living down the bucket list

Grrrrrr…. It’s Friday. Okay, since it’s 1 am, it’s Saturday the 26^th. One of the perks of my theme is that it doesn’t date stamp my posts. It seems like it should still be Friday because I haven’t slept yet. That’s not news I suppose. Yesterday (as in Friday) or earlier tonight, I in my opinion outdid myself with this Biryani thing I’ve been dying to make for like ever. It’s been a while, hence how I forgot the pawpaw part until it was time for blending. But I guess it still turned out amazing. Colin didn’t like the part about the pink rice though. Still.

I’m supposed to be at IMAX. Crossing off the ‘Watch midnight movie and see city in wee hours’ item off my bucket list. We went. We didn’t make quorum. We returned. I did however cross off that ‘see city (girls) in the wee hours part’. They have grit. They don’t feel cold. And walk in twos. Except this one who was on University Way alone. Or maybe she wasn’t alone. But we did get to do this on Standard Street or whichever; the one after Trattoria. It's like a whole different reality, town at these hours. 

I want the green bag. Also, I must go to the supermarket and find out once and for all what this saffron thing is. I’m tired of seeing it in recipes and not knowing what it is. Aunty Beaty says everything in a recipe is important, you miss one, it’s just not the same. She said it about the Biryani recipe she taught me years ago, I’m just extrapolating.

Blogger needs to up their game and ask me what’s on my mind every time I come to write a new post. Like Facebook. That way, I can say ‘desiderata’. That go-placidly-amid-the-noise piece from way back. I’ve been thinking about that all week. I’m going to look it up now, before I say what I’m going to say next. My mouth is too small for my foot ergo.

Good, all done! I’m going to do 7 days, 7 posts, about that really old and clichéd piece. Not sure how yet. And I didn’t say 7 consecutive days. Just 7 posts. Hopefully the days will be consecutive. Knowing myself, I know piece number 7 will come a month after today. It’ still acceptable, methinks. I’ve grown so accustomed to having a Martin deadline to sail through that I’m finding myself writing my own thing more and more often, like when I’m done earlier than usual. The blog’s not complaining, neither is hopefully those angst-y kids in the U.S. of A. with long unpronounceable emails. 

I went shopping yesterday (again, as in Friday). Didn’t find what I set out to look for, came back with a full bag all the same. Feeling reborn. I don’t know what it is about shopping. And I found. The. Most. Gorgeous. Maxi. Dress. Ever. For a bargain. I promise, it is like a dream. Now saying maxi dress reminds of me of these 40 articles I’ve written about dresses this week. And of the proverb ‘Mwamba ngoma ngozi huvuta kwake’. I was writing for a dress site, whose biggest size of dress is a 12 probably. Maybe 14. But I still managed to throw in a few articles about big girl dresses. Mostly because I ran short of ideas at number 23. But also because, you know mwamba ngoma. But you learn something new every day. I’m going to miss this once I have to give it up.

I actually looked up shopping and its psychology. Because I remember the  day the Kindle got lost, I was soooo depressed leaving town. I didn’t want to get home. So I went grocery shopping instead. And I kid not, as I was selecting those tomatoes one by one, I dunno, it’s like the sun started rising again. I didn’t even impulse buy like anything for myself. But just the whole thing… I dunno, maybe it’s gaining back control by taking an issue you can control. I wonder who’s got it. I wonder what they’re using it for. Maybe they sold it to someone else. Hhhmmmm…

Now I’m sleepy. And I have that headachy thingy that comes in between my temples when I’m tired. And this laptop has reached teenage. Tacky? I know. But it’s just not the good little girl I used to tell things and it listens to me. And Job’s not there until next week. I dunno how much more of this I can take. The weekend of 2^nd is going to be really interesting. We’ll see. My stuffed animal needs washing. And I need to go find Mama Debz before my hairs all fall out. Go home Joy, you're drunk.

to the sea, i crawl on my knees

I met Jars of Clay, like really, thanks to Daggy, and I took to them the same way I did Brandon Heath - hook, line and sinker. This is just one of my faves.... They always did have funny titles for their songs. It's okay, I love them all the same.

You remember my theory on survival rate for bad days being 100%? That doesn’t make sense now. It makes sense in the cursory perspective, you know, in the it’s an awesome life and what’s the alternative kind of way. In the things that sound deep and pretty to say and all that it all works out okay, let’s hold hands and be happy way. That sounds sensible in my head I swear.

I sort of think a lot. I get bugged by things. I walk around and have these conversations about things I see. Sometimes aloud. Sometimes I laugh. It’s why I love walking so much. But I guess I hide also. From things that I can’t change. From people who make me face things I don’t want to face. I’m currently hiding from what I know is going to be a difficult conversation with the people who still call the shots. It’s okay for me to do that now, because the call hasn’t come. That it should have over a week ago is no matter. It hasn’t come, therefore, I am waiting for the call. That should hold water for a while.

This Kate girl makes failing a lot at things look like a bed of roses. I know this because that’s the finished product. It’s easy to talk in used-to’s and in was’s because it’s a testament to growth. Because after, you can see what it all meant, you can see the bigger form that got you to solid ground today.

…except that no one can find out the work that God does from beginning to end.

Sometimes you really want something because the alternative is worse. Not because you think that’s what’s best for you. Sometimes you want freedom from anxiety so badly, you’ll line up geese and swans, provided you get duck-looking birds in a row. Maybe it was a little like that. Maybe all of it was a little like that. Or a lot. Been finding myself at this same junction often. I’ve had to have this conversation many times. So I’m hiding also from the people who care about what happens to me too. I’m going to go through this one solo. Or with my blog. Eventually the show-down will come. Maybe there will be tears. Maybe I’ll take the high road for a while longer. It's easier than feeling selfish I guess, even though that's not what that is.

One day a friend of ours came to the house. She’d been sick, like sick sick, not the cramps or flu or headache sick. But she was coming to see a someone worse off. So when we asked her how she’d been, she wouldn’t say how sick she really felt. Because in comparison, she was fit as a fiddle. Only she wasn’t. The fact that someone else is having it harder than you doesn’t change the fact that you’re having it hard, does it? I got that from this in my opinion meh  ‘The Perks of Being a Wallflower’ movie that others seem to have loved. That is what happens when you take books, awesome books, and put a cast to them for an hour and a half. 102 minutes of my life I’ll never get back.

“I think that if I ever have kids, and they are upset, I won't tell them that people are starving in China or anything like that because it wouldn't change the fact that they were upset. And even if somebody else has it much worse, that doesn't really change the fact that you have what you have.” 

I’ll end with this poem that was written a few years ago.

'Trudge on, boy,'
He told himself.
'Put one foot ahead
And follow with the other.'

So he stepped into the raging river,
And when the waters threatened to sweep him away,
'Trudge on!' 
He told himself.
When the raging waters
Threatened to submerge him,
He swam.
When the raging currents 
Threatened to pull him under,
He clutched at everything he could
To keep afloat.
And he reached the other shore.

'Trudge on, boy,'
He told himself.
'Put one foot ahead
And follow with the other.'

And barefooted, he stepped on dry brush and thorn.
There was blood as plant pierced,
There was screaming as plant was pulled out,
There was the anguish 
Of taking the next step,
No easy way, no painless way.
'Trudge on boy! Trudge on!'
Until, exhausted, he got to the other side

'Trudge on, boy,'
He told himself.
'Put one foot ahead
And follow with the other.'

And so he started up the mountain.
Bare clothing lost his heat,
Sharp winds caught his moisture,
Lips parched and cracked,
Feet blue with frost,
Teeth clattering like a ramshackle tuktuk,
And all he wanted was to stop,
To stop and sleep,
And let the cold freeze his heart
And die in his slumber.

'Trudge on, boy! 

Don't stop now! Trudge on! 
And he put one foot in front of the other
'Almost there, boy! Almost there! 

Keep moving, lad! Move! Move! Move!'
All strength summoned and consumed,
He finally crossed the mountain,
And relieved, he fell flat and cried for joy,
Finally, it was over!
He got up and looked around,
His shoulders sagging with every second.

In front of him, was a desert.

'Trudge on, boy'.

at the sea, i wait on my knees...

only the broken will be masters at mending...

I was just about to turn 18 when I finished high school, if six months count as ‘just about’. Those days computers were a huge deal. Okay, for me. My folks gathered up some good monies and bought a nameless one with 256MB RAM and 80GB hard disk space, and it was the jewel of our existence. They made one of those comp tables, you know, like with space for the CPU down there and the movable keyboard tray, and basically the picture was complete.

Anyways, after high school I was the only one at home, and I remember sitting there for nights on end. I did nights as late as 6 am, with that dim yellow light and the silence of the night as my friend. Made up for my sleep all morning, I think mum wasn’t very happy. I borrowed three 500-page novels from the library down at the community centre and went through them in less than a week.

Time was all I had, and whenever the inspiration hit I wrote. I wrote and wrote and wrote. I wrote about friends, I wrote about home truths, I wrote to Nancy who was still in high school then. In longhand, and delivered them to her this one time I happened to be in Nairobi when she was on half-term. I read everyone but Tom Clancy (I just couldn't). I read Shakespeare; well, tried to anyway. And finally got round to Mills and Boon just for kicks, charm of the formerly forbidden.

I read Joyce Meyer too, and T.D. Jakes and Serita his wife, got started on my own Secret Keeper – a diary to God, something that has shaped my journaling to this day. And I wrote and wrote. It’s sad, my collection passed away with the demise of that computer, over the years I’d summon up a nice collection and it’d be lost in the course of one of my many shiftings. It’s what caused me to start this blog. I can get to them from wherever whenever.

I remember a little bit of what I wrote, I know some of them are in a brown envelope in one of the boxes in one of my many homes; if the fire and mice didn’t get to them first I’ll find them. But that wasn’t my point. I know, 400 words describing ‘not my point’ right? Just be cool. When I left high school I was still a little girl. Prim, proper, sarcastic as heck and tactless, but it was all bluster I guess. I didn’t know a thing. I knew about them, I just didn’t know them.

That’s where I wrote from, from the ideal and black-white world perspective. This guy whose church magazine and blog I wrote for always used to tell me that. But I couldn’t change, I didn’t know anything else. Life began to happen for me in later into campus. It was like, ah…. So that’s what that was like, and so forth.

It wasn’t until after when I went back to my work from then and actually saw these things like that for myself. There’s nothing God can do with a perfect person. I didn’t think I was, I just wasn’t you know, like so-and-so and the things my peers were into. still the same thing. I know Job prayed for me to come back down to earth. And I did. After that it was a pretty messy ride, but it taught me this one thing: only the broken will become masters at mending.

Why did God do all those things to Jesus when He was on earth? You know, take Him through obedience teach Him perfection through suffering, and whatever God was working in Him for 18 years before he was 30? It was because I guess human beings don’t like listening to lectures, they like experiences. You’ll identify more with someone who has walked where you have, it’s fact. You’ll listen to them more than someone pouring text-book knowledge, fact.

I already spoke of that here. But I saw this quote on one of my Thought Catalog runs, and that’s what’s inspired this:

The most beautiful people we have known are those who have known defeat, known suffering, known struggle, known loss, and have found their way out of their depths. These persons have an appreciation, sensitivity, and an understanding of life that fills them with compassion, gentleness, and a deep loving concern. Beautiful people do not just happen.~Elisabeth Kübler-Ross~

I’m not the best person to say this, but I like who I became. That phase made me human. It made me a better friend, a better godmother, a better Christian. When you know just how easy it is to fall out of grace you won’t ever “How could you…” anyone ever again. It’s true that God can use you without having to have ‘a story’, but I think there’s a special graciousness and patience that comes from having been there. You allow people their journeys, their struggles and their stories instead of smacking them on the head with a Bible.

You discover that sometimes being a true friend involves mastering the art of timing. Not everything needs to be corrected now, solved now, sorted now. There is much gain in silence. 

So be a good friend. Shut the heck up.

welcome to wherever you are

People know it. In their deep inner lives, they know what they ought to be doing. And they know it would improve the quality of life. The challenge is to develop the character and competence to listen to it and live by it - to act with integrity in the moment of choice.

DISCALIMER: Sorry about the sing-song font. Is Elani’s fault. Making my otherwise meh evening light up like Christmas lights from that street that Kevin used to live on in Home Alone.

Ah, there’s a certain joy in the Internet. And Wi-Fi. And YouTube. And a good sound system. And a new song. A new song that you love. And thus can’t stop listening to. I finally got round to Elani’s Kookoo, which I think is just the thing for a bland Monday evening with a large order from Martin my editor. The man doesn’t want me to have a life, and I keep having to remember the moolah is also nice to have…

I swear, I can’t stop listening to them, and I can’t stop smiling. This music is going to be the death of me. By the way Nancy and I are on the hunt for a star (or anyone really :)))))) who wants BGVs, so if you know any one, our numbers are 0723 XXX XXX and 0723 XXX XXX. Seriously, those are our numbers, and we’re looking for a guy. Does it hit you how much these afro urban stars love the word “kishua”, I swear it’s like every song. Ama it’s coz it’s easy to play around with… 

Also, when you listen to the lyrics of some of these songs it hits you just how uuuhhhmmm… nowhere-going some of the lines in the songs are. They just put them there coz they sound nice. But it’s hard, getting words with rhyme and rhythm and flow, and since I haven’t written a song, I’ll be quiet now. Before I too go Koo-koo.

Scatter-braininess. Where was I? Ah, yes indeed, home. I hadn’t begun talking about that yet, but no time like the present, si? My brother would probably say something wise and deep like don’t get too comfortable. But it’s hard not to, after you know years of temporarily nesting here, there and over yonder. The minute some semblance of settlement hits you grab it with both hands.

But I love how God works. I love how He pours one thing into the next, fits this piece to that one until you have one complete picture. I didn’t write this post on the day I should. I should wait for the call. But no, I’m writing it now. Before the call. Because I know in my heart the call will come. And my picture of home will be complete. For now.

I’m seriously going koo-koo-koooo so koo-koo right now… That song is something special. The transpose where Maureen comes in… It’s funny; I wouldn’t have noticed these things before. I would, I just wouldn’t say.

So call. I went to church yesterday. My new church. And I knew I was home. From the first song to the benediction. And the sermon about calling the things that be not as though they were. Hhhmmm…. And they sung a hymn I love, in Luhya!!!!!! Mouth>>agape>>silentscream>>clappyclapclap>>>doing my excited dance. Okay, it’s an uncoordinated series of jumps, but you know. It's just, this is a church in Westlands, singing a hymn in Luhya for special number. Where there's William McDowell and Sonnie Badu and Loyiso Bala and Joyous Celebration.

Anyhow, I love this because it’s an answered prayer. To find a home. Home church, home work, home live… That place I could just be for a while and know that this is exactly my space for the next while, until my next step comes up. So thank You Jesus.

Welcome Joy, to the rest of your life… Go koo-koo by all means. And then live. That’s the thing about novelty, it wears off fast, and then I won’t remember why I loved being here. It’s like having a new dress. After the excited dance and the debut and a couple of washes and wears, it’s just another dress. I hope I never forget why I loved the dress.

I will try to walk a blameless path, but how I need Your help, especially in my own home, where I long to act as I should.  ~The Bible~

The Starcherian before-meals prayer went something like “For what we are about to receive, may the Lord make us truly grateful.” That’s my prayer. For what I am about to receive, may the Lord make me truly thankful.

He has made everything beautiful in its time. Also He has put eternity in [their] hearts [of men], except that no one can find out the work that God does from beginning to end. ~The Bible~ 

Koo-koo-kooooo… sorry, I fixate on novelty  J J

there is no panic in heaven...

Human beings are very interesting. We all come with this sense of... of... of… entitlement. It’s really very interesting. I hadn’t thought much of it myself until I saw this update by one of my friends on Facebook.

It comes so easy to us, giving each other ultimatums, and all those sistahs telling you that you deserve better and more and all manner of feminist speeches. It’s all good I guess, because yes, you must know who you are and what you can and cannot take from another person. It is intrinsic to your self-worth and survival It’s all good. 

Until you carry that to God.

Giving Him a list of unlesses and pouring out questions about “Why would a good God allow this’ or ‘Why me’ or like my friend and I have been musing recently “Surely God, a break has got to be caught!” That’s easy, it’s natural, it’s human. And I am human. But the greater part of being human is the ability to know when what you’re doing isn't up to par. And giving it up.

I’ve wanted to write some post since that last post I wrote, I’ve been musing over whether to or not to, but well, I can do half and half right? I made a good friend recently, happened to show literally out of the blue at the very right time, and stuck around long enough to see me through a not-so-great patch. I know all the blah about seasonal friends et al, but it’s hard to understand that someone can just, you know, go just like that. I’ve added this particular one to the list of things I will never understand, but hopefully I’ll be okay with it someday.

It wasn’t messy, it wasn’t hateful, it wasn’t laced with passive aggressive nuances. Maybe some parts of me are still reeling in the wake, I think we’re all just wondering how we could have missed it. And why God doesn’t want me to be happy. That’s not exactly false, He just wants me to be holy more than.  I dunno, I’m just throwing out various lines here.

But the best thing I learnt from it was the magic of the ordinary. I don’t have memories of grandiose gestures and expensive measures. I have memories of the oddest things. The oddest things. The oddest, oddest things. They were simple, they were real and I miss those the most. I am grateful. I wouldn’t take it back. The ride, the good and not-as and sometimes silly. I found out that some of those things I used to hear and think, broken science, they were actually true. And I think back with a smile. Because I became slightly better.

Anyway, which is why you know, I so wanted to WTH God. It’s not a pretty thing to admit, but yeah. I was absolutely unamused by that turn of events. I still am, a little. But you know, resilience, all this will fade away someday. But then, I’m looking at it all wrong. Technically that’s not true, I know the right outlook, I just wanted to whine, we all do sometimes. But the hard truth is, God owes me nothing. He does not owe me a break, a happy life, everything I want when I want it, the right to always have my loved ones around until I’m old and gray.

Nothing I have is anything I deserve. Anything I have is gift I’m given. Including the time I spent with him. It was a gift He gave me. My family, my friends, everyone who’s around in my life now, it’s not for my purposes or my comfort, it’s for His. So when He takes any of it away, like when He called Flo, it is within His perfect will. And He knows everything. I imagine I can choose to cling  and cry and whine and be sad, but the truth is, no good thing will He withhold…

You know, I’ve found many times in my walk that I have so much clarity regarding what I need to do. I know, and I know it with unshakable certainty, but it’s like, transforming that knowledge to executables, I draw blanks. Like when I’m speaking now, it’s so clear. Everything is so clear, but I guess it is as Oswald Chambers said, "we must bring our everyday life up to the standard revealed to us on the mountaintop when we were there".

So here in my room everything is clear, and theoretically all is well. But the real stuff is when I get up from this bed and go out to meet life. Faith is easy when everything is okay, because the mountain resembles the reality. But when it’s all a mass of things you don’t understand, hitting one after another, that’s where the real stuff is. Oswald lived in the 19th Century, but his devotions are just timeless. You must read this one and this one.

So get up Joy, get up and get on with it.

Cornelia’s was one of the families that were sheltering Jews during the Holocaust. When they got caught, they suffered a similar fate – they were sent to a concentration camp. Her sister died, and then her father. And life was probably just as bad as you can imagine. But she was there, tending to the sick, the elderly, sharing her little rations with the other people in the camp. At some point, shortly before the war was to end, Cornelia was set free in what turned out to be a clerical error. Shortly after that, all the women her age in that camp were killed. God has no problems, only plans…

It’s easy to see that now because that entire story took me 100 words and three minutes to narrate. Took you even less to read. But between the capture and the clerical error, there were months of suffering and unending pain. Watching her family die. We are not made for the mountain, it’s to walk down here with the knowledge of the mountain. God has no problems, only plans…

Only plans…