Posts by Deborah Osinowo

Sleeping Jesus, Bleeding Professional.

The Christian Faith 10 Comments


Matt 8:24-27 CJB
Then, without warning, a furious storm arose on the lake, so that waves were sweeping over the boat. But Yeshua was sleeping. 25 So they came and roused him, saying, “Sir! Help! We’re about to die!” 26 He said to them, “Why are you afraid? So little trust you have!” Then he got up and rebuked the winds and the waves, and there was a dead calm. 27 The men were astounded. They asked, “What kind of man is this, that even the winds and sea obey him?”
Mark 4:37-41 KJV And there arose a great storm of wind, and the waves beat into the ship, so that it was now full. 38 And he was in the hinder part of the ship, asleep on a pillow: and they awake him, and say unto him, Master, carest thou not that we perish? 39 And he arose, and rebuked the wind, and said unto the sea, Peace, be still. And the wind ceased, and there was a great calm. 40 And he said unto them, Why are ye so fearful? how is it that ye have no faith? 41 And they feared exceedingly, and said one to another, What manner of man is this, that even the wind and the sea obey him?
It was a big boat we sailed in this time around on our way to Gadarenes, east of the sea of galilee. Peter was in charge. We had gone some distance when the storm hit. From my years of experience on the sea of galilee as a fisherman and with the grit I saw on peter’s face, it was evident we needed Yaweh’s help.
We could all sense from some signs even as we set off earlier that there would be a storm, but we thought it would be as all other times. Moreover, we knew how desperately Jesus needed to rest, so we got away. With the violent rocking of the boat, Jesus stayed unshaken, he definitely needed the rest. I glanced at him and watched the steady rise and fall of his chest and the wind lifting his hair as though in a stage play.
With the increasing persistence of the storm, we’d all at different times glanced at where he lay and left him undisturbed, no one did the waking. He deserved the rest. He’d taught the beatitudes to the large crowd, taught on vows, adultery, anger and others; As we descended from the mountain certain that we were going to rest, a leprous man who couldn’t interact with people according to the law, and which prevented him from listening on the mountain, came beseeching Jesus; A Roman officer had followed immediately; We had also been to Peter’s house and Jesus healed his mother-in-law, it was only there in Peter’s house he was able to eat his first meal of the day; next, the sick people came en-masse; not to forget the numerous people who had questions about following him. It was late evening now and he had taught and healed the whole day.
I snapped from my line of thought as I saw a high wave heading our way. It was hard to not envision the miraculous yet dreadful walls of water the Israelites passed through when Moses led them. ”Yaweh” I breathed in a rush. Andrew, who was beside me, knelt in fearful awe. The boat rocked and all the vessels in the boat rolled, their content spilling. Peter barked out some orders and we all hurried to stabilize the boat. The flood of water washed over us, drenching everything that wasn’t already dripping wet from the massive outpouring of rain. Now in the boat, was enough water to wade past our ankles. I shared a look with Andrew: this was all bad. In the sky, lightening kept flashing, and the thunders didn’t cease. Peter’s commanding cries were drowned in the noise of it all, we all just did what we thought we should do, and frantically.
The storm remained fierce.
The waves began to rock the boat off direction completely, and it spun on its axis till we couldn’t keep up with our direction in the middle of the sea anymore. My hands were bleeding from holding the sheet tight and I wasn’t conscious that someone had gone to wake Jesus until I heard his voice right behind me. As I jerked from the surprise of hearing his voice, the sheet slapped in the wind. ”About time Lord. We are going to perish” Bartholomew Said ”Save us lord!” ”we are about to die!” He stood resting one hand on the boat’s halyard, his cloak was flying revealing his woolen tunic. He gazed at each one of us in the eye, his face straight but the warmth of it could not be denied. ”why are you so frightened?” he answered to all pleas. As though in answer to his question, another wave rose, this one extremely high and it approached with the loudest of howling sounds, crushing the smaller waves which lay before it. All eyes darted to Jesus and back to the wave. ”what little faith you have!”
I wasn’t sure if I was the only one who heard him because he stood right by my side, or if his voice was loud enough to carry over the thunder to the others. What little faith? Jesus fixed his gaze on the approaching wave. Eager faces, trade-marked with worry-lines looked at him when he opened his mouth to speak, and this time, Jesus’ voice carried louder than all noise. That authority which we never could deny erupted, as he looked straight at the wave about to crush us and said ” Peace. Be still” Instantly, the wave slept. SLEPT. I’m always right back on that boat when what was to be the tool of our destruction became a pet before us. The water hissed and fell. Everything around responded. The thunders and lightening stopped, the rain reduced to a drizzle then ceased, the sun rose slowly over the once overcast sky. The boat rocked like it was a baby cradled by the arms of its mother, all violence gone. ”ah” I gasped, I couldn’t otherwise be persuaded of what had just happened before my eyes. It transcends description. Everyone was amazed.
”what kind of man is this? ” I said And one after the other, we all dropped to our knees; and this time, we did so not in fear of the waves, but out of a deep seated realization that nothing defers Jesus. ”even the wind and waves obey him” I muttered. I began to shiver: not from cold but from the power of the man who slept through the storm while we frenzied with bleeding hands. I shivered at the sight of the one who quieted looming death with a sentence.
On that day, I decided I would never again let him sleep while I bleed. It’s either of two things; we sleep together, or we bleed together, and I think he prefers sleeping in the storms of life. I believe him because I may be a professional fisherman, but even on the sea, he is the king.
Hello. Phew! Let me know your thoughts on this post. I was a little excited creating this blogpost. And boy, did it task me. I did a bit of reading on boats, storm etc, particularly how it operated over 2000 years ago. Not to mention reading that bible passage in different translations and in different gospel books. In other words, I must know your thoughts. And you must share. Hope you’re well. Also, do share your plans for the weekend. I’m mostly reading books and setting up my new phone. I plan to type up some blog posts this coming week too. Take care!
Peace and Warmth,
Debby.

Fiction: Patient Shoulders

Fiction 4 Comments

She felt it would last forever; the imminent separation. She did not want to face the implication of his leaving. She did not want to address the lump in her throat. She sat silently in the back seat of the car as her father drove steadily to the airport.
She’d thought she was certain where they were headed before now. She hated, with a blend of tolerance, the inability to read Sola’s mind at certain moments. He looked on ahead, sitting at the front seat beside her father, his chin lifted, just as the radio in the car droned on.
To think she couldn’t bring herself to stop liking his personality no matter what. She wanted to cry.
She felt the unease occasioned by her defiant silence shift to wrap itself around her father but Sola will seem immune. Her father impulsively tapped the steering wheel as he began to speak again, stopping to clear his throat
” so have you heard any other news about your father?”
“No sir,” Sola replied steadily “it’s the same.”
“ God will intervene” her father said.
“Amen”
She gazed out the window in despair.
At the airport, her father double checked the car security before they walked down to the terminal. Sola checked in his ticket and from where she sat with her father, she saw him speaking to the lady behind the counter in his easy manner. The lady cracked a smile. Walking back to where she sat with her father, he looked at them both and nodded. “I’m set to go”

“Okay then my son. Keep in touch” her father said and patted his back in a brief hug, smiling.
This time her eyes would not be averted. She looked at him, appearing bolder than she felt. She gave a small smile. He didn’t. He stepped closer and put both his hands around her shoulders to hold them in a comforting manner. She did not want comfort, anything but comfort, as her head throbbed with the onset of an headache. His grip was firm but not hard.
” you take care of yourself. You deserve care.”.

Three months later, She was walking down her street having bought soft drinks for the visitors they were to host in the evening.
For no reason at all, it came into her mind what Sola had last said to her: <i>you deserve care.</i>
Inadvertently, she snorted. It had been three 'almost-relationships' in her life and she was fatigued. She was prejudiced about relationships and on a whole, world-weary but she didn't know how to help herself. Her father who knew the level of her closeness to Sola had not known how to either, but he still tried to encourage her gently. Iyanu was past words of encouragement. She wasn't sure she could even enter into any relationship successfully without a nagging fear that it would crash. She felt her own anguish and wished for a motherly advice.

The visitors they were expecting arrived in two cars. A metallic silver honda accord and a white Mercedes benz. She was in the kitchen frying the last round of plantain to go with the jollof rice when Dele, the adopted help, went to open the gate. She took a break to briefly view them from the window at the sitting room before returning to the kitchen.
Her father soon joined the three men and two women. Greetings and laughter followed.
~~~
Iyanu left the door to her room wide open once she’d served them their food and her father had introduced her as his daughter. With the door open, the visitors’ voices carried softly to where she was. The conversation after they’d eaten the food she served wielded itself from the upcoming elections to the issue of politics in the church, and then to Christian virtues. It was on this subject: Christian virtues, that they dwelt the longest.
Iyanu could guess it was the tall woman who was speaking at the moment about Elizabeth, wife of John the Baptist.
“But you see that with all our bible knowledge these days, virtues like patience seem to have taken the backseat. Some people argue that if you have faith everything comes extremely fast. Quite true, but we must know the exceptions.
That wasn’t the case for Zechariah and Elizabeth. Elizabeth was old before she conceived. ‘Stricken in age’, the bible puts it”
The woman’s tempo was going down and Iyanu, very much interested, rose from her bed where she had propped herself against the wall, using her pillow. She took her plastic chair and sat by the door to her room for better audience.
“…Heaven knew the right specifications for the woman who was to birth Jesus on earth. We were waiting for that Mary and so God kept Elizabeth childless for that purpose. Elizabeth had proven she wouldn’t disappoint him. How many could do that?

They were stricken in age but she had come to understand like the three Hebrew boys that Faith is steadfast even if the answer from heaven doesn’t seem favourable at that time. If it doesn’t come from God, I don’t want it.
“Elizabeth was to birth the forerunner of Christ, a very important role and God trusted her well enough that until Mary is ready, she’d wait on him. Until the appointed time. Until Mary hits puberty. Until she’s old enough to be engaged to Joseph, Elizabeth wouldn’t lose faith. He knew she would not stop loving him because the promise was yet to surface. It was a step-by-step leading, one not moved by time and season. The beauty of it all is that God could depend the plan of salvation on her patient shoulders.”

In the distance the wall clock ticked a bit loudly.

In other news, Happy International women’s day.
Do share your thoughts and subscribe.
As always,
Debby.

Book review–Born A Crime

Book Reviews 22 Comments

Happy new month precious people. This is the third of twelve chapters in your self-authored book on 2018. How’s it going?
Greetings from this side. We’re reviewing a book today. Don’t forget to share your thoughts at the end and share the post. ??
Title: Born A Crime
Author: Trevor Noah
Publisher: Spigel and Grau (2016)
Pages: 252(my e-book copy)
Review

I dug into this book in the basic expectation that it would have a bit of humour as the viral hum said.
I took no time to research the author or think what the title could mean but by the time I saw the import of the title in the book, I decided that Trevor is intelligent.
Born A Crime is Trevor Noah’s first book. It is in fact, his memoir.
Trevor’s birth was evidence of his parents crime, unlike most other people whose birth are often evidence of their parent’s love.
I appreciate the use of imagery in the book. I was with him at nine years when his mum wrapped herself around the toddler and jumped with (/pushed) Trevor from a moving vehicle.
I was with him when he went looking for his father in great anxiety, at twenty four years and I was there when he got relieved his father wasn’t any different from how he’d known him to be in his teenage years.
This book explores the subject of apartheid and it walks you through it.
It reveals the strategy employed by the whites in pitting the locals against themselves, in order to rule them all.

Bitterness festered. For decades those feelings were held in check by a common enemy. Then apartheid fell, Mandela walked free, and black South Africa went to war with itself…”

You’re walked through the different streets in South Africa and you come to discover racism. You’re in the schools and you understand it starts from there. The troubles of racism; being black, white and coloured.
Other than the subject of Apartheid and Racism, this book also explores Motherhood, strongly.

“My mom thought having a child was going to be like having a partner, but every child is born the center of its own universe, incapable of understanding the world beyond its own wants and needs, and I was no different”

The unselfish love of a mother for her child and the question of reciprocal of such love:

“People say all the time that they’d do anything for the people they love. But would you really? Would you do anything? Would you give everything? I don’t know that a child knows that kind of selfless love. A mother, yes. A mother will clutch her children and jump from a moving car to keep them from harm. She will do it without thinking. But I don’t think the child knows how to do that, not instinctively. It’s something the child has to learn.”

This book is written as a tribute to Trevor’s mother- Nombuyiselo, who weathered every challenge beautifully. She was his pal (still is); spoke to him as an intelligent being, gave him a chance to explore, to be, to speak his mind, beat him and explained why .

Whenever the riots broke out, all our neighbors would wisely hole up behind closed doors. But not my mom. She’d head straight out, and as we’d inch our way past the blockades, she’d give the rioters this look. Let me pass. I’m not involved in this shit. She was unwavering in the face of danger. That always amazed me. It didn’t matter that there was a war on our doorstep. She had things to do, places to be. It was the same stubbornness that kept her going to church despite a broken-down car. There could be five hundred rioters with a blockade of burning tires on the main road out of Eden Park, and my mother would say, “Get dressed. I’ve got to go to work. You’ve got to go to school.” “But aren’t you afraid?” I’d say. “There’s only one of you and there’s so many of them. “Honey, I’m not alone,” she’d say. “I’ve got all of Heaven’s angels behind me.”.

There’s a lot to learn of the inner workings under apartheid regime and even though this is my own focus, you’d meet lots of people who’ve read this book and only remember it for its humour.
Some are fans of this book for the life tips it has to offer.
Basically, I’d quote the whole book because I’m here trying to advocate for basic knowledge of the relevant things; of which history always ranks high. However, I cannot quote the whole book.
I rate the book 4.5 out of 5 stars. It’s an easy read with underlying depth.
Excerpts

If we weren’t at school or work or church, we were out exploring. My mom’s attitude was “I chose you, kid. I brought you into this world, and I’m going to give you everything I never had.” She poured herself into me. She would find places for us to go where we didn’t have to spend money.
She refused to be bound by ridiculous ideas of what black people couldn’t or shouldn’t do.
world. My mom raised me as if there were no limitations on where I could go or what I could do. When I look back I realize she raised me like a white kid—not white culturally, but in the sense of believing that the world was my oyster, that I should speak up for myself, that my ideas and thoughts and decisions mattered
My mother showed me what was possible. The thing that always amazed me about her life was that no one showed her. No one chose her. She did it on her own. She found her way through sheer force of will.

We tell people to follow their dreams, but you can only dream of what you can imagine, and, depending on where you come from, your imagination can be quite limited.

The smallest thing could prompt her. I’d walk through the house on the way to my room and say, “Hey, Mom” without glancing up. She’d say, “No, Trevor! You look at me. You acknowledge me. Show me that I exist to you, because the way you treat me is the way you will treat your woman. Women like to be noticed. Come and acknowledge me and let me know that you see me. Don’t just see me when you need something.”

“I don’t regret anything I’ve ever done in life, any choice that I’ve made. But I’m consumed with regret for the things I didn’t do, the choices I didn’t make, the things I didn’t say. We spend so much time being afraid of failure, afraid of rejection. But regret is the thing we should fear most. Failure is an answer. Rejection is an answer. Regret is an eternal question you will never have the answer to.”

“Hustling is to work what surfing the Internet is to reading. If you add up how much you read in a year on the Internet—tweets, Facebook posts, lists—you’ve read the equivalent of a shit ton of books, but in fact you’ve read no books in a year. When I look back on it, that’s what hustling was. It’s maximal effort put into minimal gain. It’s a hamster wheel”

“The way my mother always explained it, the traditional man wants a woman to be subservient, but he never falls in love with subservient women. He’s attracted to independent women

In any society built on institutionalized racism, race-mixing doesn’t merely challenge the system as unjust, it reveals the system as unsustainable and incoherent. Race-mixing proves that races can mix—and in a lot of cases, want to mix. Because a mixed person embodies that rebuke to the logic of the system, race-mixing becomes a crime worse than treason.”

“…If you’re in an environment that is positive and progressive, you too will become that. I keep telling you to change your life, and you don’t”

“In the hood, gangsters were your friends and neighbors. You knew them. You talked to them on the corner, saw them at parties. They were a part of your world. You knew them from before they became gangsters. It wasn’t, “Hey, that’s a crack dealer.” It was, “Oh, little Jimmy’s selling crack now.” The weird thing about these gangsters was that they were all, at a glance, identical. They drove the same red sports car. They dated the same beautiful eighteen-year-old girls. It was strange. It was like they didn’t have personalities; they shared a personality. One could be the other, and the other could be the one. They’d each studied how to be that gangster”

Growing up in a home of abuse, you struggle with the notion that you can love a person you hate, or hate a person you love. It’s a strange feeling. You want to live in a world… where you either hate them or love them, but that’s not how people are.

That’s it. Any excerpt you particularly agree with or disagree with? Have you read this book? Are you interested? What are you currently reading? Let’s know your thoughts.

Love and Warmth,
Debby.

BOOK REVIEW– Smart Money Woman

Book Reviews 6 Comments

Title: The Smart Money Woman
Author: Arese Ugwu
Publisher/publication date:
Matador, Troubador publishing ltd/ 2016.
Review
I didn’t know what to expect from this book, I only hoped in all sincerity that it wouldn’t bore me because at the time I picked it up, I had no patience for troublesome reads.
I had seen recommendations(not reviews) of it on the internet. My friend Chizaram gave me the e-book. If you’re interested, you can e-mail me.
It wasn’t a boring read in spite of discussing a bit of what is often considered the ‘professional stuff’ in finance. It takes the form of a light hearted fictional read. Considering the reader is aware the book isn’t for all purposes fictional, the lack of exceptional fictional narrative skills, is forgivable.
For me, it was an enlightening read.
The foreword was written by Nimi Akinkugbe, CEO BESTMAN GAMES, money matters with Nimi. She wrote:

”For many people, the subject of personal financial management can be somewhat daunting. The book presents the basic concepts of earning, budgeting, spending , borrowing, saving, investing as well as behavioural and emotional aspects of money In a personal way that makes it easy to personalize.”

This book isn’t vague about the ‘woman’ mentioned in it’s title, even though it is very well profitable to all sexes. It uses the story of a Nigerian woman, Zuri, to bring home the points.
After each chapter, there are highlighted lessons in which the concepts explored through story telling for that chapter, are discussed. Afterwards, there are exercises for the reader to carry out, for example, calculating your own net worth.
Zuri, a 28 year old senior manager at Richmond developments( a real estate firm), has good financial potentials as she earns a salary which the average Nigerian aims to earn. Regardless, Zuri discovers she is broke. This is a journey on how she climbs out of it.

”Broke means, if you lost your primary source of income today, you wouldn’t be able to maintain the lifestyle you have become accustomed to because you have no assets to rely on”

”Broke people think its about how much you earn and spend while rich people know it is about how much your are able to convert of your current earnings into an asset for the future.”

This book broaches the manner in which money is spent from the perspective of different individuals. We take a look at all four of Zuri’s closest friends together with their families and what financial strategies they employ.
It also broaches the subject of peer pressure(especially payment for aso ebi*); building an emergency fund; articulating what it is you exactly want your money to do for you in life; sacrificing comfort; having financially conscious friends with the same ideals who gear you on to financial accountability; setting boundaries in helping family relations; the impact of societal gossip; handling money fears, financial analysis; diligence at work; having a partner who understands financial success; the making of Wills in Nigeria(how it’s seen as a taboo); discussing family securities etc.
Furthermore, the role of employers and other mentors in the society is also considered; the benefit of organizational programs such as WIMBIZ (the largest and most substantial women organization that empowers working women in Nigeria).
Exploring this book, as is the same with other works of literature, you must be conscious of what you’re learning. Some other people can float through the whole experience and end up not realizing the gem of wealth in the book(perhaps just admiring Tsola).
Some of the points well scored in the book:

  • The average wealthy Nigerian has an ayeye** mentality. Upon the death of someone in the book, the family threw a big burial party despite the fact that the deceased’s will had been read and huge debts had been unraveled. Family finances must be discussed. Understand your spouse’s money personality. Is there life insurance? What are the responsibilities of each family member?
  • It teaches you that you should understand investment. Don’t just assume you’re cool because you’ve started investing. What are your investment goals and strategy? What is your risk profile? know the classes of investments that exist and very importantly, speak to an investment adviser or stockbroker.
  • As an entrepreneur, do you have financial records; balance sheet, cash flow, profit or loss statement’? or are you just shining teeth that ”hello I’m an entrepreneur”?
  • Everyone doesn’t have to be an entrepreneur.

”you know leveraging on your set skill to maximize your earning potential doesn’t have to mean starting your own business, right?”

  • What you can do to leverage your earning potential, is to maintain a habit of thinking outside the box and to have multiple streams of income. In essence, not necessarily following the herd mentality that comes from over glamorizing entrepreneurship, if that is not your thing.
  • Look beyond making money, seek to create value, to make an impact.

There’s some humour and general consideration of what it means to live in Nigeria.
I consider this book helpful in that the vibe it gives off is one of the author trying to help the reader. She goes ahead to critically explain even the downside to engaging an investment firm, what questions you should ask etc. She insists no one should dismiss your concerns. In essence, be the boss of your own money.
However, I am not wholly in support of the story’s plotline.
I rate it 4.5 out of 5 stars and I recommend it to anyone on a quest to learning on finances (and you should be!).
Excerpts:

She felt like she was no longer on a career ladder to nowhere…Zuri had discovered she was her own hero

The smart money woman has positioned herself for success. For her, improving her net worth is more important than improving her wardrobe.

”In sub-Saharan Africa, less than one percent are born into wealth, and under ten percent are born into middle class. In general, we are not taught in any formal framework, how to keep money or grow it- basic personal finance skills are difficult to learn. As a result, when a young adult starts earning more than they need to survive, they still end up living from paycheck to paycheck”

”What you deny or ignore, you delay; what you accept and face, you conquer”

”People associate the word budget with scarcity or a reduction in station in life. Therefore budget is a word they’ve come to resent. The truth is budget is something that tells you how to allocate your resources, and it should reflect what you value”

”Your network is your net worth”

”Soji and I never discussed about money without tension. At first, it was normal because that was how I grew up as well. My parents never really discussed money with us or with each other. But now with everything that is going on, I realise Its something we should have discussed even before we got married”

”The cardinal rule is when you invest; don’t invest in anything you do not understand.”

Have you read my post on Finance and perspective? What is your view on managing finances? Have you read this book? Are you interested?
* aso ebi stands for the culture of sewing the same clothes for big events
**Ayeye is a Yoruba word meaning fanfare.
As always,
Love, Debby.

Exposition: What is Impostor Syndrome? 

Educative 7 Comments


I’ve wanted to write this post since the inspiration first came. I once saw a person write “I am aware” in a space meant for complimenting yourself. I like that. I envy it; to be aware, informed, enlightened.
I learnt of the term Impostor Syndrome(IS) not so long ago.
It is a concept describing individuals who are marked by an inability to internalize their accomplishments and a persistent fear of being exposed as a fraud.
It’s common among high achievers. They believe their success isn’t well deserved.
I first got to learn of it when Mariam Olafuyi had an instalive session on Instagram sometime last year. Ever since then, I noticed it easily in books I read, I saw it on the internet. Simply put, I became conscious of it and discovered its been a long standing discovery.
It’s very easy to think of it as Low Self Esteem (LSE) but it isn’t. Someone asked a question on that instalive session on whether any difference existed between IS and LSE. She responded by saying they’re different. I’m paraphrasing her answer:

“It isn’t the same. I know I’m awesome. I think I’m pretty cool. I don’t doubt that. The issue is when opportunities come, I don’t think I’m best suited for them.”

Both concepts can rightly be said to be distant family relations, so far as you admit that they are different. IS doubts results produced, LSE doubts the worth of the person.
IS is also referred to as Impostor phenomenon or Fraud syndrome. One easy way to diagnose it is that while a part of you tells you that this explains that feeling you often have, another part tells you ‘No, you’re simply famzing the category, reading too much meaning into your inabilities, you probably just have poor output’.
The condition
The condition “Impostor syndrome” was first identified in the late 1970s by Pauline R. Clance and Suzanne A. Imes. Their research showed that many high-achieving women tended to believe they were not intelligent and that they were over-evaluated by others.
IS is not rare, according to a study in the International Journal of Behavioral Science, it is estimated to occur to 70% of people from all walks of life, both men and women experience the impostor syndrome at some point in their careers.
Another study revealed almost 75% of surveyed students at Harvard Business School also felt like they were admitted due to some failure of the admission process.
Technology is growing so fast that most of us are learning something new on almost every project we work on. And that can make you feel like you don’t have the expertise you should have to rightfully be in that position.
I saw two Ted talks that I think shed more light on this concept. The speakers didn’t for once mention Impostor Syndrome but it was, in my opinion, close to their areas of concentration.
This by Sheryl Sandberg and This by Reshma Saujani.
Impostor syndrome is more common in women. Sheryl Sandberg, author of Lean In said:

“Men attribute their success to themselves while women attribute it to other external factors.
If you asked men why they did a good job, they’d say ‘I’m awesome, why do you bother asking?’ If you asked women, they’d say someone helped them; or they got lucky; or they did a good job…”

Another fact is that men are more likely to apply for a job in which they meet 60% of the requirements, while women will most likely not apply unless they meet 100% of the requirements.
This isn’t to fault the male folk in any sense, its simply to highlight the extent to which women lean back and why Impostor syndrome is consequently, more common in women.
Teaching women bravery instead of perfection, will go a long way in alienating IS because then you are taught to try.
My theory is that IS has gotten enough flesh to feast on because of our approach to a failed attempt. We all think ill of an attempt which didn’t turn out well. We should rather, think well of the courage that fuelled that attempt in the first place.
When that is accomplished, it goes to say when we do in fact succeed, it would not be sacrificed on the altar of “it just happened“, “I got help“, “ I was lucky“. It didn’t just happen. You did well. You succeeded. Believe it, own it.
Some of the tips to overcoming Impostor Syndrome include:

  • Keeping a file/folder of all the compliments you recieve on the work you do. You can always consult it to forge ahead on cloudy days.
  • Admitting that its impostor syndrome that’s preventing you from trying something new, from accepting your good work. Say it. Say it and it immediately becomes less of a threat.

“I own my own successes. I wear them as a badge. I have privileges but I’ve been able to leverage them. I’ve not done much but what I have done is substantial. I celebrate my work.”

There are a million other things you can learn about impostor syndrome and how to overcome it. A few helpful links: one and two. Research some more, the internet is (well, can be) your friend. Lol.

You may be immune to this, but you have a friend who isn’t. Share this post with them and stay enlightened.
I really hope this has been of help. If it has, do share. Have a great weekend and don’t forget to tell us what you think in the comment box.
Peace and Light,
Debby.

2018 Life Update (1)

Life Diary 5 Comments

Hello.
I try not to get too consumed in other blog plans, so as to leave out updates on my life.
Sometimes though, I do not know how to succesfully pass across all I’m going through. Sometimes, I do not even know how to blog. Do we ever really know how to do some things? Expertise may just be a hoax.
Reading: Homegoing by Yaa Gyasi. I’d heard good noise about this on the internet since it got published. I hope to review it someday.
Also, I’m re-reading Daughter of Destiny. It’s the only authorized biography of Kathryn Kuhlman. I told an old friend recently that I try to re-read that book every year. I vividly recall something I heard Bishop Oyedepo say in a message I listened to. He said he re-reads Kenneth .E. Hagin’s books every year because that is a huge part of his faith origin. Every year, the busy bishop Oyedepo, much older than I am, makes out time to re-read the same books and read others. Obviously what you focus on, shapens your life. If there is a book which marked a significant turning point in your life, you can make a yearly commitment to it. 
Thirdly, I’m on Living as a Christian by A.W Tozer. I love A.W Tozer’s style. He is that familiar uncle I never met. I don’t mind going over a chapter repeatedly.

Wanting: My own apartment. I like having my own space a little too much. I told my mum that someday, I’ll really love to have my house before I get married. A place where I can just customize. Preferably a minimalist setting, with lots of awe-inducing wall art.
Right now, I love my roommate but I get bothered about the issue of space. Isn’t it okay to just have my things the exact way I want them to be – unruffled?
When I do reflect, I think it just goes to show my personality and a weakness in that personality. Life is in sharing. People won’t always have the same priorities I have. Therefore, if I have to sweep four times a day because I do not like any dirt, well then, so be it. Sweep, and live out my current personal apartment-less life.
Wearing: New lipstick occasionally. Make-up is as much a mystery as it is a controversy in some circles. In some other circles, it’s just feminine, nothing attached.
Having: daily battles with my flesh. Sometimes, I will do every other thing but pray. Every other thing. No matter how many spiritual things you do, if you do not pray, you’re cheating yourself. When I say pray,I do not mean collective prayers but personal. 
At a group retreat recently, someone made mention of the reason why some people pray saying “the God of Babalola, the God of Adeboye“. Those ministers have personal spiritual ‘net-worth’. This isn’t about the communal anointing that occurs when we gather to pray. Rather, a personal spiritual weight harnessed in the place of prayer.
Eating: fruits of late, because something has to work atleast.  My plan was to prepare lots of food at this period and store them. I had plans to make soups but I can’t, because, erratic power supply. In other words, I’ve been missing my African dishes. *cue dramatic sigh of a Yoruba girl*
Missing: Family trips.
Hoping: For an audible subscription from a friend. Lol. Hoping for a Cassie Daves blog planner from a friend.
Listening: To nothing much of late. My phone isn’t reading my memory card currently so most of my songs have been out of reach. My favourite song of late is Reckless Love by Steffany Gretzinger. It’s a Bethel music song.
I also miss listening to audio bible.
Trying: to tie together this thing called adulting. Making decisions. Being taken seriously. Being looked up to. Working.

Encouraging you: to stick to one thing like a postal stamp, until you get there.
Well, that’s what I saw as a quote somewhere. Your life encourages people with the littlest of things sometimes. There is someone on instagram who encourages me with her huge love for dogs. Imagine that. She is just living her life, loving dogs, yet she inspires someone. It gets as simple as that. I’m here making sense of this blogging thing in the midst of a thousand and one confusions and then occasionally, someone tells me of how the blog is a blessing to them.
 I think doubt surely follows any good thing. In an article I read on Zadie Smith(a writer) today, in answering a question on any secret techniques to coping with self-doubt, she admitted that:

” In the end, you just have to write and doubt simultaneously”

Don’t bother about the doubt accompanying what you’re creating,  just do it. Stick to it, like a postal stamp, until you get there. I know you will get there.
That does it for the day. Thanks, see you next week.
Love, adulting, prayers,
Debby.
Can you relate to something I shared? How are you faring? Pray tell in the comment box.

Boarding House Reflections (3)

Life Diary Non-Fiction 13 Comments

Hello people. Thanks for sticking by. Here is the last post for this series. I’m hopeful for more blog series in the future. This was my remark at it’s start:
” This brief series of posts that will be coming up, is aimed at reflecting on the human thought process given a few years interval. Graduating from secondary school often brings a different perspective and fresh enlightenment to many students. 
Same will probably apply in a few years from now. A change in thought process based on growth, it is wonderful to track it.“

My letter:

Dearest Sparkles,
You would never have believed I, of all people, would forget the name “Sparkles“. But I did love, not until much later when I must have either discovered an old book or an old friend called me by that name. The name used to be my cuteness signature.

I would take a friend’s notebook in their absence, open randomly to the middle, scribble “sparkles” boldly, then write below in a small font “when you see this, remember I love you and smile” or something similar to those words. They always did smile. On a very random day, they’d get to that part of their notebook, see it and later come to hug me saying they saw what I wrote. And then we would both smile big goofy smiles. How easy, right?

A smile. In the years that follow, you would smile some more. Smile not so much because any friend did anything wonderful, but because you’ve learnt to find home in yourself. You do remember that at some point, mum and Dorcas told you you derived too much pleasure from friends. You thought it was true even then. How couldn’t it be, with a heart as warm as yours? You’ve had your share of losses; friends being one, and you’ve learnt to smile and find joy in your being. In God in you, and not necessarily from friends.

Friends. Many of them. Boarding school drew you into personalities, both in junior years and senior years. You fought with friends and stood strong by them, loyal. You read each other’s diary entries. You also had gists that lasted long into the night by joining those in room 5. Room 5 was for SS3 students you in SS2, knowing fully well you had boarding school routine and classes the next day while they were free, still you gisted. You covered each other’s secrets because young as you were, you had secrets, however silly.

Secrets. It was no secret who your special friend was. Occasionally, I now laugh, amused, when I recall how those silly juniors would chorus the refrain to the song call that was “senior Deborah,…” with “senior George is calling you!”. And Tosin, my roommate, wouldn’t stop teasing me.

But you care to know what I would appreciate later on? The launch into a fountain of life which I still drink. I recall my gists with Patience, nights in which she would fill me in on every detail about the two guys who liked her. I contrast them with mornings with Tabernacle, Tabernacle who had a beautifully strange name. It’s etched somewhere in my mind, her saying “the day I was going to resume here, even though I knew the meaning of my name, I had to ask my dad again because I knew you guys would ask me“. Meeting Tabernacle, was my first encounter with a young person who really loved God. Tabernacle would dash my belief that I was faithful in my morning devotions (after all, I observed it about three or four times out of seven days compared to some other people). Hers was a daily fellowship. We were roommates not by accident. I remember the times I cried because I wasn’t very serious with God. I remember the times we spoke and the wisdom she demonstrated (which was obviously beyond her years). I remember when she introduced room devotions on Saturday mornings (other than our cooperate hostel devotion as a Christian school) – an innovation which in retrospect, was a divine inspiration. I’ll like my daughter to blaze trails like Tabernacle. People came from the other apartment to join our room devotion. People came from other rooms just to observe. Tabernacle didn’t always know that. Some days, she only knew of her troubles that were inexplicable and she shared a lot. Blessed heart.
This is why I’d tell my younger version that the world is much larger than it seems and things aren’t always as bad as they appear. Tomorrow would be a lot better than the confusion of your teenage years.

It’s great you share a lot, you’ll find that relevant in the years to come.
Honesty and simplicity leave you precious in this dark and cruel times.
The gists you had about God were an investment into the jewel you now are, and it doesn’t fade. The gists you had about boys haven’t necessarily made the male folk easier to decipher. So why bother?

Debby, as you call yourself now, I love that you were daring and adventurous. It makes me happy to know you lived out your secondary school days. Days of horrific dancing, days of food exchange, borrowed items and young love.
I love you always, continue to learn with arms spread wide and the wind in your face. Your evening stroll routine helps mental health. Like I always advice my younger sister now, don’t miss watching the sunsets. In the few years that would succeed your graduation from secondary school, you wouldn’t have so much opportunity to watch the Sun set, so don’t miss it today.

Importantly, Sparkle!, because there aren’t two of you in this world. There never would be.
Love,
Big Debby.

N.B: The names used in this post are fictional substitutes.


Hope January 2018 has been good.
As Always, I’ll love to hear your thoughts. Comment and share.
Love and Peace,
Debby.

Boarding House Reflections (2)

Guest Posts 13 Comments

Hello good people. Thanks for all the love you’ve been showing on the blog. It does matter. Bloggers always appreciate comments, on and offline. Though you should always feel free to comment on the blog. It springs up conversation and makes it a lively page. Merci beau coup.
Today, someone else is sharing her school reflections with us on here.
Sharon is one girl with whom I used to gist for hours back in the days. She had this celebrity bunk bed while in ss3. She used to daydream there. Since she had no bunkmate, she removed the matress and wooden planks on top and would gaze up at the decking, mapping out her future husband and children. I was always welcome to lie on the bed with her and go to lala land.
I can relate to some of her experiences on here and I was just laughing while reading it. I’m sure you’ll enjoy this. Thank you Sharon for agreeing to write. 
She is a spoken word artist.
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MY SECONDARY SCHOOL DAYS! THE CONS AND PROS OF BEING AN EXECUTIVE OF THE FELLOWSHIP AT CHAPEL SECONDARY SCHOOL. 
In case you don’t get it, the name of the school had to be included in the title because Chapel secondary school located in Kwara state is arguably one of the most ‘spiritual’ (religious) schools in Nigeria, when you exclude convents and seminaries?
Therefore, when you apply for admission into this School,  it is expected of you to know and understand that you have invariably agreed to surrendering your life to Jesus. So being an executive in the Fellowship of this school should mean that you are sitted with Christ in the heavenly places? No more, No less! 
So what were the Pros and Cons of being a religious head as a young Secondary girl? Join me!
Let me take you one year before I became an executive, my junior secondary School years, JSS3 to be precise. I was a lively girl; not the prettiest nor brightest in class (maths was and still is a problem) but I was friends with almost all. I never knew what if felt like to have a crush until then. This boy who was a very good friend of mine gave me two cards for Christmas.
My first gift from a guy! you have no idea what that meant. Someone, a human being, thought of me and then carried his legs and went to buy cards for me, you can laugh now,  but it wasn’t so much a joke for 10 year old me. I held them to my chest, I would read the words every night and think about them. By the way, the words on the card were about the birth of Jesus ? I don’t know how they were making me feel mushy mushy (emotional)?
I tell you,  when you are in love, you’re just stupid (full stop) 
Now, I can say this was my first real attempt at heart matters; feelings, crushes and all and it didn’t last; Why?
If I remember well,  people were saying stuff. You know how Secondary School people are. A friend will come and say
“I heard he told one of his friends that you are cheap”,
 you will hear another girl say that another girl said that
“Sharon that does not have sense, she thinks he likes her”
Oh Girls! They can ruin marriages. ??? 
I remember telling a friend back then that if there could be so much drama when we weren’t even in a relationship, what will happen if we were more.
So, I started keeping my distance and moving farther away from him. It really wasn’t any big deal, even he had moved on and then I moved into the boarding house, in my Senior Secondary School year 1 and this is where the story begins. 
Just as I got into the senior class,  I became reserved. Was it because I moved into the hostel? I don’t think so because I remember on the first day of school that year, people were asking me, 
‘what’s wrong with you?’
‘why are you quiet’
 and I remember I kept answering in all sincerity that there was absolutely nothing wrong. Some of my teachers even thought I had a terminal sickness like cancer or something. My walk became slow, I became less chatty but I can’t trace it to the fact that I moved to the hostel because whenever I was in the hostel, I was more lively, at least a little more. I will chat and make jest with friends and juniors, about boys and other stuff
Now I was to be considered for the post of being an executive in the School’s fellowship, this was the second term of the school year. This was going to change my life forever. How:
Firstly,  because you would almost become socially dead? 
As an executive, not only do people automatically assume an air over your life,  you also naturally get to have some changes in your life. Many people will say this change is called ‘being fake’ but perhaps not for everyone.
For example, I was made the Assistant prayer Coordinator, this meant that Fridays which every school Student used to look forward to as the fun day since it was the end of the week and you will walk to the  road with your pals or that guy you liked; it wasn’t the same for me.
As an executive, one will sometimes have to skip classes in the morning so as to arrange the hall for the School fellowship which held every afternoon. I remember my mathematics teacher always complained about me being unserious because it happened to be that his classes fell into the morning period. Also, after fellowship, you’ll clean up the hall and then as the Prayer unit head which I was, we would have our weekly prayer meeting, which could run for about two hours or more (more actually), into the evening. We actually did love it! We were like this clique, we will gist, make jest, and though our lives were not to the admiration of others but we really were fine. By evening time, my mates in the hostel are already done strolling round the school hand in hand with their crushes or chilling out, catching up with the guy they liked but I wasn’t even given that luxury. Not because I didn’t have a crush.
Oh I did,  let’s talk about him!
Dark, well built, Big boy gait, he was a year my senior. You see, even as an executive, I had my eyes fixed on the Lord and the corner of my eyes fixed on the boy??? Hallelujah.
Now,  he wasn’t an executive. He  was one of those guys people will call a ‘bad boy’. You know,  back then in school, as long as you really weren’t an executive,  you had the tendencies to be called a bad boy or a bad girl,  For no reason! ? or simply because you were being a youth of your age, liking a guy or being in a relationship. 
Now, this guy never looked at me twice, he couldn’t have! I didn’t even used to dress cute and nice, I didn’t used to walk like a girl, I still don’t. People say I bounce, it’s so embarrassing and I’ve tried but you see if it’s not in you, it’s not in you. 
You know, there were girls who used to dress well and girly, nice hair do, little make up (cos my School will slaughter you if you had much make up). I was on a freaking low cut! I would hardly use powder, not because I had a problem with it but because I just didn’t think about it, not even because I was caught up in my responsibilities as an executive. There were executives who were better and more pleasing to the eye?.
 Even if all things were being equal and this guy noticed me, there was no way any thing could have happened because as I have written earlier, there is a natural assumption made over you once you are an executive. Some would even say it’s hard to believe you like anyone,  like you are without emotions and feelings and also,
HOW CAN YOU, AN EXECUTIVE IN CHAPEL SECONDARY SCHOOL THINK OF GOING INTO A RELATIONSHIP! When you are not mad. 
A friend of mine who was an executive almost went into a relationship,
oh my! 
The higher authorities went ablaze! By the higher authorities, I refer to those above us; the teachers and Patrons. In fact, it got even me into trouble. I remember one of the teachers called me and with a serious tone asked
“What were you looking at till she got to this point where she wants to go into a relationship with him, and of all people, him!”
The problem again was that the guy she liked was one they considered to be ‘not Christian enough’
These were the cons. Your life was being monitored, sometimes excessively. Now, this is what could lead into being fake.
I remember the day I applied gloss to my lips (lip gloss)?, normal ordinary lip gloss o, all those types most of us used back then in SSS3; brown with tiny shimmers so that it looked mildly like lip stick, I used it, innocent me, and one of the teachers called and gave me a sound lecture on how I was not to be doing ‘such’ because I was an executive. 
Another time, when were to fill in information for our year book, I wrote my nick name to be ‘Sha-baby’ because that was what many called me, a teacher called me and said ‘as a Christian, do you think it is right to write such a thing as your nick name’
Guys, I was weak.
I was so confused.
So you see, being an executive could deny you some of the Senior Secondary school thrills, but can we out rightly say it was all bad. No, my quest for the knowledge of God started, I learnt to be by myself.
Now, Yes, many who were not executives also had a relationship with God. Did I hear someone say that’s a win-win (Lol) while some were executives and lived fake, some were executives and lived true.
 I hope at this point,  you see my point *chuckles* did you notice what I just did now,  point-point, Some will say it’s nothing,? Forget it! 
Anyways,  my point is that at every point in time (Oh God! I did it again! I know right, I’m such a genius?) Well, at every point of our lives, God is teaching us stuff, even for those who had not surrendered their lives to Christ back then,  God was writing a beautiful story of their lives, of everyone of us.
And even now, in a few years time, you will look back at this present moment you’re in,  and smile then shake your head and say… “But babe, you could have done things better” and that’s because you have a better understanding and have become a better person and you’ll be grateful you went through every twist, turn, normalcy and mistake, because it all has been wrought into a beautiful script and that script is you!
Ciao. 
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Hello, my name is sharonpaula. I am currently running my National Youth Service Corp Scheme in Delta State. 
Oh, I love writing spoken word pieces, making spoken word videos and editing them.
I am a very silly and sincere girl and I can be fun to be with.
You can check out my spoken word pieces on Instagram @iamsharonpaula or reach out to me on my mail sharonpaulaspeaks@gmail.com
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*clears throat* Are there some other people in the house, for whom math(s) was and still is a problem? Do testify.
As an exco though, we truly were seated In heavenly places with Christ Jesus. Prayer band helped me at that time. It was always a long stretch of hours which, funny enough, was our delight. We became a mini-family! Like Sharon, I can say that was when my dedicated quest for God started (with lots of up and down though!). 
What do you make of Sharon’s story? Interested in sharing your boarding house (secondary school) story with us? Did the ‘higher-authorities’ influence you in school? Did you (or others) think you were being fake? We’ll love to hear your thoughts.

Boarding House Reflections (1)

Guest Posts 6 Comments

This write-up came to me saved as “For Sisi”. Gbemibori Is a good friend and has a poetic tongue. With some training, I say she would make a good spoken word artist!
This brief series of posts that will be coming up, is aimed at reflecting on the human thought process given a few years interval. Graduating from secondary school often brings a different perspective and fresh enlightenment. 
Same will probably apply in a few years from now. A change in thought process based on growth.
I’m sure you will enjoy this trip to her boarding house years with her.
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​Dear Bori,
I remember my first few weeks in the boarding school. I cried till my eyes refused to be anything but red. During dinner, I’d sit on the slab attached to the Js1 preparatory class and literally weep inconsolably. I remember that people would pass by from the dining hall and wonder at the peculiar girl holding a festival of tears. I missed my home so much that I decided that by crying for so long every day I could force the hands of my unseeing parents excited at thrusting me into the hands of Independence.
Lesson 1. Never let the fear of uncharted waters keep you from walking on its surface.
The story of Peter in Mat 14 reminds me of all we do, yet criticise in life. He launched out into the deep on the thrill of the situation but couldn’t find sustenance because he lost his grip on the provider of that excitement. As he grew in his walk with Christ, he later shared about how the sincere milk of God’s word takes us beyond the beginning point of our relationship with Him. My happiness at being allowed to go to a boarding school was something I couldn’t’explain. Being the last child, I saw it as an opportunity to make decisions on my own without the influence of my nuclear and sometimes extended family. So, I went to the market in Lagos with my sister and shopped with much excitement but suddenly, out of the blues, I experienced a choking feeling of loss the day I was taken to school and that marked the beginning of my tear tales; something I would never forget quickly.
Lesson 2. While on water, expect  the waves
I had many interesting moments, like telling my parents that I needed to change classes because I was topping a class with 60% only to drop dramatically in the next term. Particularly, I remember my bunkmate in senior class. She’d sing loud songs and almost be without clothes in the large hostel area. She’d bring friends to the room who I’d meet after school hours on my bed, refusing me the opportunity of resting from the tiring classes. One thing I remember was our opposing beliefs; She, a Muslim, Me, a new Christian. 
So, I tried to force rules down her throat and she in turn ridiculed me before her friends. When she agreed to pray with me at the beginning of one term, I felt victorious. But the victory didn’t last because of the compromises I made. I let her pray the Muslim way in a bid to foster togetherness and she led me headlong into the things I screamed evil over.
I look back and I see that the missing link was my communion with a God I had recently accepted. Instead of craving for growth in Christ that would birth transformational yet unforced changes in people, I slowly slinked back into the life I had renounced.
Lesson 3.  True Love waits 
Solomon’s bride accurately captures the mind that oozes youthful exuberance; the need to awaken love before its time.  I struggled with this without even realising it. I’d let the onset of puberty almost take me beyond the borders of propriety and just before I could throw caution to the winds, it’d wrap itself around me and refuse to let me go.  The attractions of broken fences hidden behind a thicket of bushes, the lure of flattery from lips like honey were tools for my destruction.
Now, I smile when I realise that the things I ran after now chase after me. The little girl is blossoming into a woman and the love that I felt I desperately needed was patiently waiting in the arms of Abba.
I long to re-write history but one thing stands out in my heart from the words of John – That which we have seen, which we have heard, which our hands have handled, concerning the Word of life. This embodies the importance of various experiences that lead to a closer walk with God.
Walk unhindered in his steps, Bori.
Walk, Run, Fly.
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I’m Oluwagbemibori, an Engineering student with a single focus: God’s Kingdom. 
I love impactful words and beautiful worship. I also dance with David’s passion?
Let’s share about God’s grace that fuels our interests on Facebook – Olaoye Gbemibori or via email – ogbemibori@yahoo.com
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“He launched out into the deep on the thrill of the situation but couldn’t find sustenance because he lost his grip on the provider of that excitement.” I especially love this part.
What are your thoughts on this post? Would you have been friends with Gbemibori from what you can tell of her at that time? Were you a boarding house student or a day student? Has your value system changed radically? Or significiantly remained the same?
Another on the same subject will be put up next week Saturday. Have  great day.
As Always,
Debby.

BOOK REVIEW– Bridge To Haven

Book Reviews 6 Comments

Title: Bridge to Haven
Author: Francine Rivers
Publisher/Publication date: Tyndale House Publishers Inc./2014
Edition: 1st ed. Paper back copy. 459 pages.
ISBN: 978-1-4143-6818-4

What does Haven signify? Literally, it is a place of rest or safety.
In this book, Haven is the name of a town. The book title signifies a place of grace and mercy for each person. Literally, to enter the town of Haven, you must pass through a particular bridge. Abra Matthews found it hard to come to that bridge once again.
Metaphorically, she also found it hard to pass through that redemption bridge which only Jesus provides.
The Story.
Abra doesn’t feel like ‘somebody’. She feels neglected and unloved. She believes she was adopted at age 5, out of a sense of Christian duty, from the couple who had earlier rescued her when she was found abandoned as a day old baby.
With Mitzi though, she feels differently. Old Mitzi shares her taste for music, is fashionable and doesn’t hesitate to give a piece of her mind.
Pastor Zeke has this to think of Mitzi:
“




Zeke knew Mitzi as a woman of wits and wisdom… Life experiences didn’t always bring wisdom but in Mitzi’s case it brought a great deal more. She said she’s been passionate in sin, but she was even more so in repentance. She had the gift of compassion for outcasts to prove it.

“
At age17, this growing red-haired beauty gets lured away from the ones who love her to a place of fame- Hollywood.
She think she’s found love but she is in for a rude awakening. She thinks she’s finally become accepted and respected but finds out fame comes at a terrible price.
Review:
I’m afraid of giving spoilers but I find the plot to be predictable in any case. Inspite of this, it’s a very loaded book, with lots of suspense.
I find the root of Abra’s problem to be the thought that she is unloved. Several references were made as to her thoughts of being a castaway even though she was hugely loved.
We get to contrast love and lust. For one, love is patient.
Francine is good with evoking emotions and well, emotions matter greatly.
It’s a lovely and warm read. I think lots of lessons can be gleaned from the book ranging from patience as an attribute of love, to parenting, and life choices. The Story also had to do with the war between North and South Korea and America’s involvement owing to the United Nations.
Francine Rivers brings it as true and as hot as it gets again. I respect the writing process of this book. Francine always appears diligent with her research and I respect that. Fine details of the Hollywood life and fine attention to every character.
The main characters are Abra, Joshua, Pastor Zeke, Penny, Ryan and Franklin Moss. My favourite character is Joshua.
I think this is a good read. I’ll buy this book for every young and ambitious girl with stars in her eyes. I’ll also recommend it to everyone for its central theme which I deduce to be “Love is patient”.
I recommend it very greatly to teenagers and to everyone at large. I rate it 4.0/5 stars.
On the war:





“




Every soldier who goes looking for comfort, comes back with VD…I have my pocket Gideon bible on me at all times and read it every chance I get. It calms me, gives me hope. Men call me “preacher”, and not in the mocking way they did in boot camp. When death hunts men, they look for God…”

“Being with Gil made Joshua remember the things he’d been taught. “I forgot the rules” he’d addmited to Gil once during one of their early conversations.
“What rules?” Gil had asked.

Rule no one: young men die. Rule number two: you can’t change rule number one. I heard it in training, but forgot it in battle.”

“Sometimes God has to destroy in order to save. He has to wound in order to heal”

 As always,
Debby.
Have you read this book? Are you interested in reading this? Do you have another recommendation for share? Pray tell…