I didn’t think I would be sharing a testimony today. I’ve not been in the best mood/state in the past weeks. Some persistent needs/insecurities… Some “thorns in my flesh” To borrow Paul’s words have persisted for at least 10 years; although I have prayed as fervently as I could, although I have fasted and cried as hard as I could nothing changed much. God seems to be giving everything but that. Addressing everything but that. So I was once again fasting this week, seeking God’s face on the issue.Praying over the same things for a long time is disheartening. You know when you see Hof come through your faith soars and you have the audacity to ask for more. But given that this thing I’ve been praying for has not been answered my faith was waning. It got to a point that I was unable to pray… But here I am giving testimony, because upon reflection today, after discussing with a sister Melissa J earlier today I realized I’m focusing so much on the fact that there are still these needs, so much that I’m not appreciating enough the miracle of still standing. So this is what I want to testify to: sometimes the miracle is in the fact that the oil just didn’t finish, it must not necessarily be that the container will brim with oil. I’m thinking of the story of Prophet Elijah and the Widow at Zarephath (beginning at 1 Kings 17:7).The miracle is in that you are not consumed, not that the fire no longer burns. The fire can still be burning but you are not consumed. I entered this year with my faith bank low like the widow who used her last drop of oil but from March 2022 through Praying Brides’- a women’s ministry I am a part of, one sister after the other has blessed me. One of the things I prayed for was for God to settle me, it was imperative to have a place to call home be rooted somewhere, to have a community and a church. I have a place of my own I am trying to make home again. I have a church to worship at and I’m trying to build a community in a new city, learning a new language… In the year when I had so little faith, it in this year that I got baptized. I’ve now taken up residence there is a miracle in still being useful, still being blessed and a blessing while not being okay while being in need. It is that miracle to which I testify. So if you were like me, waiting for the “end of the trial” but the problem has been lasting much longer than expected. I’m here to say we need not wait to the end, just as we pray in advance, we can testify in the process. To testify to how he has been moving even if it is not in ways you expect. He’s moving.
Vlog: What I Would Like to Share from My Fitness Journey
Hello there!I hope the year is going good so far. This month I haven’t been musing about much other than the deadlines I need to meet! So I asked for suggestions from friends on what to blog about. Several suggested that I blog about my fitness journey. I have written a bit about how my decision to work on getting healthier has been wrongly perceived before (see HERE), so I was (and still am) reluctant to go into details. But, a recent realization of the toll self-improvement has on our mental health made me consider tackling the suggested topic from a different perspective. I felt the need to talk directly rather than write what needs to be said out. So I hope you enjoy this month’s vlog and do leave a comment. Let’s discuss this!
What Lesson Are You Learning Now?
Dear Christian Bro/Sis, Consider this: the Christian’s life is part prep school, part boot camp. We’re being groomed, pruned, molded and made ready for life in God’s kingdom. A popular song in Cameroon goes: Holy, Heaven is Holy (2x) Only the righteous shall enter there, Heaven is Holy I used to think the song meant we need to ‘get’ holy to enter the gates, but I now understand that it is not for us to ‘get’. Heaven is indeed Holy, so throughout our lives, God sets up exercises like a trainer to make us holy to enter there. With our everyday experiences, encounters, and study of the scripture, God transforms us to be adequate enough to pass through the entrance. In sum, we’re forever students in the school of Christlikeness when we commit to this journey. You are signed up for a class right now. Do you know the course title? Can you recognize what God is teaching you? Personally, I came to realize I have been taking a college level course in Surrendering. When I returned home in December of 2018, I was praying for motivation, for a sign, for the strength to hold on to something very dear to me. Something God had given me (so obviously it’s a good thing) and something I firmly believe is crucial to God’s purpose to me. As days became weeks and months, I saw no answer to my response. Or rather, not the direct answers I expected. I became angry. Is it a yes or a no? I’d demand in prayer. I’d like a ‘yes’ of course, but if it’s a ‘no’ be more direct please, give me something else so I can let go of this thing… And that was it, the problem, I wanted to see what I was trading this treasure of mine for before I let it go. I had this image (see here) in my mind which suggests that ‘God has a bigger teddy bear for you so you can let go of yours’ but I wanted to see that teddy bear first. Like, is it a teddy bear, or a toy truck? Is it one in my favorite color? Can I have some guarantee? But as this course has taught me thus far, I was missing the point. We shouldn’t be giving up our treasure only if we can get better. Our surrender must not be conditional. It is demanded. Whether or not there is a new/bigger Teddy Bear behind his back at all, if asked we are to let go of what we’re holding on to. And this is how I learned that I was praying all wrong, I had set out my petition as a multiple choice question with certain answers I expected- call them ‘signs’. If yes, this will happen, if no then you’ll offer me this so I know for sure… As I journeyed home praying I was expecting an answer to that limited scope prayer and the ability to hold on to what I was to be surrendering in faith. In this most recent advanced course, I’ve been taught that the dilemma and lesson it holds is in itself an answer- even if its an answer to the prayer we didn’t pray!???????????? This recent lesson inspired the poem below, I hope you appreciate it and let me know what lesson you are currently learning in your own journey. Who knows, your current ‘course’ may be my next one ???? ********************************************************************************* The Surrendering I thought the journey was for affirming. And came believing I’d have a firmer clasp on emotions too effervescent, on a dream shattered and now unrecognizable. I thought by now I’d know for sure Where home is. Could be. Hoped by now I’d look at you and no longer see mixed signals I’ve found that I’d hoped wrong. The aim of this journey is never what I thought it was You did not take me on this journey to hold me, But to break me more. To do it gently in a familiar place, to do it slowly so I am not jarred When I asked you to take my hands and lead me at the start of this journey You did take my hand, but to unclasp my fist, so I let go of the little I’d managed to hold on to To bare my palm, for both of us to see the bruises on that soft flesh from years of struggling to hold what was and is only temporary. This journey has always been about my surrendering Now I know, it should be easier. Understanding ought to make things easier Yet that adage does not apply in this case. Knowing only makes me apprehensive of what is yet to come. Now that I am surrendering, I know there’s more breaking to be done.
29 Lessons I’ve Learned at 29: A Collection of Personal Epigrams Thus Far…
Earlier this month, I celebrated my 29th birthday. I have dubbed this year: My year of testimonies signifying my commitment to share more (particularly of lessons learned and vulnerabilities) by way of personal healing, self-evaluation ahead of the big 3.0 and in hope of encouraging someone else as I have often sought to be encouraged this past year. I began this testimony-themed year by sharing my ‘salvation story’ or the account of how and why I committed to the Christian faith. You can read this HERE. My contemplation on how far I’ve come this year and all there is to share led me to review my journals. I found an entry which reminded me that in 2012 as I completed undergrad, I had made an ambitious seven-year plan for fulfillment by the age of thirty. As per this plan, my 29th year was to be “My Year of Preparation”; it was to be the year I became fully ‘adult’. Underneath 29 I had put bullet points listing the goals for the year or what being ‘fully adult’ meant for me at that time. According to that list, as a twenty-nine-year-old I: – Should have a healthier lifestyle- a healthy weight, diet, skin care routine etc. – Should be getting to solvency, with savings, property, and finally acting on that business idea… -Should be enrolled in a postgraduate program and establishing myself as a writer and educationalist. – Should be setting up a family and preparing myself to be all I needed myself as a child. – Should have complete training at church to be a liturgist occasionally and be an active member of a Christian fellowship -Should have plans for establishing a youth center like the YMCA in the works WELL! Let’s just say I had some ambition way back then eh? I will not be holding myself up to this list, rather I shall think of it with appreciation as it shows that even back then, I knew I had to PREPARE and work on myself to achieve the fulfillment I desired and still desire. I am proud of the younger Monique for having figured that out. There’s a lot more I’ve figured out in these 29 odd years and I’ve coined life quotes from lessons learned which I share in this piece. Consider these 29 original sayings as epigrams to remember me by. Notes on Living, Loving and Being … The worst thing about life isn’t the catastrophes, the losses, the pain or disappointments it brings to us all. The worst thing, in my opinion, is that life goes on. It does not stop for us to collect our bearings, regain our rhythm, restore our hope or reclaim our faith. One may lose their entire family, another may lose their only source of joy, yet another the hope which kept them sane; but still life goes on, others live as though the world had not ended had not ended for one. You can believe all you want. Unlike Hollywood PG 13 movies, wishes don’t come true by believing alone. Believe in good, believe that justice will come someday, and right will conquer wrong. But bear in mind that this may happen on the day after you are buried in your grave. And it doesn’t make it too late for there was never a set date. One of the ironies of life, I have found, is how we are encouraged to dream grandly as children only to be urged to settle soon as adults- and our souls expand and contract with each compromise and negotiation, weathering away. The thing about tomorrow? It never has enough hours or the capacity to fulfill all we wish it would, so we always need another one. I have found that many people don’t notice my hearing impairment in the course or a conversation. To them, my rapt attention is response enough. And I can talk to at length with one whose name I do not know, one whom I have only just met. Because sometimes we do not need words. Everyone smiles in the same language, everyone understands the tilt of a head, can comprehend eyes welling up with tears and a hand outstretched…or withheld.
…And that is the story of how I became a Christian.
Hello, I’m Monique and today, 11th October 2018, makes me twenty-nine years old. I added an About My Faith page to this blog at the start of this year as I felt I could do more to share my faith. Recently, after being touched by the testimonies of undergrads shared at the church I’m presently attending and I decided to make an attempt at sharing my salvation story via video. I soon concluded that writing would enable me to be more concise. So with this piece, I share how it all began, or a testimony of how I came to commit to the Christian Journey. I hope my experience with God’s love inspires you on your journey and relationship with God too. *** To begin, I must acknowledge that by some measures, or common (mis)conceptions of what being a Christian is in our society- speaking from a Cameroonian perspective here- one could claim I have always been a Christian. Being born into a family which identifies as Christian, being baptized before I could talk, and being confirmed/taking my first communion by the age of 15 even though I can’t say what that really meant despite the required doctrinal lessons. In fact, I clearly recall that I begged to have my confirmation in school so I could belong, could join the line for communion when others went up and could have my ‘first communion party’ in school which would be a sort of visiting Sunday – cherished by boarding students. So, by the average demographic measure, I was a Christian from age 2, and a fully practicing one by age 15 with my baptismal and communion cards to prove it. Of course, the average view is often wrong. My not being a Christian was obvious in the fact that going to church was an event, not an act of worship nor fellowship. It was something to dress up for once a week. Morning devotions were routines, the songs were the only entertainment we young people were permitted to dance to and the prayers before meals were customary. Something done mindlessly, or out of fear of food-poisoning as seen on Nollywood films. Knowing this, I can say my Christian journey actually began in April of 2007. With neither, a baptism nor a ‘confirmation’. Rather, like most things in Christianity, it began with my pain and death, or my attempted death. *** At the time, I was 17 years old and alone in my cousin’s apartment in Yaoundé after dropping out of school. I had been effectively disowned by most of the family because I decided leave boarding school and was ready to return to the US where my mom and brother were, my cousin who had the apartment likewise left me without a word when he had an opportunity to leave the country. There’s a lot of background to this, but suffice it to say, you should picture a 17-year-old with loads of anger, self-esteem, and belonging issues. One who can’t quite put a finger on the intensity of the emotional pains she feels, knows little about the world, less about her family and no French at all but is now stranded in a francophone city. I was literally at my end. With no adult supervision, after I found out through a friend of my cousins that he had left the country, I began selling stuff to passersby outside the apartment so I could buy food to eat. I did that with some success considering my horrible French LOL! I soon got tired though, soon got fed up and the vacuum I had always filled with food just kept growing. So when I came across a bottle of Advil with expired Ibuprofen tablets already molding to dust form, I thought I’d found the perfect escape route. I was obviously unwanted, unloved and not understood- even by myself. I couldn’t see any reason to keep going, it all seemed like vanity. Wake, eat, perhaps study to impress some people you don’t even like, sleep and repeat. That was life as I knew it. I took a handful of those pills, dressed up and climbed into bed fully intending to die like ‘sleeping beauty’ I still had my vanity. And I recall thinking as I fell asleep crying in bed that I was going to have some very harsh words for God when I met him upon death. But I didn’t die. I slept deep, perhaps from the pills, perhaps from the tears. But I know it was longer than usual for me. Still, I woke up, by myself, feeling nauseous and running to the bathroom to throw up. I spewed out everything I’d consumed and could taste the bitter ibuprofen in my bile. As I was washing up and struggling to get my mouth to taste normal again, I thought of how unfair it was that I couldn’t even die in peace. I was interrupted by a knock on the door and when I went to answer it, the young girl who served my Anglophone neighbors as a house-help was there. She seemed a bit shy but had worked up the courage to come to ask me to teach her how to make pancakes. I had given her some pancakes before, out of guilt. She often cleaned my end of the corridor when she did her chores so I gave her pancakes once as compensation. This girl, who was at least 13 and at most 15 in age had never had that simple pleasure before and had seemingly waited till her bosses had left so she could ask me for how to do it. It was the small thing really but after feeling so useless that you would try to take your own life, being asked to teach someone how to make pancakes has some significance. As I taught her that day, I learned more about her. How she could only complete Primary school in the village and then her mother asked that she follow