Date Archives July 2018

A journey down memory lane

I decided to do a throwback down to some old posts on the blog in order to wrap up blogging this month of July 2018.
I read my old posts sometimes and I laugh. Hope you’ve had a beautiful month so far, I think I have. It was quite eventful.
Enjoy.


Fiction
Have you read the tale of this UI student coming from Bodija? She’s unable to speak well in Yoruba, but still, she speaks! || I was trying my hand on a certain type of fiction here. Kene doesn’t know what to think while her friend faces death.
Opinion
This post on why logic isn’t the primary factor in faith/religion, also a question on whether you are able to answer all questions asked about your faith. || This one isn’t old, but I don’t know if you’ve read my telling of the parable of the Bible parable, or in simpler terms, how I lost and found a book.
Book Reviews
I enjoyed reading ‘A blink Of An Eye’ by Ted Dekker and that was apparent in this review, yes? It’s my second book review on the blog ever. || aaaand, have you read my first review? I think it’s also the shortest so far, I don’t know why I’m prone to writing long reviews o. Here,a review of Always the bridesmaid.
Difficult to categorize 😁
So, this orange seller absolutely refused to tell me his name despite my cajoling skills. What’s in a name? Are we always in a hurry? Do we never ask?
Writing and blogging struggles
The struggle with putting up blog posts, does it ever end? Its not beans, like some people would say to denote it’s not easy. Here, I was writing on the same matter a while back. || This other one, It was 1:35am, and I was cooking indomie noodles while penning down my thoughts on my difficulty with writing. 😀😀.
My shortest post on the blog.
In awe of God, I wrote this. P.s: where did my lyrical sense go?


For the whole of August, I wouldn’t post twice a week, only once, on Saturdays. I have my final year exams.
Best wishes.

Love,
Debby.

Therapists; To have or not to have? (2)

Hello precious people. I hope you’re doing fine.
If you haven’t read the preceding part of this post, its here, and it’s crucial to reading this one.
I love the idea of a therapy session. Yep.
But perhaps what I’m really saying is: I love the idea of being listened to. Listened to in a clean space, listened to without expectations or assumptions, and without any need on my part to be comported.
Perhaps what I’m really saying is I like the idea of listening to a quiet voice making me think and reconsider my ways. Why did you throw that birthday party last week? Think.
The alternative title for this post would’ve been ”The therapist within”.
Ravi Zacharias is an Amarican-Canadian-Indian Christian apologist. He has this podcast on his websitelet my people think”. Like I wrote in this blog post on logic and religion, God is not averse to your thinking. He isn’t intimidated by it. Can you then rule Him out of being the brilliant therapist telling you “think” ?
The book of John 14: 26 says I will send you the comforter(the holyspirit).
I think this is so much more cooler, having the therapist within. I don’t need one hour in a week to be asked questions or to ramble. I can; all day, all the time. My call.
I found that the list of things in the previous blog post that make me find therapy desirable are boxes that can be ticked by the Holyspirit.
Comfy office? Yes. What’s the state of my heart?
Me time: you don’t say. He’s absolutely selfless, he lets me run the show talking to him all the time, He’s never bored or irritated by my opinion, even when they’re immature.
Silence? Haha. He’s the king of it. In quietness and assurance shall my people be. I’m so so serious, the Holyspirit in me appreciates quietness. Times of reflection.
Deep: don’t get me started. He throws me punch lines many times. Heart-piercing ones. He just knows my buttons and keeps me gobsmacked by his sheer brilliance through a simple statement.
After-feeling: joy. Pure joy. For me, I’m often singing after. It’s like I start to remember songs I learnt in my childhood because I’m so relieved by our therapy sessions. He helps me close old-chapters in my life and I report people to him too.
Stranger: No. But wanting a stranger is really all about the perks that come with it, and I find them in him too. He won’t get biased.
My people, he helps with burn-outs too and severe bouts of depression and other mental illnesses. He’s a friend who sticks closer than a brother. I’m so proud to say I have the inner therapist. You should try him out. I’m actually happy.
The holyspirit is real. He’s not wind, water, oil or fire. He’s not an influence. He is a person, my personal person. He’s my lover. He puts a smile on my face. Sometimes I instigate lovers quarrel but he’s always right at my door with a bouquet of roses singing our song.
He hears me out and makes me better.
Does he charge per hour? What’s the billing rate?
We’re talking acceptance of Jesus here John 1:12. Upon salvation, every Christian receives him.

Ephesians 1: 13 GOD’S WORD Translation (GWT)
You heard and believed the message of truth, the Good News that he has saved you. In him you were sealed with the Holy Spirit whom he promised

After which, you yield to him more and more. Spend time with him for a robust relationship and you’ll see him do all that and more.
He’s the therapist who lives within. Any time, any day.
THERAPISTS; to have or not to have? This one is a must-have.
Side note: The Holyspirit residing in you doesn’t rule out the need for counselling sessions or therapy, as the circumstances of the case may warrant. Some churches provide counselling sessions. Read this post for brilliant consideration of the fact that they aren’t mutually exclusive of each other.

As always, I like to know your thoughts. Therapy or nah?
Much love,
Debby.

THERAPISTS; to have or not to have (1)

My passive preoccupation for some time has been on the subject of therapists.
Therapy. Therapist.
I planned that after turning it over in my mind a few more times, I’ll put up a post.
Tonight, I’m envisioning the million things I need to do tomorrow and in all that, I remember my thoughts on therapy.
Some people perhaps at the sight of the word ”therapist”, without thinking, they say ‘God forbid’. That’s cool. God forbid.
It’s just that therapy is broader than the narrow stream you’ve perceived it to be while watching T.V.

A therapist’s goal is to help patients make decisions and clarify their feelings in order to solve problems. Therapists provide support and guidance, while helping patients make effective decisions within the overall structure of support.
Source: all psychology schools

What I fancy about therapy appointments, even though I’ve never been to any one are:

  • The comfy offices. They probably have tips for interior designs peculiar to their profession. You do know that your dwelling place affects your mental health, right? It does. I may one day do a post on that, it does.
  • The fact that you can have me-time. You can just talk and talk and you’ll be listened to and listened to. Intriguing right? You’re not careful to not dominate the conversation, rather it’s all yours to dominate. You’re sure the therapist isn’t thinking let this girl finish her statement so I can share my own woes too.
  • The fact that silence is allowed. I don’t understand this restless urge by people to constantly fill silence. Silence isn’t always a void. It doesn’t have to be filled. A little quiet please.
  • The fact that you’re prodded by the littlest of statements. A soft-spoken question can give you time to pull up the fibres of your mind. This is opposed to the rushed living and suppressed emotions most people daily engage in. Here, careful, minimal, conscious living is at work.
  • You leave feeling better because you’re able to close old chapters in your life. You’re able to analyze your relationship with everyone that matters to you. To voice out, for perhaps the first time, all the positive and negative things you think about a person’s character and you don’t have to be careful doing it. (you get what I mean or you don’t? that you love a person doesn’t mean it’s everything about them that sparkles to you. You are permitted to have candid and accurate opinions on your friends and family).
  • You have someone who Is not entangled with your everyday life and living ( a stranger), get into your mind. No expectations from them. No judgements. No need to compose yourself. Compose, bawo?

I’m smiling just thinking of what I’ve written.
Or you’re still waiting for the punch line? Sighs, this is it really. Up there. Put in two words: Reflection time.
Not all therapists can provide you with what I just listed. No. no.
But I think its worth considering. I think therapy just advocates for simple and wholesome living. Yes, you’re a successful and busy investment banker but in your one hour a week, you get to just slow down, keep quiet and wonder why you really threw yourself a birthday party last week. Think on your motivations.
Perhaps since the start of this post, you’ve been thinking that Debby is just talking sha. She doesn’t know those who see therapists see them for serious reasons like mental illnesses and that they pay a lot. You probably whispered the mental illnesses part.
I don’t think mental illness should be whispered. It’s a thing. In Africa, we now recognize it and are starting to care for it, good. But you must understand that a number of people who get depressed, for example, are those who have suffered from burn-outs repeatedly.
Burn-out? Sounds familiar? It means to tire, due to overwork; or to extinguish due to lack of fuel. Occasionally most of us get burned out then pick up again. I think some don’t pick-up and due to tangled emotions and heavy workload, they may eventually get depressed. In light of that, do you now see why the little things matter and are worth discussing? Perhaps in therapy?
You are important so little things that affect you count in the grand scheme of things.
You still don’t think so? okay, share your thoughts.
Like I said, I’ve never been to a therapist, this is my imagination canvassing for it. But perhaps I’m also saying something more and for lack of space, this would be continued in the concluding part of this therapy discussion coming up on Wednesday. I hope you’ll be around to read it.

Love,
Debby.

The danger of the single story perspective of your life

The single story.
It was the holiday season. The sun had set and evening calm descended upon the neighbourhood. The campus boys in the compound behind weren’t playing obnoxiously loud music. There hadn’t been any football matches during the day either; football matches that often sent their ball flying into our compound which, depending on the mood of our dogs, were licked, deflated or ignored.
My mum and elder sister were the only ones in the house with me. We were at the dinning table, probably one of those days when mum had just gotten back and we were gisting while she ate her dinner. It was a slow evening so I hadn’t told Emil to switch on the generator yet.
The soft glow from the solar-powered lamp illuminated the white walls.
The subject of our conversation must’ve flowed around perspectives for I ran upstairs to fetch my mini-laptop.
I remember setting it down on the table and clicking on Chimamanda’s Ted talk – “The danger of the single story.” – for both of them to watch.
I remember the pride that soared in my heart as Chimamanda’s steady and knowing voice filled the silence in the house.
Chimamanda’s talk on the single story is acclaimed one of the most-widely watched ted talks on youtube with 3.7 million views.
What was she saying in that talk?
How do I summarise that brilliance into a few lines here? I’d rather quote excerpts and urge you to watch the video here:

“I come from a conventional middle-class Nigerian family, and so we had, as was the norm, live-in domestic help who would often come from nearby rural villages. So the year I turned eight, we got a new houseboy. His name was Fide. The only thing my mother told us about him was that his family was very poor. And when I didn’t finish my dinner, my mother would say, finish your food, don’t you know people like Fide’s family have nothing? So I felt enormous pity for Fide’s family.
But one Saturday, we went to his village to visit, and his mother showed us a beautifully patterned basket, made of dyed raffia, that his brother had made. I was startled. All I had heard about them was how poor they were, so that it had become impossible for me to see them as anything else but poor. Their poverty was my single story of them.”

She also tells of her previous single story opinion of Mexicans.
Also, her roommates disposition to her when she was 19 and new in the U.S.

If I had not grown up in Nigeria, and if all I knew about Africa were from popular images, then I too would think that Africa was a place of beautiful landscapes, beautiful animals and incomprehensible people fighting senseless wars, dying of poverty and AIDS, unable to speak for themselves, and waiting to be saved by a kind, white foreigner. I would see Africans in the same way that I as a child had seen Fide’s family

…all of these stories make me who I am but to insist on only these negative stories is to flatten my experience and overlook the many other stories that form me. The single story creates stereotypes, and the problem with stereotypes is not that they are untrue but they are incomplete, they make one story become the only story”

Why am I bringing this up?
It’s easy for anyone on my campus fellowship who knows me as a spirit-filled sister to think all that there is to me is something fellowship-related once I’m through with classes. It’s easy for them to think I have no opinion on politics or assume I don’t read novels. assumptions.
It’s easy for someone to view the president of my fellowship as spiritkoko and not know that he likes football, a whole lot at that, or that the P.R.O of the fellowship has a sister who models in the U.S. I’m just painting a picture. We have lives, full lives. Those lives are often viewed through the lenses of sister and brother sososo, that’s okay once your lenses admit that generally, everyone is an human being and Jesus is happy about that.
Not the single story of ”I only see X in fellowship, and X is a student, therefore brother X is made up of classes and fellowship time”.
Single story. The danger of this single story is that brother X starts to live an insecure and people-conscious life.

“…The single story creates stereotypes, and the problem with stereotypes is not that they are untrue but they are incomplete, they make one story become the only story”

Essentially, you must know everyone is a person and persons are subject to idiosyncrasies and a full world of ideas and passions. That your prayer secretary may be nursing the ambition to be the next governor of Oyo state(and it might not make him any less spiritual than if he’d been hoping to be the next missionary). Everyone is a person and Jesus loves them like that, Jesus planted a huge number of those passions in their hearts and Jesus is happy to see them bloom. Jesus doesn’t think they should only pray in fellowship. Jesus supports your vice-president going to the gym.
I believe when you accept it about yourself, you’re able to accept it about others too. Then you’ll stop feeling quite ashamed when someone you’ve mentored spiritually discovers you do something other than study and pray. I was self-conscious for a while until God helped me out of it.
Or worse still, you’ll stop feeling ashamed when someone knows a member of your family isn’t born again. I mean, what? Shame?
Dear friend, live, breathe, bloom, blossom. You’re more than one perspective. The single story is just that, – single.
Tell your own story. Be your own person. Own your story.

so that is how to create a single story, show a people as one thing, as only one thing over and over again, and that is what they become”.

What do you think? Care to share?

Freedom and light,
Debby

BOOK REVIEW — Leota's garden

TITLE: Leota’s garden
AUTHOR: Francine Rivers
PAGES: 807 (my copy)
Review
Leota’s garden is a book on hope. It starts slowly but warms its way into the reader’s heart until said reader sheds a tear or two.
Leota
Old Leota is a cantankerous person who complains all the time to the only person available to hear her – God. She’s the picture of that old hag who startles and scares off a child in their own garden when they see her staring at them through a window.
Everything in Leota’s house is old and broken but that doesn’t devastate her; what does devastate her, is her garden – Once a colourful embodiment of life and bloom, now ruined.
Annie
Annie runs away from home because she doesn’t want to become bitter like her mother, she’s desperate to leave the suffocating clutch that’s her mother’s love and follow her own dreams to study art.
Corban
Corban works to fill his void but only doesn’t realize the void he’s filling is a drum with no base; it’d never be full. When would he get a life bearing? Would it be when he pieces the clues from three certain women in his life ?
Its an intricately woven tale of how hurt and bitterness grows where there once was love and family; a replica, you might say, of Leota’s garden. It’s a tale of what happens when you learn to let go of your insecurities and live one day at a time. I cannot tell you what happens if you learn to live so, but this book does, and in unforgettable ways.
Francine Rivers is notorious for her capacity to highlight terrific subject matters in the easiest of ways; without shouting, she addressed the issue of women’s loneliness in marriages and the issue of euthanasia.
There’s the evident theme of forgiveness and embracing reunions; also of absolute surrender to God.
she incorporated humour that had me grinning broadly.
The characters are a whole lot and they’re all credible. If you’ve read the book,I’d say Susan and Sam are my cool people, and sweet Jeanne.
The writing style is informal and I believe a novice reader would have no difficulty as there’s no uncommon show of literature prowess.
Excerpts for you:
Then again, maybe she was being unfair to Corban. It wasn’t entirely his fault he was so puffed up with knowledge that he didn’t have a lick of sense. Education was no less an idol these days than it was in the past. Corban didn’t have her advantages. Sometimes the school of hard knocks taught more than the best universities in the land.
Leota’s convo with God always amused me:

Lord, is this why You put it in my head to get everything sorted out when I did? This is a dirty trick. I am not pleased. Not one-bit .

Leota knew the Lord was with her everywhere she went-even in that depressing hospital-but she had always felt His presence here the most. Is it because everything of great importance happened in a garden, Lord? Man fell in the Garden. You taught in a garden. You prayed Your passion in a garden. You were betrayed in a garden. You arose in a garden. I love this place, for when I sit out here, I see the wonder
of Your creation. I smell the earth and flower-scented air, and it soothes me. It reminds me that Your hand is in it all. For I heard the voice of the Lord in the garden, calling to me.

Who do I think will like this book? Try a person interested in inter-personal relationships!
I rate this book a beautiful 4 stars. You’re gold, Francine.

2018 Life Update (3); Libraries, Retreats and Expensive Photographers.

Hello guys.
It’s about time for another life update post. I’m however tired of my previous format so I’m switching it up.
The discussion is on Faith, School and Photography.
School
There’s a library membership I registered for last year. The subscription is to be renewed financially every session. It was wonderful using it last year because the place is very serene and homely.
I hadn’t visited the library since this session started. Oh, I did once. Today’s the second time. I’ve missed this place. It has an effect of taking my mind off my daily routine. I’m glad that I’m back.
Still on the subject of school, my faculty is yet to release the approved project topics for we finalists this session. Everyone is asking. The delay is unusual and the first semester is almost over. I know we’ll be fine eventually. You won’t believe I still second guess the project topic I chose. I’ll keep you guys posted as the days wear on.
Photography
I think I’m due for new pictures but I’m not prepared for this entrepreneurial revolution of high prices. Let me explain:
I wrote this to my photographer friend on Sunday night:
So, this girl doesn’t have any professional picture. None for LinkedIn.
None for any publication she might submit.
None for her blog’s bio.
This girl doesn’t have semi-formal pictures. None for her blog posts which bloggers love to have.
This girl’s only photographer friend (she’s amazed at this by the way), is not interested in doing business. Since 2015 sef.
This girl has a classmate who took a beautiful and simple studio picture. This girl asked her classmate to link her up.
The photographer sent this girl a price list and this girl has been wondering if she won’t give up on the photographers of this generation for good.
You people that have photographer friends that take you pictures up and down, you are enjoying o. Enjoying a lot.
It started during my last birthday in September. Just two days before it, I thought “let me take some pictures sef” haha. It shocked me out of my wits.
come see problem. Problem problem. It makes me wonder; is it that the prices of the cameras they buy are so huge that they must make big profits out of each contract(I actually know the cameras and gadgets are expensive)? Or they get so few customers that the ones who approach them must be used as atonement for the bad business days?
Just a student here. Aren’t there photographers with good quality cameras that support the cause of students?
I’m just a student who doesn’t believe in using all her money on herself.
So Photographers, educate me.
Faith
I had a beautiful all-house retreat time this past weekend. It was enlightening. It’s actually a program organized by the assembly of all fellowships on my campus, but I purposed before hand that it would be a retreat session for me so I came prepared.
Still on the subject of Faith, this is currently my favourite scripture passage:

But I reckon my own life to be worth nothing to me; I only want to complete my mission and finish the work that the Lord Jesus gave me to do, which is to declare the good news about the grace of God.
ACTS 20:24

Remember my post strong friend, it must move beyond theory to practical. When last did you tell someone the brutal truth?
Love and Light,
Debby

INVESTIGATIVE JOURNALISM; THE Bible Story of Simon The Pharisee And Jesus.

During the council meeting on Thursday, Simon’s resolve grew stronger. He’d always nursed the thought in his heart, that this Jesus could be the real deal, and if he was but another fake prophet and rabbi, he deserved to be heard at the very least, to be investigated.

His response to the excitement filling him was to rapidly tap his left foot against the ground.

It was the forbidden fruit all over again – restricted areas always have awoken the greatest curiosity. His sister, Ruth, would prepare a befitting meal and Jesus would stop over at his place before leaving Nain, he had it all figured out.
Delighted, he was tempted to laugh aloud but restrained himself. Suppressing his glee, he tuned in once again to the discussion at hand. The Pharisees council of Nain had always been such a heated group of people for a small village 32km southwest of Capernaum.

”…he just wants the crowd!” Someone was saying
and oh are they following him. Jesus of Nazareth” another scoffed.
he supports the baptizer, John! And openly claimed he would eat, drink and be a friend to the tax collectors. Tax collectors! What kind of teacher of the law speaks in that manner?”
Simon couldn’t stop himself from venturing the other side, ”but haven’t you heard he healed the widow’s son as they all left the village mourning. Surely the man is worth knowing-”
we have known ENOUGH. I heard all he had to say once he made mention of John. Surely this one also thinks he is the messiah. Woe betide us, all men are now the chosen one of David’s race, all men are now the messiah!!

And the murmurs of discontent increased.


Food had been passed and wine served. The meal was nearing completion and Jesus seemed in good spirits. Simon’s alert eyes had noticed his every move, down to the very first fact that his disciples ate without a thorough washing. He stored each detail in mind ready to tell the others. Surely, this man was a prophet, speaking boldly the truth contained in the law.

A pleasant smell filled Simon’s nostrils. In the cacophony of noises as Bartholomew told a story and the men laughed, Simon knew when the masculine smell was infiltrated by a fragrance; a fragrance as appealing as it was disturbing for reasons he couldn’t place his hands on yet, – a sensational fragrance, a forbidden fragrance. Alarmed, he looked up just in time to see the sinner.
He almost swore. In his house!

Almost at once, the male-dominated crowd quietened and most eyes fell on the woman while the remainder fell on him – passing a message, ”Do something.”
But Simon remained rooted on the floor where he sat. He was bewildered that such a sinner woman had even braved entering uninvited in the first place.
Simon’s eyes popped wide as she fell at Jesus’ feet. Her cream coloured cloth lifted with the wind and settled after her as she crouched behind Jesus.
Holy indignation filled Simon. Didn’t Jesus care what he and others thought of him? Didn’t Jesus know that he, Simon, was the only Pharisee to have extended him a warm hand in Nain, and he dared act like a sinner with this woman, this infidel!
His pulse throbbed and he gripped the end of the table cloth to rein in his anger as much as he could.
The scent of fragrant perfume filled the house, as an alabaster box broke, overpowering the combined smell of food, masculinity and even her own fragrance that had previously filled the air.
The other men around the house stood to gain a clearer picture of the baffling activity, some gasping.
Her heavy sobs pierced the silence. Each sound of the sob fuelled the inferno burning in Simon, no prostitute or beggar or tax collector had stepped foot in his house right since he’d lived there and in the one day this Jesus came, his house became unclean with this terrible sinner.

He couldn’t help the regret that gnawed at him, he’d been forewarned, Jesus was nothing but an impostor, a wolf in sheep clothing. Surely a prophet would’ve known what sort of woman touched him; even a beggar would’ve known!
Jesus, hearing Simon’s thoughts as clear as day, chose to speak with him. In the many pairs of eyes that followed him, Jesus knew exactly where to look. His eyes found Simon’s and with a levelled gave he spoke. ”Simon,’
Teacher.” teacher. That word still befitted the man for reasons Simon couldn’t place as he had an aura of authority. The fire burning in him began to die and Simon knew he needed to keep that anger burning.
I have something to tell you.’‘ Jesus replied and Simon nodded.
A man loaned money to two people—500 pieces of silver to one and 50 pieces to the other. But neither of the men could repay him after. This man was however kind enough to cancel their debts. Now who do you think will love him the most?”

Simon didn’t need to think hard, his heart fluttered and he felt a sinking in the pit of his stomach. Shame started to take hold of where anger had been. ”I suppose the one who had been forgiven the largest debt”.
Whatever stone had sank was lodged there at the pit of his stomach and for the first time in many years, without accusing words, Simon knew he wasn’t as pure as he’d always thought.
“That’s right,” Jesus said. Then he turned to the woman and said to Simon, “Look at this woman kneeling here. When I entered your home, you didn’t offer me water to wash the dust from my feet,’

Rejection wrapped round Simon, Jesus was right. The night air became cold, all laughter and feasting from earlier on, forgotten. Of course, it was only proper custom to offer guests water for washing their feet. He hadn’t been after honouring Jesus at all, so he had no troubles neglecting that custom.
”… but she has washed them with her tears and wiped them with her hair. You didn’t greet me with a kiss, but from the time I first came in, she has not stopped kissing my feet.”
Simon broke inside. He saw for the first time what he had never seen in his many years of being a Pharisee, in his years of laying heavy rules on people while priding in his own obedience to the law. Light shone and he saw himself for who he really was. Flawed yet proud.
…You neglected the courtesy of olive oil to anoint my head, but she has anointed my feet with rare perfume. I tell you, her sins—and yes, they are many—have been forgiven, so she has shown me much love. But a person who is forgiven little shows only little love.”

Turning to the woman, “Your sins are forgiven. Your faith has saved you; go in peace.”
The men at the table said among themselves, “Who is this man, that he goes around forgiving sins?”

But those were no longer Simon’s thoughts. Jesus had in that simple parable and intense gaze showed him what he had overlooked. Looking at Jesus, his heart broke, contrite his thoughts had changed ”forgive me my 500-silver-coin-worth of many sins, Lord. Please forgive me. I have judged others and thought myself better. I have not honoured you as I should. I need to love you more for I am but a sinful man”.



A person who believes they haven’t sinned like the cultist has, is rarely ever repentant. Like Simon, they skip the real details of honour, they forget to wash and anoint his feet.
You only love him to the degree you’ve come to realize your former depravity and the magnitude of his love and grace in forgiving you. I’ve known this message below for some many years:

some people tell me I take this Jesus thing a little too seriously, I tell them, I guess he took me pretty seriously when he chose to be nailed to a cross for me’

The lyrics of a certain song goes thus:
‘why should I care what people say? They don’t know what you mean to me”.
You can lavish your love on Jesus, pouring all you’ve ever made and treasure at his feet, when you understand the great depths he went to save you; when you realize you’re the one who owed a employee’s daily wage for 500days and deserved to be locked in utter darkness but he forgave you.

A/N:

1. This is a fictional account of the story contained in Luke 7:36 – 50. For example, we are not told of Simon’s sister who in this fictional account, prepared the meal 

2.The events of this story could have taken place at Capernaum and not Nain. Some say Bethany. Commentators are not sure where exactly.

I hope it has blessed you. If you like this post, you may find this on the violent storm too interesting too.
Comment away…

Much love,
Debby.

Hello Strong Friend.

Hello precious people. Welcome back to this space. How’s life going? I really want to know, feel free to ramble away on how life is going in the comment box. I also advise you learn to journal some of your thoughts down, it helps to analyze your feelings. I don’t do so everyday but for the days that I do, it’s amazing.
Today, I’m sharing part of what I wrote down last year and I was suprised to re-read this year.
I wrote this sometimes last year:

God, I want to cry.
I so want to cry that I can’t type. I just want to cry on someone. For being so strong for so long, I want to cry. I just want to cry for everyday that’s gone by. I want to cry.
My lecturer cried in class today and it’s broken something inside of me, I just want to cry.
I got to IVCU fellowship office today, and in the outer office, I heard some of my friends’ voices inside. I didn’t want to go in because I would have to be strong in front of them.
Since when did that start? Friends you can’t cry in front of?
Friends you can’t break your walls in front of.
Am I like that to other people?

The structure of my campus fellowship’s office is basic: you step into a room, call it your reception area. Then there’s a door leading to a store by your right. Still in the ‘reception’ area, there’s a door in front of you that leads to what we often refer to as “the inner office” or inner court (in reference to the Jewish temple).
The walls are made of thin wood, and it’s really just dividing one big office. You can understand that the voices carry.
The context: That day, my lecturer had cried in class and it surprised me, surprised everyone. But it did something more to me, it made me want to cry. I had something to do at my fellowship immediately after my class and I hadn’t cried yet 😀.
Discussion: It’s alright if I didn’t want to break down in front of more than one person but the real issue was the thought that flashed by my mind making me think I had to be strong in front of people.
Strong. Strong? Who is strong please? Such a relative word. Truth is there is more strength in vulnerability than in ‘bold face’.

Since when did that start? Friends you can’t cry in front of?
Friends you can’t break your walls in front of.
Am I like that to other people?

The real question was whether I had friends who would turn away rather than cry in front of me. I’m not talking of general acquaintances. The few and deliberate friends.

Cornelius Lindsey, I referred to him in this blog post, put this picture up on instagram. A part of his caption says:

“To be the strong friend is a desirable position because it means you’re valuable and useful.
Unfortunately strength turns to weakness when it’s used without rest and replenishment. That’s why it’s important for strong friends to have true friends who s/he can be honest with when asked “HOW ARE YOU?”
So strong friend, don’t hide behind pride! Answer honestly for your own sake. I know you help others, but you need help too.”

It’s got two aspects. Check on your strong friends selflessly.
Two, allow yourself to be checked on. Don’t turn back. Go in. No pride allowed here.
There’s a saying that goes:

“Good friends never let their friends cry alone”.

I tell my friends ‘make me a good friend please, don’t cry alone’. Na beg I beg.
A problem shared is a problem half solved. Be deliberate about your friends. Don’t just let friendship happen to you. “We’re in the same group, so we’re friends; we work together, so we’re friends“. That’s cool on a surface level but you must have friends you can tell the brutal truth. Brutal, being the emphasis.
My message to you: Choose your friends, then trust them.

Truthfully,
Debby.
Go on ahead, how are you doing?