Hairless

Yesterday a time like this, found me full of butterflies in my stomach. In less than 24hrs, I was going to be hairless. I combed my hair and took its last pictures. But I was anxious. I suspected I would look like a man after shaving. A handsome woman. And so I decided to draw some damage control plan. I would go to town and shop for a good ‘feminine’ cap and some light long scarfs for making head wraps.
Today at around 12.30 found me in town looking for suitable head wrap scarfs. Nothing seemed to please my eyes. And mark you, I have no idea on how to tie those things. But a girl gotta do what she has to do for survival. An hour down the line,I had bought one black scarf and I did not seem to be making progress in that sector. So I decided to just go ahead and shave, I’ll look for things to hide my hairless head in later.
Eddy’s barbershop and spa. That was the place I decided to end a 16yr old relationship in. It was in whose mirrors I decided to see my hairless head in. The place came highly recommended in regards to its reviews(I read those things). Plus they answered fast when I sent them enquiries. The price was also slightly below what I use per month for my hair,so considering this is a once in a lifetime event(hopefully), I did not mind spending a lot on my hair(no pun intended). Or maybe I was trying to over compesante for chopping it off.
So I alight at Roosters. I ask for directions from a motorcycle man but he has never heard of the place. So  I turn on my gps and Google map and find myself there after ten minutes(just as had been communicated). The place looks exactly like in their Facebook photos. Somebody must have seriously decided to invest in a barber shop. It feels like home.
I wait. There are two clients before me so I sit and wait for my turn. As I wait, I try using my phone as a distraction but that doesn’t work. The thought keeps coming back. “You know Mercy you don’t have to do this. You can just walk out before its too late.” At the background Justin beiber is asking whether its too late to say sorry. Followed by some guy reminding me that I only miss the sun when its snow time. Its like the devil is on the decks trying to discourage my move(who else can I put blame on but the devil?). Fortunately or unfortunately, I’m the kind of decision makers who can rarely go back against their earlier planned decisions. Maybe that’s why some people call me stubborn.
Finally. Its my turn. My barber(yes, from now on I have a barber) first of all thinks I’m lost. I should be in the spa, not trying to seat at his place of work. The questioning does not stop there. He removes my hairband and asks if this is what I truly want. I say yes. He asks how much he should cut. I say all of it. He thinks I’m joking, so he takes some scissors and cuts it into half. I ask him to continue. And this asking and answering goes on and on for the rest of my ‘shaving’. But he is fun. Some lady who had been seated at the reception with me keeps on asking me if its painful to bring all that beautiful hair down. Tears threaten to appear. Luckily my barber starts making fun of sponsors and drunkards. So I laugh the whole time instead of crying. I want a picture. But I decide not to take one for after all,si I am a walking scene of crime?
And as more and more hair falls from my head, a different Mercy evolves. She looks different for lack of a better word. If beauty was the hairful Mercy, then this one is not beautiful. She looks and feels…new. That is all I can think of as I stare at myself in the mirror. I came here for a new beginning, and God must be on my side for I love this new me. I had even carried a scarf (borrowed from my mum) so as to hide under immediately after shaving. But looking at myself, I know its of no use. I’ll walk around this way. There is some confidence I feel that was not there before. The massage after the shaving makes the price I’m paying for this shave worthwhile.  I have been well treated.
Looking back, I don’t know what I was so anxious about. I now have a barber. I was not planning on shaving again,but I kinda feel myself falling in love with the hairless me. I now know that when all odds are against her, Mercy will still stick it out to the end.
I know all my friends will be shocked. I did not tell anyone I was shaving today. It was just too personal. I have entered into naivas and some approximately ten year old girl couldn’t stop staring at me. I mean,is it that bad?
But nevertheless,I have learnt to always do me. Finally hairless.

Nearer my God to thee

Life reflections

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Confused. Unsettled. Disturbed. That is your state of mind at this point in time. Your parents have a clear picture of what you should do after graduation. Get a job in this town. Save enough for at least an year to see you through your masters program. And then marry.
And as you sit up there looking on on all the rusted iron sheets that cover almost all houses, you feel alienated from it.
Your home town. You do not find anything homely about it. You remember the first time you came here. At six years of age. Everything looked strange. Your mother was staying in a really big house that had a bathroom with a shower. The visit only lasted a weekend and you went back to staying with your house help in another town. Two years down the line you came back again. To stay. This time round, the house did not look as mammoth as it had two years ago. But your mother seemed strange. Or maybe that is what boarding school at a young age does to a person. Speaking in your mother tongue even became difficult. And on the first church camp you went, they had printed all the reading material in your mother tongue. That is how the church was dismissed from your go to places.
The belowing smoke from chimneys resemble the blur that the next decade was for your life in relation to your life and this town. You have always never had friends here. Everyone knows you from your parents. Si huyu ni mtoto wa nani? But that never bothered you. After all you are only here for a season, or so you thought.
And as you sift through  your memory, you can’t help but feel like a stranger in your own body. Nothing seems familiar. What your mind wants and what your heart wants are two different things. Your parents add in to the disagreement in your head. Society also has several opinions to add.
Your head is now paining. But you know that not even the strongest painkillers will help. Only when you find peace will the drums stop beating wildly in your head. And should the chaos in there go on, you know that the rest of your body will hop onto the pain bandwagon. Are you this weak? What on earth did you do wrong? Why then does your life seem to be going in the wrong direction? What’s your worth?
And as you go through this struggle, you remember that you have God. Did He not say that you should call Him when in trouble? But deep down in your heart you know that the only reason you are talking to Him is because you do not have any other option. Everyone around you seems oblivious to your pain.Plus there is that one or two times you called Him in the past that He did not respond. Or maybe He did. Because you prayed for fire and got ice instead. That made you realize that He has the choice to help you our of any situation but at times He chooses not to. And right now, when you are as disturbed as you are, you do not need the situation getting any worse.
But you still call unto Him. After all what do you have to lose? You already have nothing. And as you explain to Him how you are feeling, you appreciate that at least somebody understands what you are going through. You also now get why King David loved wailing to God all the time he was in trouble. There is a peace to going to a higher power when you are at the end of the road.
Amen. And as you say your Amen, the drums in your head start beating less loudly and slower. The voices in your head feel muted. You feel better. Confused. Unsettled. Disturbed. But better.You find peace amidst all those conflicting thoughts. And that is when you realize that this is the nearest to God you have ever been. When you have nothing and are nothing in the face of the world. Nearer your  God to thee.

Tales from the village

Unsang heroes

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Are witches still there? I stopped visiting home around ten years ago, after our neighbor was found trying to bewitch us. I had left the house to go visit my agemate some few homesteads away. We had not seen each other for a while so we talked till it was very late and even decided that I would sleep over. The only problem was that I had left my house open. My friend went to close it for me knowing that if I went ,I would go back on my word and sleep at my own house. On arrival he found a naked woman making rounds all over our compound. On closer inspection, he found that it was our immediate neighbor. The woman who borrows salt from us while we borrow a jembe. The best friend to my mother. You can imagine the shock. It was advisable that I do not return to that village any time soon.
What a small world. It is quite a pleasure to know that we hail from the same village. I admit, that I do not know a lot of people from back home since I did not study there and neither do I frequent the place. Do you farm back home? Yes, very true the rains have become very unsustainable of late. But I hope this business sustains you and your family. I have heard of your husband from my friend Sammy. We are very close to Sammy considering we grew up together and even went to the same secondary schools while being from the same village. He was even my best man during my wedding. It’s quit a pleasure to realize that we even share a close friend. Haiya, that’s a good school that both your daughter and his daughter are in. If they work hard,they will pass.
Today i had come to drop my wife in the nearby newly opened university. And from my observation, your part of lower eastern does not take education very seriously.Hapana,sikuwaonea (I’m not being unfair). For example in this university, over 80% of the students are from the upper eastern and even majority of the lecturers. But at least your daughters are taking education seriously.
Last month we had a fundraising for our former house help to go to the university. Why do you look so shocked? No, we did not educate her through high school. When she first came to our house, she had finished high school but had not managed to get her certificates from school due to fee arrears. So after a discussion with her and my wife,we decided to save part of her salary to go into that. And you can imagine our surprise when after picking her certificate, we discovered that she had scored a B+. Yet she had never told us for that whole year she had lived with us. She was very diligent in her work and our kids loved her immensely. So we thought, between my wife and I, that it would be bringing upon ourselves a curse if we didn’t help that girl. So we educated her through a diploma. Though at the time she was still staying with us. She wanted to further her studies and that is how the fundraising came up. Yes, the event well. Or rather we got enough to start her up. You know, what God has said will happen will still happen regardless of  many hurdles are on the way.

No, I don’t usually drop my wife every weekend. It’s just that my car had a problem and your town has better mechanics. So i decided to walk around as it is being repaired. Oooh, no, you must have misunderstood me. She is not a student, she is a part time lecturer. She lectures here part time. On week days she lectures in another college in Machakos and recently she got a contract with African Nazarene. Me, I’m a primary school teacher.

A girl can dream

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I want to cut my hair. Start all over again. Give up on a 15year old relationship. Find a new love. Maybe I’ll join the naturalistas. Maybe I’ll join the head wrap bandwagon. Maybe I’ll just buy a wig. Or maybe I’ll just walk around hairless. But the bottom point is, I want to cut my hair.As i’m undoing my hair right now, and gasping at a receding hairline, I realize that maybe it’s time I said goodbye to this relationship.
Knowing myself, goodbyes are not my thing. I do not know how to let go. Even when the situation at hand seems beyond resurrection. And to top it all, those motivation books and talks tell me to never give up. That quitting is for the weak. That tough people never give up. And I believe I am tough. Or at least that is what makes me sleep at night. Knowing that I tried.
But when does enough become enough? When do relationships  become stale? When I can’t feel it anymore? When do things need to change? When my heart is not in it anymore? But does the world revolve around me? Am I the sun in my earth? Or the earth around the sun? At what point do I decide I can’t take it anymore? When I start breaking?
My small brother whom we look alike 98%( that 2% is because I’m female plus a 14 year difference between us) thinks I’ll look like him should I shave. He’s handsome according to some beholders. And I am beautiful according to the same beholders. Now imagine me looking like him.  Maybe I’ll be really ugly and hideous. Maybe I’ll look like a he who happens to be a she. Maybe shaving will give me this “african” look that I’ve always admired on people.
But the goodness is that there are a lot of maybes. I realize that I have lived a large part of my life giving myself little to no choices. I only do what’s acceptable to me and those around me. I have created my own jail. Created my own rules. And while at it I can say I have been a commendable prisoner. But maybe it’s time I got an early release for being such a law abiding prisoner(no pun intended). The world is mine for taking. My world is mine to destroy ,for after all creators are also destructors.
In a world full of possibilities, only the naive will hold back. I know by now I sound like a motivational speaker. But if you know me, then you might say I’m a good ,still person. Yet below that facade is raging sea that never stays calm. A mind that wanders and wonders every given chance it gets. A soul that thirsts for the unknown. A spirit that seeks understanding. Yet I’ve been holding back from even wanting. Because therein lies my weakness. I can never seem to deny myself anything that I want. My heart is like that child that throws tantrums in the supermarket until the parent has no choice but to comply with the demands. Maybe I’m always trying to overcompensate for something. But most likely it’s because I have just recently fallen madly in love with myself, and we are at that stage where I feel like taking bullets for myself or walking a thousand miles just to show me how much I love her.
I have come to realise that even if the world named you the most beautiful being of the year but you don’t feel beautiful, then you are not beautiful at all. Because you are who you think you are. And how can you think of what you can’t comprehend? And how do you comprehend a being? Is it not by talking to them, observing them, engaging them, knowing their flaws, the things that make them tick? And then after all that comes acceptance or at least tolerance if you find yourself wanting on so many levels. But point is, you now know who you are according to you. Now you can ask the society who they say you are just for the sake of comparing notes. But that will not have any influence on who you already know you are.
Or you end up like myself. Who embarked on a journey to know thyself. I don’t know what happened on the way, but I ended up falling in love with myself. I couldn’t imagine that all those years I’ve lived with this amazing being yet in total ignorance of it. I have found scars I didn’t know existed and wounds that are still bleeding. And my mind has been blown away by the strength it must have taken to still be alive right now. Broken yes, malfunctioning in some parts, scrambled in others, burnt, but still alive. And I can’t help but give myself a pat in the back.Obviously I am no longer objective in this ‘knowing myself’ journey. But I’m glad I did take it upon myself to find out if there is more to me than what people say there is. How else could I have met a person with the most beautiful combination of flaws,edges, experiences and personality?
I want to cut my hair. Simple wants like that did not exist for the previous Mercy. How could I think of such heinous acts? Society would not appreciate it. And I listened to society. Because somehow society’s voice sounded like mine. Somehow one of us looked like the other. But now I realize that society is a master in mimickery. It can take any shape or form you relate to that has power over you. But I’m over it. I now know my voice,shape and form. And its that ugly one that points out the crack in the relationship with my hair. It shows me the ugliness that society calls normal while secretly laughing behind my back. And it finally gives me options. Wise ideas, foolish one, coward ones, sensible ones, interesting ones. But still options. It opens me up to all maybes there are in the world. No sugarcoating.
My voice,shape and form have finally freed me from the jail I created for myself. I am free at last. I may not even cut my hair. But knowing that I have that option on the table is what freedom tastes like for me. And I smile at myself, for I can now afford to want. A girl can dream.

STORIES

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“I’m making this for my son in primary school. I sell one bag for two thousand shillings and he has arrears of six thousand, so that is three bags. No he is not in a private school; he is in a public school. Their teachers insisted on having private tuition even after the government banned them, and since I did not want him to drag behind in class, I let him go. Yes, I also make bracelets. But they use a different string other than this one, so I’ll make it for you when I go back home. You cannot come for it tomorrow because I may not be there.
Tomorrow I’ll be taking my ten year old to a physically disabled school in Machakos. He has epilepsy too besides being mentally challenged. In the local school they do not know how to handle him so he always comes home with so many scars. Last week I had to take him to hospital because there was a deep gush on his head. No, there is no one else to help me with them.
My first born daughter is married to a mkokoteni guy who delivers water to households. In some cases he has to carry thirty 20l Jerry cans to the 10th floor of storey houses. So when he comes to the house in the evening, he is always tired and in bad moods. He beats my daughter. There is a day he beat her up so badly that he injured her breasts. I went and confronted him and called his family from Tanzania. No, I did not take him to the police station because my daughter still wanted to stay with him.
She does not work maybe casual labor once in a while. I wanted her to finish her form four education. But she got pregnant while in form four and the principal refused to register her for the exams. So she gave birth while at home, but I noticed that she still used to visit the father of her baby. So I stayed with her baby while she went to stay with him. But they broke up. And that man is very successful right now. He just bought a car. Anyway as for her current husband, I told him to stop beating my daughter. When he comes from work, he should realise that she is tired too and help around instead of being a burden.”
I met this woman in the course of my work and I couldn’t get her story out of my head. I would love to say life is unfair but I realise that that is not entirely true. I think life once in a while throws an unexpected twist of events to everyone. And while most people will say how you handle it will determine how you end up, I digress. For some I think they are just lucky. For some like this woman, they are not so lucky on so many fronts. And yet she did not complain or sound bitter. She seemed to take it as though it’s okay, it’s the plate of food life has handed her, she will eat it in peace.

And I’m here worrying about the future, what I’ll be and who I’ll be. I wish I knew what paths I’ll take or how many kids I’ll have. Will I get married in the first place? What will be my first car? Will I ever get to buy my dream car or will it be replaced by a better one? Will I travel as much as I want to? Will my best friend achieve her dreams? Or will life catch up with her that she forgets to want more out of life? Will my mother live to see her grand kids? Will cancer come for her? Will I ever live to see the day my father asks for forgiveness? What course will my sister choose in the next two years or so? And is it wise to advice her to follow my path, when I do not know where it leads to?
Am I happy of the twenty one year old I have become? Happy is a bad word to use. Am I content with what I am? Content is now worse, it makes me think of comfort zones and how they are bad zones to be in according to motivational speakers. So what am I? When I was ten years old, I remember spending a great deal of time wondering what grownups think about. And now that I am one, I’m not any wiser. I still have no idea what grownups think about.
Maybe that is what life is all about. Asking questions that you will never find answers. Meeting people whose stories you can not relate to but they seem to have an answer to a question you have not yet formulated. Maybe life is writing sentences that you do not even know if they make sense. All those are maybes. What I am sure of is that the curve balls life throws at you is what finally defines what life is for you.
Yesterday someone who I thought understands me told me they do not understand me. Had it been some months ago, I would have delved deeper into the subject with them to find out why on earth they came to that conclusion. But I just smiled for I realized that they have finally completely understood me by coming to that conclusion. For neither do I understand myself. So it only makes sense that the only way to know me is by accepting that you can never fully know me.
There is meme that has been going around that goes like “I always feel happy, you know why? Because I don’t expect anything from anyone. Expectations always hurt!” Most people I have interacted with resonate with it. They even agree that it is the way to be happy. I don’t. I think if I removed expectations from my life I would be left with nothing, not even happiness. I expect a lot from people, circumstances, from life, from myself. How I view things and people is based on the expectations I have of them.
I love hope. Sometimes it is the only thing that keeps me going when tomorrow seems so blurred. Hope is the virtuous desire for future good while expectation is the prospect of anything good to come according to the oxford dictionary. These two words go hand in hand. So how do people live without hope? How do you not have expectations from people? When will you know that you need to cut off some friends from your life if you were expecting nothing from them in the first place?
However, I understand them. Many people will do anything to avoid being hurt. It’s human nature to want good things and keep off from the bad things in life. But I have come to learn to immerse myself fully to pain, hurt, confusion and anything else unlovely that life throws at me. The other day I was in Karura forest and the silence and tranquility of the place was soothing my soul into peace. I realized that the noise I was so used to was what made that silence so heavenly. Probability is that, was I living in a Karura like place, I would never even notice the silence. If the bad moments are not there, then you will never notice the good. And since we notice both, sadness and happiness, then it’s easier to embrace them as a normal part of life than over glorify good times and live our lives running away from the supposed bad times.
I can’t still get over the question, would the ten year girl that I was be proud of the woman I have become today? That woman whose story I shared above, what do you think as a ten year old she dreamed of? A happy ending maybe? A prince charming to throw her off her feet till old age? How many kids did she want? Do the dreams that powered her existence then, matter to her now? Does she still look at the stars and marvel at their beauty? Does she notice the beautiful sunset or sunrise? Or does she only exist? What tickles her ribs nowadays? What does meeting people like me so full of dreams, ideas and whatnots remind her of? Herself maybe? Her daughter? Or her grandchildren?
My biggest fear, which you might have figured out by, now, is disappointing myself. I expect a lot from myself on all fronts of life. Whether life throws its worst at me, the basic mercy will still remain. I want to smile on my death bed knowing that I took all I could from life. I may not be the best daughter, friend, colleague or mother but I want to be the best version of me I can ever be. I want to discover all things that I love and give them to myself, I want to satisfy all curiosities that I have, and I want to be content with always wanting more. I want to pass my own test of life. I want to be the best person I know of.
And finally I want to be a fifty something year old woman, telling my story to some twenty one year old girl. And I want that story to stick with her. I want that story to chase her in her dreams till she shares it whichever way she knows how. I want her to find questions for the answers I have just handed to her. I want her to create a story of her own that when she is a fifty something year old woman she will hand over down to another twenty one year old. Because maybe that is what is what life is all about. Stories.

We fight while you sit and wait to collect our prize

As i’m taken through the an eighth of the farm that is on this side i cannot help but wonder how much of land a single family can own. Acres upon acres of fertile land in a rainy place amount to millions of shillings today. Yet none of the families that have inherited the land live or stay here. Apparently, they do not bother to farm here. Afterall one is the head of a Kenyan parastatal while the other is in USA together with his 7 kids,the other lady is doing well after marrying a high ranking officer, while the other lady of the family is married to one of the directors of another parastatal just to mention a few. Clearly none of them can depend on the farms money for their living.
But there is more,the eighth of the land i have seen is just a drop in the ocean. There in the hills beyond, they own times two the size of this one. And two hills beyond this one they own another big chunk of fertile land. They have planted trees on most of them since they are never there to look after the shambas. The wife of the late mzee,the origin of all this wealth,is an old 98 year woman who suprisingly cooks for herself. I have been shocked beyond myself to see her with an axe cutting firewood, a chore i don’t think i can manage.
Retired president’s Moi’s farm in Bahati near Nakuru. This is what this large huge chunks of fertile land remind me of. We went there for an agricultural visit when i was young. And though the top of the notch technology was what were supposed to take note of, i noticed something else. This farm was so big that with our naked eyes we couldn’t see the end that was apparently “huko kwa ile mlima huko mbeleee”. That was how big that farm was. And to make matters worse or better depending on which point of view you look at it from, that was among the small farms that Moi owns. Even at that young age i knew that i did not want to own a farm in which i can’t walk from one end to another let alone see.
Which brings me to the question, how did this man end up owning such huge chunks of land? Atleast for moi i know he stole it or rather simply transferred it from state owned to his name. This man, owner of three big huge chunks of fertile land was a colonial chief. According to his grand daughter, chiefs then simply ” jigawiad” any amount of land they wanted. Then after independence when they were chucked out of office, they came and developed their lands. In those days he owned a 26 roomed house built like the colonialist houses.
We fight while you sit and collect our prize. This statement is running through my mind as i think of the people who struggled for kenya to get its independence only for 1963 to find them homeless people who had just been released from detention camps. While their fellow men, who helped the white man rule, enjoyed their toil of pleasing their colonialist rulers, at the expense of their kins men’s freedom and even life at times. The people who had resisted independence by assisting the white man quell resistance from africans came to enjoy the fruits that the people fighting for independence lost their lives for. Land. That was among the major motivating factors for upraisings such as mau mau to come up and fight so fiercely.

To make matters worse, the unfairness did not end there. With so many kenyans homeless and so few extremely wealthy,guess who comfortably educated their kids? Guess whose kids got good jobs and got more wealthy? Guess whose kids manage to take their children to good schools that are not limited to Kenya only? Guess whose grand kids comes to show their friend their late grand father’s huuge chunks of land that one can’t even walk from one end to another of the smallest farm?
Irony. Unfair. Cruel even. But you cannot blame them,  can you? And who is them? Do you want to tell me that your grandfather would have done differently were he a colonial chief? But on second thoughts,why wasn’t your grandfather a colonial chief again?

My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?

Jesus died for me, that I understood from when I was young. He died to take away my sins. I got born again on the eighteenth of October 2003. I was eight years old by then. I did not completely understand all this salvation business but what I knew was enough to make the little me give my life to Christ. I was made to understand that unless I gave my life to Christ, I would go to hell and burn forever. To even bring the point home, the weekend challenge guys staged plays and showed us movies of rapture. I highly doubt if there was any single soul those guys did not terrify enough into getting born again.
From early on in life we were made to watch movies of Christ showing His life and death. When I was ten years old we, my primary school, watched the passion of Christ. I remember almost the whole school cried when Jesus crucifixion came into play. The whole flogging, mistreatment, ridicule and pain made even more students give their life to Christ knowing that He went through all that for us.
Fast forward to a decade later. I have tremendously grown in my spiritual journey. I have fallen over a thousand times and risen all those times. I have tasted and confess that God is good. I have preached to others in a bid to make them give their lives too to God. I have followed my own path and attest that it leads to destruction. I have allowed God to control my life and I thus know from experience the kind of peace Jesus was always talking about. I have argued and counter argued with Catholics, Muslims, pagans and atheists. I have fought for my faith the best way I knew how.
And yet I did not understand. There are questions I have that I have come to realise only God can and will answer them when I finally meet Him. But there are other questions that I have concerning my faith that I feel I’m supposed to be in the know. You know those times when you feel as though there is a missing piece of the puzzle that you have not figured out yet?
Jesus’ death. That is something I knew that I unless the spirit revealed it to me, I would forever be in the dark about. And I also knew that it is so important for my spiritual life that it cannot wait for heaven. In worship sessions when we are told to think of what Christ went through for us, I can never fully have my heart empathize with him. I have never understood how Jesus being flogged and beaten was something that another human being could not have done.
Now before you think I’m blaspheming, think about it and be sincere. In your entire life, have you encountered or heard of men (normal human beings) who have gone through a lot of physical pain? I’m sure you have. Now in comparison, was Christ’s pain exceedingly more than them? Maybe yes and maybe no. remember that there were thieves too crucified with Jesus. Again, have you heard, read about or encountered people who would die for the people they love? Maybe no but probability is that you have heard of somebody who could willingly die for their loved one.
So what so different about Jesus’s death? What was it about His death that saved us all? Was it the pain? A lot of people and media propagate that it is the pain. And that is where they lost me. For I knew that the pain Jesus went through, some other men had gone through worse. And today as I was reading ERNEST WAMBOYE’S blog I prayed that God would reveal to me what it is about crucifixion that I had not understood.
Now I understand, now I see. The crucifixion of Jesus has absolutely nothing to do with the physical pain. If somebody being crucified to death was what would bring salvation to humanity, then God’s son need not have come to earth in the first place. Jesus death was spiritual. God and Jesus are father and son. God was and is very fond of Jesus, they were very close. We, humans, on the other side were separated from God. And so Jesus dying symbolized God killing their intimacy. Their connection was broken. We replaced Jesus on the close side of God. We can now be called children of God and can call God father. While Jesus came up and took our side.
If Jesus’s crucifixion had anything to do with physical pain, then all the way to Golgotha, Jesus would be crying out “my feet, my head, and my back”. Instead Jesus cries out,” My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?” Because God gave Him up. Spiritually. God gave us the intimacy He used to share with His son. He gave up the connection he shared with Jesus for us. While Jesus took up our place. Would you give up your position in your mother’s heart for someone else? Maybe you or her would die physically for each other, but would any of you forego that connection you share? Now that is what is different with Christ’s death. He gave up His position and standing with His father for us. For you and me.
Now I see.