girl gone bad… ūüéĶūüéĶ Sauti Sol.

No song played on his phone though. The music was in his head. Voices. Confusion. Fear. Depression. All together in unison tormenting his once peaceful mind. He could not fathom how the world could be so cruel. How people could be so heartless. The more he wanted the thoughts away, the more they hit his head even harder.

He had been her solace in time of need. Her joy in times of sorrow. It was his shoulders she leaned on when she needed one. He could let her lean on it even when his burdens weighed on him. He would forget his for the time until she’d stood on her feet. And then he’d go back to where he left his. When she needed money, he had in most instances denied himself and lend it to her. Knowing too well she would never pay back. Love has a way of making you forget fast. Its why he never went back to claim for it. He forgot. It was love. He thought. When she couldn’t find a job, it was him who took her in. It was his money she used for application letters. His laptop and printers. His internet.

She stayed with him. She cooked the food he brought home. Slept in his bed. Lay on his chest all night long. Like a baby in its mother’s hands. Peaceful. Protected. With her there, he had the world in his hands. He had conquered it all. And when he made love to her, it was love all the way… He gave his all… She had to know she was queen and he the King.

So with the passion of a king for his kingdom and energy of a master on his slave, he made love to her. Nights on end. And each day, his love for her grew. With each thrust. Each heave. Every moan and scream. His love for her grew stronger.  deeper. And he wanted her to himself. Him for her. Her for him. With her, nothing else mattered. He wanted to live with her. Here. Now. Forever. He wanted to officially make her his wife the soonest he could just so this kingdom could be sealed.

She loved him too… The way a toddler loves its mother. Like water to a fish, so was he to her. He was her air. Her life. She could not live without him. It’s him she missed every second he was out fending for her. She wanted to be with him. Linger around him. Play with his hair. His Masculinity all over her. His scent around made more sense than the food he brought in the evening. Feeling his presence was enough. Better than the money he gave for supper. She missed everything about him. Every bit. Every second that passed without him seemed like hours. Days even.

At such times, she found solace in reading his articles. When she was not reading, she was busy cooking for him. Her king. Ironing his clothes or washing them. She washed with such devotion you would think she was bathing him. She loved every bit of it. And when he came home, it was all merry. Joy filled her air. The happiness she could never describe. It was bliss for the both of them. And they wanted to sit together. Dine, dance. Laugh. Watch movies. Cuddle. Make love. Sleep. As long as they were together, Even silence was fun. He’d occasionally gift her chocolate. For loving him this much.

At times, they’d take a walk in the dark. Holding hands, playing with each other’s hair, tease each other. He loved the walks. They’d see people bring up mansions. He would open up about his dreams and ambitions. Of owning several such apartments and more. Land too. How he had a future. A bright one. It was only now he was struggling with finding a good job. He also had a thing for good vehicles. Subarus especially. BMWs and Mercedes-Benz too… He dreamt of ferrying his children to school in one of those.

Then one day, she found a job. How happy for her he was. This was God-sent. After ages of searching, the light had finally shone on her. And they thanked God. Unfortunately, it was far away from him. This was no problem though. She promised to visit every once in a while. Stay in touch. He knew she was going to keep her promise. He trusted her. The goodbye was a sad one. He carried her bag to the bus station. At the bus station, he waited until the Matatu filled up with passengers. They hugged. Kissed. The Matatu left minutes later. He now had his phone and her memories to keep them together. She had her phone too… And fond memories of their love.

His thoughts were cut by the tout who was standing next to him asking for his bus fare. He smiled curtly and gave him a hundred shillings note. As he waited for his 30 bob change, he noticed the couple seated in the seat just next to him. They were in their own world. Laughing. Loving. Cuddling and exchanging sweet nothings. He felt the taste of bile in his mouth at the memories. Bitter at what their love had become. Regret. Just a month and two weeks away from the day she left for work. The song rung on:

“…She’s a heart-breaker…”

He remembered how things had changed three weeks into her new job. She had told him that her job was demanding too much from her. That she could no longer text him as much as she used to. That she slept early due to fatigue following a long day’s work. He was sad. But he understood her. She was working in one of the biggest media firms in East and Central Africa. It must have been so demanding. He tried to survive along. Tried to communicate only when she was available. That was not okay with him. What could he do though?! Love is what that matters. The heart. He encouraged himself.

But love is a different kind of feeling. You can feel when it flies out of the window. You can feel the vacuum fill the room. The emptiness. The cold heart. The warmth in your conversation takes off and words freeze even before they are out of the mouth.

So the conversations became shorter with each passing day. His chats were answered in one-word texts. She never visited either. He remembered her stories during her first weeks of how her bosses were hitting on her. Could she have fallen for their vibe? He remembered how her tone had drastically changed in their conversation. She was no longer the sweet humble girl he once loved. She was a lioness… Words fierce than the barking of a headteacher to a pupil. Hotter than a furnace. She no longer chose her words carefully when speaking to him. She didn’t care no more. Her words sometimes felt like venom. Like a dragon spitting fire right onto his already bleeding heart. He ached from within. Yet, he couldn’t do a thing.

So he sat in that Matatu. He remembered the words he had once read by Philip the sheriff. He had once said something about good girls:

“A good girl isn‚Äôt found in a church, an isolated village or in places where you think people have good morals reside.

There are two kinds of ‚Äúgood‚ÄĚ in a girl. The first is situational, where she appears good only because the devil has yet to tempt her. The second is tested, where he made his offering but she resisted. Sometimes when a man identifies a girl who has upstanding character or morals, what he actually found is a girl who has yet to be tossed into a world of sex, partying, money, or attention. Once that temptation occurs, or she is removed from a bubble that has kept her good, it‚Äôs nearly certain that she will dive head-first into the ocean of¬†human depravity.
In that case, a truly good girl is one who has conquered all kinds of temptations thrown at her and remained sensible. She has been around people who are super spoiled but she is not super spoiled. She has been in environments and circumstances that could have influenced her badly but she remained focussed.

That‚Äôs a good girl.”

The truth of these words dawned hard on him. He knew what category his girl was especially with all the bosses and fellow badass employees she had told him about during her first weeks of work.

So in that Matatu he closed his eyes. In agony. Praying. Not for himself but for the couple across. For all the other beautiful relationships as such. His had died out. The embers had long gone out. Just hot ashes and smoke left. A sign for those coming behind. There used to be a burning flame here. A fire. A furnace even. Hotter than coal, sulphur and brimstone combined.

But one day, It died out. Killed by God knows what. He didn’t even get the chance to know what part he played in killing it. At least he thought the person he’d trusted the most with the flame had put it out. He hoped to keep the ashes hot. And the smoke too. To serve as a sign. A sign for his son and generations to come. That Love is a beautiful thing. Until one day the flame goes off.

Photo Credit: Devin Avery

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The Interview

I remember you. From Campus. Though blurred, at least I’ve met your face somewhere.¬† In one of those corridors of knowledge maybe. Halls of wisdom.

From that night. Yes. Those locks. How could I forget them. You kept fiddling and rolling them all through. I said I liked them. Short as they were. I loved them. I told you I did. Genuinely. You shrugged, laughed away the joke. Sarcastically. Then you looked away. You didn’t even respond. As if you knew I didn’t want a reply.

Why could you respond though? You had it all going. The aura of importance all around you. You were the talk of the party. The reason all the ladies were twerking their asses off. Displaying more flesh than their Mothers advised.

I hated it. Like you were some god. And the twerking was all sacrifice the ladies could offer to appease you. Burnt offerings. And you blessed those that found favour in your eyes with spanks. They giggled and twerked even harder. I couldn’t get it.

I was just two weeks old at Chuka University when my roommate daisy tagged me along to this party. Fresh. Green and pure. Mother Teresa. All this was new to me. Sin. Abomination. My mother’s instructions lingered in my mind every 3 seconds,

“√ļmenye Kamb√≠ wathi√≠ guthoma. Don’t let these boys use you. Your man is waiting for you outside there after campus”

Every one of these reminders brought a fresh surge of anger. At you. At the way you used the ladies here only to pay them with hard spanks. Slaps on their bare asses hard enough to calm a bull on heat. I actually got angry that you did not respond to my compliment. Angry at Daisy for bringing me here in the first place. Angry at God for this lost society.

Then I met you in school. Monday. In your usual arrogance and air of importance. Your cigar in one hand and liquor bottle on the other. Who takes beer at the beginning of the week? Who was I to question you though? Mere fresher who’s not yet even discovered the shortest route to lecture theatre SGT1? so I stayed silent. Saved it for another day.

In the class, the lecturer knew you. And all through the lecture, you gave me no peace. Noise from start to finish. I couldn’t take it. So I politely asked you to tone it down or get out. How could I forget you? You had something better for me.

“Or what? Ama utanifunika na hio dress yako ya mafiriri?” You asked.

The laughter that followed. You will never know the embarrassment I felt. Like a bullet shot right through my soft heart. Pain with every giggle. Heart-wrenching.¬†I wish you knew what that dress meant to me. How I had used up all my savings to purchase it. And days later, I cried my eyes out because I couldn’t wear my favourite dress any longer.

Its been five years since then. Every time I see girls whining and grinding in music videos, I see you. Every time I see a lady in a mafiriri dress, the pain comes all over again. Am working on it. Day and night. Counselling sessions sometimes. Just for you.

Here we meet again sir. You look different. No locks, clean-shaven head, No jeans, blue suit. I can tell you remember me. The way you keep avoiding my eyes.

“Would you like us to move the interview to the afternoon or shall I have your papers now sir? ”

Thank you for the shares guys.

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KINDLED DREAMS

Forester Gustochronicles

The voice that wakes you up in the morning. That feeling that makes you jump out of bed however much sleep is sweet. That excitement you have about waking up the next morning before you even go to bed. The energy that jolts your whack ass up for work lest you and your son have marbles for supper, yawns for lunch and at least water for breakfast. Lest you start living on trees because your landlord couldn’t let you stay another month. He says he has children to feed too. And a woman to buy nice clothes.

The roar of a Subaru inside my head zooming past me on Thika super highway wakes me up every morning. Its loud voice reverberating in my stomach way before it zooms past us. I have not seen it yet but yes I know that’s a Subaru legacy coming. How wouldn’t I when my love for Subarus and that for my girlfriend are next door neighbours? So the Subaru overtakes the kiKenya mpya bus am plying the Thika superhighway in and I can still feel its movement an hour later. The feeling when that B.M.W X6, X8 overtakes your noisy Chania Sacco matatu and you want yours too. You want to wake up tomorrow and work harder.

See when you are in that Kenya mpya bus and a Mitsubishi Outlander vrooms past you. This time it’s being driven by a woman. And you begin fantasizing. Fantasies about your girlfriend still sitting her cats with campus boys on her trail after class, after church, in the hostel, in the market wasting their 30 bobs on smokies for her instead of saving them up to buy a Subaru!! And you visualize her behind that wheel. Driving on that highway. Nodding to her favourite jazz music or some Israel Houghton jam. She dropped akina guruneti n kana funny when she met you. Akina sijui gafage gacathi wa thuo haha… I know she still listens to them sometimes when am not there haha… Muthoni lemme not continue. Where was I? (I love those jams btw)

Si u have ever peeped from on top of that your kabus into a land cruiser V8 n there’s a woman behind the wheel. That kafeeling. Envy, ecstasy, you can’t tell. But it’s not even the woman behind the wheel that makes me craziest. There is a way women sit in those driver seats cjui it’s the accelerator pedal that’s high ama? Her dress or skirt or whatever she is wearing is way above her knees revealing acres n acres of flesh. Thighs my people. Thighs. Just when you are about to begin fantasizing, the holy spirit slaps you back to reality and you can hear him say “TABIA MBAYA Gusto!! That’s probably someone’s wife in the first place. (For those who can’t hear him, he sends another Subaru N12¬† just next to the woman’s V8. And you are no longer interested in the many hectares of skin you were engrossed with) And you want your own wife to drive n have her dress reveal skin when you are in the passenger’s seat. Because you know that makes you go crazy and when you get home…!!!

You also want those baby on board stickers at the rear mirror of your car. Who doesn’t??!! You can’t think of your children going through the same problems you went through with P.S.V matatus. They never used to stop for school going kids. Ati because we were paying 10 bob instead of 20. And we’d stay late on the bus stop until another kacanter lorry would come to our rescue (Bless you canter owner. bless u). And even when our parents started giving us the full 20 bob, they still despised us. As if our 20 bobs were made of clay. Different from that of the ‘big’ people.¬†Nkt! So you want to ferry your kids to and from school daily. Pick them like your affluent neighbours used to be picked sijui from Lions schools na wewe mlikua mnasomea Kafarage day C.D.F Primary.

It’s these voices that wake me up. I need no alarm clock. The noises from my boss who pays me peanuts saying am late for work. AGAIN!! The heart-wrenching abuses she hurls at you all day long just because you are 10 mins late. If only she knew the time you woke up. If only she knew you waited for a whopping 1 hour before a Manchester matatu came to your rescue. And you had to part with 150 bob. 50 shillings more than the normal amount you pay on a normal day. And today you have to make do without lunch. If only she knew.You cant tell why you wake up with blurry eyes and your pillow soaked. Drenched. You are sure that’s not saliva. But you know you loathe the boss’s noise. Makes you feel like crying all the time. You cant accept, though, that they are tears. You are a man. Men don’t cry.

So you wake up determined. How you’ll work hard today. Because your tomorrow is made today. And if you had worked harder yesterday, you probably would be in a better place now. You wouldn’t be here today. You would probably be waking up at 11 am to catch a flight later in the day. Kids probably homeschooling (hio aiwezihappen kwangu. Waende wapigane mateke na watoto wengine shule wakauke kama baba yao. Wacheze chobo ua wajue maisha ni kujiredeem) aaahh uuuhmmm sorry. Where was I? You’d pro’lly be sipping coffee at a meeting in Kempinski with some int’l delegates to discuss issues that could be handled by interns but u know u gotta show u working even if you are not really.

Timelines

So today you woke up. Early. The vehicles u see overtaking your Kenya mpya bus, no longer make you envious. Before they got there, they used to be where you are. Everyone is on their timeline. Your Subaru is coming. The good life you’ve always wanted. The family. You are just being hardened for the future. So that when you get there, you will respect the ladder that brought u up. You will respect those in the place you are right now. You’ll will inspire and mentor others climbing up behind you. You will pull them up. You will be thankful to God for the far. And even when your pay gets to six digits figures, you will not fail to tithe and give offering.
But for now, you gotta grind. Grind like your life depends on it.

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The Pregnancy Resolve ; Christian Judges

(Based on a true story (Extended). I started this story off as a poem. the words could not stop coming so I changed it to a story. Enjoy. I hope we learn)

Life

She stands among the congregation. She Watches, praying, counting. Counting days before it leaps out. Leaps into the beautiful world. Her bundle of joy. Within, she can hear him. He kicks. She can feel his games inside. The way he kicks, he probably will be a drummer. Probably resolve to be a footballer, a biker maybe. He kicks on. She can feel his laughter, his cries. She counts on. Days, ¬†months…

Little does the angel know. Deep within, She’s scared. Confused. Sad and glad in equal measures. Excited about the life within her, Sad what the world will think of her. See she has been a worshipper all along. She has led worship. People were moved. She has led worship and His presence came down. She has led worship and people came to Christ. Her voice, heavenly. Her words, touching. Then everything happened. So fast.

Where It All Started

He came to church. He complimented her voice. This guy; handsome.¬† Strong. Handsome again. Coffee, lunch date, lunch date after church. Days as these more… And now this!! A life within. She has acknowledged her sin. Countless times. She’s repented countless times. She cries more than prays these days. No longer leads worship. She can’t find the strength They can’t tell why neither does she. They’ll soon find out. That’s her worry. God already forgave her. He even forgot her sin. Will they? She knows them. Hasn’t she been among them?

The Pain

She lifts her hands to worship. The strength is not enough. Worry weighs it down. She cries The way they look at her, She feels like they can see the life inside. The holy spirit encourages her. Strong again. She’s about to lift her hands to the lord again. She stops midway. He kicked again. They look at her as if they can hear the kicks. The thought weighs her spirit down. She composes herself back. Shes just afraid. She closes her eyes…

“Lord Jesus…. I ”

She rushes out fast. To the washroom. She just felt like throwing up. She cries.

“Why? Do I deserve this Lord!! Why?!”

The pain tears her heart out. The angel within is no problem. The society is. A worshipper is with child.

“Whaaat?!”¬† “Like really?” “Is she?” “These Christians though. Pretenders. And the way she pretends to be in spirit?”

Her friends too… They’ll disassociate with her. Talk behind her back. Laugh. Point. Use her as an example.

The Resolve

She leaves the washroom. Decided. She knows what to do. This pain comes to an end today. She picks her bag on the pew she was sited. Hurriedly leaves the building. The holy spirit tells her out of the thought. She is already decided though. It’s simpler than all the pain and anguish. The misery. It’s not worth. Her heels click as she walks out. All eyes are on her. They look at her as the sinner she is. She cares no more. Let them think as they please. Today’s their last day.

She crosses the road fast towards town. A thought rushes through her mind to throw herself onto the road in front of a fast-moving lorry. She brushes it off… She’s a determined woman. Nothing will deflect her mind from her resolve.

The Announcement

Wednesday 4.PM. Home fellowship. The Bishop has an announcement. They all know it though. Just as a matter of norm.

“Brothers and sisters… Moms and dads…¬† it is with deep sorrow… Anguish even…”

Words and words depicting sadness. Tears roll down their eyes. They can’t believe it. ¬†How? Murmurs and whispers go round the congregants. It’s rumoured she used a knife. Stubbed her neck. Others say it’s her heart. ¬†How could she resolve to such an action? She can’t answer though. ¬†She is dead. Little do they know. ¬†They killed her.

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Matatu Musings; Seeing Through His Eyes

beaverline gustochronicles.co.ke

Thika Town.  6.00am. God.

I alight from the boda guy that ferried me from my place to here. Manchester travellers Sacco matatu stage.

There are passengers all over the place.¬† There is a rusty matatu with a board scribbled Nairobi on it.¬† Either the many passengers around cant see it ama there’s just something wrong with it. I join the many who¬†don’t¬†board the rusty Matatu. It is old and written off. It has a tired look save for the tattered seats in it. Like it feels unsafe. You could board it only to get to Allsopps and it coughs its last cough before dying of age and fatigue and you have to walk all the way to town. Or board a kiGithurai bus and get to work when others are closing off for the day. It’s¬†6 A. M anyway. still early. The safari to work is usually 1 hr 30 mins in the morning so I still got time.¬† Right?¬†There’s¬†a tout screaming his heart out.

“Commercial mia, Nairobi wawili, ¬†Tao Soo”

His screams fall on deaf ears though. The matatu only needs two passengers then it hits the road. We are more than 20 just onlooking. It takes a whole 15mins before 2 passengers board the mat and off it goes.

At this¬†point, my mind wanders off into thought. Away from the usual Gustochronicles. God. You seek him asking for a way out. You bring yourself all the way to his presence.¬† He provides a way out for you. It doesn’t look like him.¬†It’s¬†rusty.¬† Old.¬† Written off. This cant¬†be¬†God’s way. Si God is¬†glamorous. Ama? He even goes an extra mile assumes you cant see it and sends a person. Your preacher maybe to tell you that this is what will ferry you to your blessings. But his messenger is treated to a deaf ear. So you sit there and wait for God and wonder why He is taking too long to answer your prayers. You even start complaining. Your time ticks. Someone comes, ¬†snatches your opportunity, ¬†your blessing and runs with it.¬† You are still wondering why people r getting to their blessings fast while God is keeping you.

Now here’s the catch. Manchester Sacco has these popular 18 seater matatus popularly known as Beaverline. Apparently, this is what all these onlooking passengers want to be ferried to Nairobi in. Not the old-looking tired and rusty mats.¬† They always look like you could sit on the back seat and get left behind once the vehicle hits a pothole

The next matatu is a Kibeaverline. Passengers scamper. Push their way¬†to the mat before it is even parked well… You could think it is the last vehicle and your job security depends on it. It is pushing and shoving. Pulling… Less than a minute and the Beaverline¬†is full. Nairobi bound.

God

Its the same with God. He provides a way for your neighbour. And you think to yourself…¬†¬†Phew… My time has come. This is now Gods way for me.¬† You can even feel it. Thanksgiving all the way to the matatu. Only God did not intend this for you and so that path is closed before you even think of taking it. Off the blessings leave you there. They were not yours. This was not God’s plan for you. The complaining again. Blaming God for not working over your life.

6.30 a.m. I wait any longer and am late for work. Come in another¬†karusty¬†Matatu…

Ooooohhh. Nooo….

Second Chances

See God is a God of second chances. You ignore him the first time, he will still come again. A second and a third time. And another. Same path, same opportunity. You have a choice to yourself. Take the rusty route, the not so popular one, the uncomfortable one to your destination or wait. Wait for your neighbour’s path and try pushing and shoving to take their place. Remember you could still miss out on the same. Secondly, their destination could be different from yours.

Discernment

Here, we need to pray. That God gives us the spirit of discernment. That we’ll know what’s ours and what’s not. That we will clearly hear his voice leading us. That God will help us lead obedient lives. Whether the paths He provides are rusty or not, we shall follow. Happily. Contented. Knowing that He is God. He tells us that His plans are not our plans (Isaiah 55 vs 8.) As high as the sky is from the earth, so are his plans from ours.(vs 9) Remembering also that the Lord has great plans for us. Plans for a future and a hope. (Jeremiah 29vs11)

I still get to work. A little late going by the time the¬†matatu took to get passengers. My boss is eyeing me with those “I saw what time you came in” eyes… And am looking back with “At least¬†it’s an hour before the time you usually come in. How comes you are early today?” eyes.¬† Let the eye game continue.

Regards,

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