Purpose Without Title

Anyone who has followed my story knows that the search for purpose has featured strongly in my last couple of years. The journey continues …

In a talk I gave last year (see it here☝), I equated my situation as of being in a room with large windows albeit painted over. I know that something lies beyond the windows, but there is no way of telling what that is. The last couple of years have seen me undertake the laborious work of scraping off that paint to reveal the vista.

The one thing that has been clear to me is that purpose is not a destination, but rather, a journey. Last week, I took another major step in that journey – I finally accepted that not all of us have a purpose that has a title to it. We will not all be the doctor who …; the lawyer who …; the pastor who …; some of us will just be … Finally, I am comfortable with being just, Carol.

In the Bible, Lydia, the woman who sold purple cloth was lauded as one of the first converts to Christianity. I wonder whether she agonised as much as I do about her purpose in life or was she just doing what she needed to do to get by and feed her family; using her gifts to serve her family and community. Yet, she found herself a spot in the Bible.

What of her family – were they Christians? We are unlikely to ever know as this was not captured. If I were her daughter, would I feel compelled to sell purple cloth too so I can be ‘just like mum’? If I decided to be an events planner or a blogger, would I be deemed a failure because I shunned purple cloth?

During this time of physical distancing, I have had time to let the proverbial dust settle and with this I have cleared another pane on my paint laden windows. I have deleted a few things that I thought were important to me but have discovered in this time that I do not care so much for them. I figure, if I  did not have the time to think about these things in the last one month, then it is unlikely that I ever will. So, I have chucked them.

My purpose … still a journey … always will be.

My joy will be in knowing that I have lived today in the best way that I possibly could. That where I fell short, it was not out of spite, but purely because I am human.

I will say, “No!” a lot more and a lot faster as it will move me forward faster, with less baggage and less guilt.

I will ask the hard questions a lot earlier in my relationships so that we can both shed our facades and enjoy each other a lot faster.

I will love my family fully for that is one purpose that I know God put squarely on me and no-one else – only I can be Kariuki’s wife; only I can be Okeefa’s and Michelle’s mum.

The rest will be revealed on the journey.

I plan on enjoying every step.

My Grief

Grief is real! 

I first encountered grief when my grandfather died. I got to hang out with him over school holidays and he spoilt me rotten; like good grandfathers are supposed to do. He had a certain authority over my life that I cannot explain. From my pronunciation to what activities were befitting his first grandchild. When I was a teen, he sponsored all his grandchildren for a week-long holiday in Diani (in the white sandy southern coast of Kenya). He even allowed me to invite a friend as I had no cousins close to my age. A couple of months after that, he died peacefully (or so we hope) in his sleep. I was sad, but life moved on pretty quick.

Less than a year later, my younger brother also died. He had been sickly from birth and the doctors had given him less than a year to live. Through the grace of God and my mum’s dedication, my brother lived to 13 years. He was disabled and could not do anything for himself, but boy did he have a killer smile and his fingers – so elegant; I am sure he would have been a concert pianist. His death was more painful, more so because it was I that discovered his lifeless body that August morning. I miss him, I miss his smile and his chortles. I have 2 nephews and 1 daughter who look so much like him …

Then the ultimate blow … barely a year had passed. I had just celebrated my 18^th birthday and had gone to Nairobi to visit some friends. My mother got in touch and said my dad had been admitted to hospital and I should come home. I did so the following day, but visiting hours at the hospital were over … I would visit tomorrow. “Tomorrow”, did not go as planned; we got to the hospital bright and early, hoping to see my dad on our way to an uncle’s wedding. His bed however was empty. He had died in the wee hours of that morning. That day was a blur; we attended the wedding for to miss it would have been odd, but at the same time, how do you enjoy a wedding when your father just died. Neither my mum nor I knew what to do. Oh the pain!

I’ve heard it said that death is final, but not so if you have lost a loved one. 25 years since I tasted death for the first time and I can tell you that there is no finality about death. There is no ‘closure’. For me, it’s been year after year of remembering. A song here, a hairstyle there, the smell of food, the smell of medicine. The emotions are just as real today as they were then – sometimes joy at remembering and sometimes pain at the loss. Sometimes the tears flow hot and fast and I ceased apologising for them. Now, I embrace the tears for as the Psalmist says, “Joy comes in the morning”.

In the last few years, I have lost friends and acquaintances and every once in a while, I forget that they are no longer in this life. I scroll through my phone and see texts shared and I feel sad all over again. I see a photo of a person I will never see again this side of eternity and my heart breaks afresh. Though I may feel like I have lost, I feel like a fraud for surely I have not lost as much as their spouses, their children, their parents. Then I remember that even in their grief, the business and busyness of life must go on. Children must be educated, life insurance must be pursued, court process must be initiated – oh how tiresome – and all this while the heart is still raw!

Is there a cure for grief? They say that time heals. I do not thing that it does – for me, it merely dulls the pain, making it possible to take that step to staying alive another day. It make it possible to go a day without breaking down, then you go a week, then a month, and before you know it, you no longer remember the last time you had a good cry over your loved one. At first you feel guilty … how can I forget, but time teaches us that we can go on, indeed we must go on.

Having suffered these losses, I was surprised to feel the same emotions last year. Who had died? Nobody! Why then was I grieving? I had just shed one persona (this was not a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde scenario) and I felt lost. My grief is all too familiar and now I know that I must let time work its course and before too long, the business and the busyness of my life will allow me embrace this new me without feeling guilty about letting the old me go.

As life has it, I know not the next object or subject of my grief, only that it will come and when it does, I must strive to overcome it lest it overcome me.

My grief is real, but it is not bigger than me.

The 'Backslide'

I have been a Christian for slightly over 10 years now.  I know that may sound odd because my parents went to church and so did I for almost all my life.  However, 10 years ago, I finally got it! I understood what it meant to let go and let God, to surrender myself to Him and to get saved.

I had heard of people ‘backsliding’ ever since I was in high school and it was always associated with a good ‘Christian’ who suddenly started to go wrong. Started doing things that were considered ‘un-Christian’.  How far from the truth this is!  You see, when you think of backsliding it is not about action, it is about INACTION.

I recently found myself in a space where I sensed a distance between God and I. I know that God is the same yesterday, today and forever, therefore His position did not change.  Thing is, I had not done anything distinctly wrong or rebellious, but still … that distance was feeling more and more real every day.

Then it came to me; this is what a backslide is!

I am standing there, my eyes on the Lord, doing nothing.

Then ever so slowly, I start to move back.  Initially, the movement is slow and unnoticeable, but when I start to feel the distance, it’s like momentum starts to build and I start to panic. Why am I sliding back? I haven’t done anything wrong, my eyes and my spirit are still fixed on the Lord, so why am I sliding back?!

It’s because I am doing nothing to move forward!

What a revelation! How true this is of so many things in our lives. Be it marriage, friendship, career, self-rejuvenation, getting fit, planning for retirement … the list is endless.  We stand there with our eyes on the goal, with our hearts fully committed, yet at the end of the year or month or decade, we seem so much further from our goal; without having actively moved away from it.

That is the backslide!

I was keeping my eyes on the Lord, but I had stopped moving towards Him; I was not reading the Bible, my devotion was sketchy, my service was quiet, my prayers – perfunctory!

At this point, one of two things will happen…

Scenario 1 – you realise you are in the backslide, you panic because you feel you have put too much distance between you and God and you can never make it back to where you were before, so you give up; you turn around, turn your back against the Lord and you walk away … actively leaving Him behind.

Scenario 2 – you realise you are in the backslide, you remember how great it was to bask in the glory of God and you decide to ask Him for help, to get you back to where you were.  He is a faithful God, He will answer, He will restore. After all, the only reason you were able to get close to Him before was by His grace. You surrender afresh and before you know it, you are actively moving back towards the Lord.

The backslide has been arrested!

I Cannot Breath!

In ... Out ... In ... Out

You don’t know the rhythm of your breath unless you have had difficulty breathing. 

I am not asthmatic, I have no respiratory illness that I know of ... yet, I cannot breathe. I breathe in, but don’t feel the relief of oxygen. My brain tells me, I’d be dead if I wasn’t breathing, but my body seems to have forgotten what to do with the oxygen it takes in. 

People are all around me and I know that I look normal, but ... I cannot breathe!

Is this what suffocation feels like? Like a heavy man has sat on my chest ... wait! I’m sitting upright so no-one can sit on my chest.  Yet ... I still cannot breathe.

I’ve had a tough week and today, I get go home. I’m so excited, but the emotions of the last 5 days (5 days!!!) are crushing me. I hadn’t allowed myself to feel ... to feel scared or overwhelmed, to feel excited ... I just got through. I’ve become an expert at getting through... but now, waiting to go home ... I just want to cry, but I can’t and because I can’t, I cannot breathe.

In ... Out ... In ... Out ... Is this what they teach you in Lamaze ... just keep breathing.

My mind tells me, I’m OK, but my lungs don’t seem to have gotten the message. I think I once read that lack of oxygen causes light headedness ... Is that what I’m feeling? My head doesn’t quite feel right ... Will I pass out? But, I can’t, no, I won’t ... after all I’m breathing fine. In ... Out ... In ... Out...

People are crowding me, will they notice the panic in my eyes? ...but I’m strong, why am I panicking? I don’t want them to know that I’m panicking ... Am I panicking? I don’t know!

In ....... Out ... In ........ Out ... In ...... Maybe if I breathe IN more than I breathe out, the oxygen will flood my system and I will stabilise ... In ....... Out ... In ........ Out ... In ......It’s not working!

In ... Out .......... In ... Out ........... In ... The opposite has no effect either. And before I can stop myself, the tears are here, I hope this brings relief. I want to scream, but I may cause a panic and I do not wish to be detained, so I scream silently and I keep at it ... In... Out ... In ... Out ... In ... Out ...

This too shall pass ... In ... Out ... In ... Out ...

What We Need .... is a Little More Pride

Make no mistake, I love my country.

There are very few places in the world where you will travel 1,000 KM and be exposed to such a variety of physical features: ocean, savannah, hills, salt water lake, fresh water lake, rift valley, rain forest and even a snow capped mountain. Such a  wide range of tribes and cultures! As a Kenyan, this is cause for me to be proud.

Pride (1): a feeling or deep pleasure or satisfaction derived from one's own achievements, the achievements of those with whom one is closely associated, or from qualities or possessions that are widely admired

This is the kind of pride I feel when driving cross country and enjoying what God blessed us with.

Pride (2): having or showing a high or excessively high opinion of oneself or one’s importance.

This is the negative type of pride, the one that comes before the proverbial fall.

Pride (3): confidence and self-respect as expressed by members of a group

This 3rd type of pride is something, however, that I feel is completely lacking in our country.

Let me show you how:-

Kangemi Market (or any of our other open air markets).  How is it that a self-respecting person can put a pile of fresh vegetables on top of a heap of rotting food; how is it that this vendor at the end of the day, just dumps his waste right in front of his 'shop'; how can a self-respecting vendor wash her vegetables and pour the water on the already muddy path in front of her; which self respecting Kenyan then goes to the market, wading through the muck and mire to get to the 'fresh' fruit; this buyer takes the time to wear gum boots or ngomas* because we understand the filth we are about to deal with; how does the self respecting Kenyan drive there, park a reasonable distance away, change shoes and go to battle the filth ... This picture is just wrong on so many fronts.

Drinking and Driving - how does a self-respecting Kenyan leave his home and family, take his car to the bar; one that he either bought on hard earned money or is repaying every month. He proceeds to drink himself silly, stubbornly gets into the car and when he gets home safe claims that the car 'knows the way home'. He does not know how many people he put at risk as he weaved from one lane to the other, has no idea how many people swerved to avoid him. When the drunk driver gets into her car she does not care that she may wake up in a police cell the next day, or maybe not at all. How is it that public shaming has done little to stop the menace of drunk driving. All we do is have a good laugh at the guys who got caught. "Kwani* they didn't know that Alcoblow is on that road; they should have taken a different route" is the usual response to getting caught drunk-driving. How shameful that someone's husband or father was caught on camera, so drunk that he wanted to drink from the alcoblow device... and all we do is create another meme.

Where is our sense of shame? 

We lack pride!

Just walk into toilets at public facilities, look at the filth from people missing the mark and you will understand why I say that we lack pride. You may say that the facilities are dirty because they are not cleaned ... true, but would you want to clean someone's poop and pee off the floor and walls, would you want to pick soiled sanitary pads out of a toilet? I would not! We put them there, not the cleaners. Amazingly, this applies across the economic divide ... just visit petrol station washrooms to see what I am talking about ... these are frequented mostly by people who own cars and therefore are definitely not in the poverty zone.

My friends laugh when I say that I will electrify my fence and cause men who pee on my fence untold agony. I agree that our network of public washroom facilities is not the best. However, what stops a man from going to the washroom before he leaves wherever he was or waiting till he gets to his destination before he has to pee?! It's a disgrace to walk with my girls and have them go 'Euuuw! He's peeing!' when they see one doing his business. Turning your back to traffic does not a urinal create!

To drive a car that is falling apart is not a question of lack of wealth. If you really want to drive a car and cannot afford a mechanic, learn how to fix your car. If not, leave it at home. Driving a ramshackle that is heaving and creaking; spewing noxious fumes and constantly opening its doors, windows and bonnets at will is not to be seen as a badge of pride. To the contrary it is lack of pride that causes us to sit comfortably in the death trap, holding the door closed as you go over a bump to prevent it falling open, to instruct your passenger that one of their jobs is to place stones in front of and behind the tires to prevent the car rolling down the hill after you park.

My final peeve for the day is the utter lack of self-respect seen in wearing torn clothes and shoes. Some of you may think that I say this from my high horse of middle class comfort, but I assure you that lack and I have been intimate for many years. I wore old clothes, I wore old second hand clothes, I wore hand me downs, but I can assure you that you would not have been the wiser. Even worse, when it is someone who can afford a new set of clothes and even where you cannot, learn how to mend your clothes neatly.

As we rage on about the major ills in our society, I believe that some of our basic issues can be dealt with if we just lift our chins a little higher, turn our noses up at dirty places, point out the hole in your friend's sweater, guilt trip your friend into taking a cab home when he wound up drunk.

Proud to be Kenyan!

A little more pride will go a long way to improving the quality of our life.

* Translations:
Ngomas - cheap rubber soled shoes
Kwani - expression of shock 

My Greatest App for Staying Organised

This year has been a great one for me. I have made several strides in my personal and professional life.  I graduated with my Masters!! Whoop, whoop!!

I also decided to embrace tech to see if it could help organise my very busy life.  I feel like I’m running 3 concurrent lives! Anyone can tell you that any system you get is only as good as the information you feed it and honestly, I would much rather be feeding my kids, some guests or even the dog than feed data into a computer or some app on my phone. Of course, my attempt to use tech to organise me failed.

Then I thought to marry old school and new school and put sticky notes on my screen (not the physical ones), which I did and I felt really good for having organised my stickies into subjects and listing my to do’s.  9 sticky notes later, I felt pretty accomplished. Only thing however, was that the app does not have the ability to strike through or tick, so I decided to put an asterisk (*) at the beginning of every task I completed.  However, an asterisk usually denotes urgency so every time I look at my stickies, I have all these ‘urgent’ matters staring at me. Also, sometimes a task changes slightly and there is no way to really show this on the sticky! Again, my system failed (and I hated that this obscures my painstakingly chosen background).

Then I had a conversation with a friend and after trying to unravel the mess of thoughts in my mind, it was clear that I needed something to off load my thoughts. Somewhere, I could easily add thoughts, refine thoughts and cross of the items that are done or have become redundant.  Where oh where could I get an app like that?

You got it! Who needs an app? I just need to dust off my trusted whiteboard and put it back to use.

Just because technology has come up with some great apps does not mean I must be tied to them, especially when they don’t work for me.  Just because hoverboards have been invented (and oh yes aren’t they cool!) doesn’t mean we all have to hop onto one and zip around the malls. It is OK to walk. 

It is OK to plan my life on a whiteboard.

Looking forward to colour coding, underlining, crossing out, drawing squigglies, circling stuff, creating sub-groups ….

Oh the glee!!

My Dog thinks I'm an Animal

Bringing up kids is such an adventure. 

We have a simple rule in our house: no wasting food. To support this, I allow my children to decide their portions. Thus no one can claim to have been served too much food. Consequently, whatever gets into your plate must be eaten to the end.

Kids are just little  adults and they too try to get away with as much as they can (I wonder who learnt it from whom?) 

When githeri hits the table, the stunts increase. Recently my little one serves then decides after 2 spoons that she is full, completely disregarding the bowl of githeri in front of her. So, diligent parent that I am, I put my foot down and demand a clean plate. After all, she is the one who dictated the quantity.

What follows is a game of tug and war. I am used to it and always win. The trick is not to show weakness in the face of the tears and not to laugh at the oh so laughable excuses that tend to follow. This time however, there was a twist ... the dog!

When little girl started crying, the dog started crying too, moving to her side as if to protect her, but there was nothing to protect her from. So she (the dog) comes to me and starts whining as if to say 'stop harassing the child' and then it hit me ... 

My dog thinks I am an animal!!