Christmas by a Child

…And a little child shall lead them.” Isaiah 11:6

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Never have the words of the above scripture verse been as true for my household as it has been this past few weeks. And such a true delight. But particularly in the last few days. Christmas this year has been difficult to celebrate – not because of the debates around its origins and the true dates of the birth of The LORD Jesus Christ ( I am one of those who are of the opinion that dates are details when it comes to this – the fact that He came, and the impact of His coming to me and mine, and indeed the larger Household of God are worth celebrating) but just how the year 2019 has been.

December came with many still reeling from the year’s devastating whirlwinds. Particularly with grief over loss of loved ones and property, and heavy questions about the morrows…what, where and when. God was not really silent for us, but seemed to be over the issues that stabbed continually at our open wounds. Fatigue came, with it a sense that we were walking through the surreal…indeed the unreal, because storms were not known to run this intense – this long. But it was in this month that each member of my household found themselves seeking God together in late night prayer meetings. The most awake, and the most active during these beautiful encounters with God has been our ‘little one’.

It was he that shouted out his prayers (I wonder why toddlers rarely speak in low tones) and decided the order of service – including who prayed when. His thoughts over the scriptures we have read as well as his prayers have been simple and profound. So much so that we would giggle as we ‘Amen’ed at his pure and selfless requests. He had heard that God had a birthday coming up so his daily prayer would be “Heavenly Father…Your Birthday. Give us a party.” The rest of us were concerned about rent, bills, food and fees – the usual culprits – BUT GG wanted a party – A Birthday Party for God. Ok…
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Christmas midnight found us in prayer, and led by him, we sung the birthday song for Dear Jesus and then went to sleep. I woke up a few hours later wondering what to do about God’s Birthday party. I was not really in a party mood. I had spent the last two days with my aunt and family over the loss of my cousin Sussy – whose funeral is this Friday. I was also thinking about those with no homes in Kisii, Tassia, Pokot, Nyando and the various places in Kenya for whom December had meant burials etc. I actually intended to engage in a fasting prayer for the nation but God spoke up and said ‘Not Today.’. There was not a drop of food in the house so I got up, bathed and went out to hunt. Driven by the Spirit inspired prayers of a little child. By the time he and his mum were up, breakfast was available. Leroy and I are early risers.
It was a slow day, but Gio was determined to jump-start it by dragging about the box that had the Christmas decorations from yester-years begging us to put up the lights and blow balloons until we gave in at around 4pm. And then he honors our efforts by drawing us all in to marvel at the lights as we sung again ‘Happy Birthday Dear Jesus’. Honestly, I don’t think I have ever lived through a more profoundly meaningful Christmas ‘party’ than this one.
God bless my little drummer boy. God bless the little child. God bless you for honoring God, with either a fast or a feast ton this day that is dedicated to Him. Amen.

#GodinTheDetails

vipslit@yahoo.ca

Mud in the House of God

Its been weeks of this…pain…increasing pain, escalating pain –  and then its been a week of intense pain.  I am sitting at a women’s meeting in a church near where I have walked my walk of faith for the last seven years. The worship has bought me peace but the pain, the darkness that clings tenaciously around my heart and head. I deny the weariness I have felt. The onset of my menses come with the call from God and His chosen servant to go in a fast, for this in indeed the gong of a new season. I have danced this morning, for the songs God chose for His daughters this day, resonate with the balm my entire life craves. I am not trying to impress God, nor any of His daughters…am fighting to find Him in this situation. I want to see my Daddy Eternal.

You see, with the silence of family- of friends, with the advice that I have received that points more to the grave…echoes the hollow taste of being useless to the world because you have measured your life by the standards of a system under which you no longer operate. I hear in my mind – a lot – “Did God really say that to you?” “But that is not really God’s MO.” “If this is how God treats you, then I would not follow Him.” “You are foolish to throw your entire lot with Him – you must leave Him just a little and throw your whole lot into surviving this world.” And the ache of hearing the comforted comfortable with whom I have stood saying to me “Your life is worth nothing without money – now look, where will you and your family live.”

I look down at my shoes, cheap rubber shoes, precious to me for they are a sign of a walk I have taken with my God. They remind me of the day God took me to view a house in an area I would never have afforded,even if i had turned my back to Him when He took me on this beloved stroll. They remind me of the many places, the many gates I have knocked, the many doors slammed on my face, the trips to my ATM – hoping and them weeping. They remind me of the morning, earlier this week, when I dared try take a step without them and ended up back home in less than five minutes with muddy sewage clinging on my sandled feet, all the way up my thighs, and up my beautiful orange dress and my sleeveless arms after falling into a pool that stood between me and the place I needed to get to. They remind me of both my yielded obedience, and my attempts at rebellion. They have dust atop and mud on their soles. I look at the floor around my feet and the black sooty mud particles that have soiled the portion around where I danced before weariness took over.

I look at the room full of women, and the aches of their journeys, their triumphs and their defeats crowd in on me. I begin to pray for them. I talk to their Father and mine, I ask Him to meet them here, because they woke up this cold morning to meet Him. I join in to their ululations, their worship of The King of kings, I sit down to listen to the woman of God. Then my phone rings and I see that its Daddy calling and the dams break for me. For the last eight weeks since this orgy of pain begun, i have longed to see his name on my ringing phone – I have longed for his voice telling me that it would be well…but there has been silence. And now I am not able to take his call. The tears escape and flow fast onto my dark blue skirt as I disconnect and text him a short message “I am in church.” I find out later, that he had not really called – his android reached out to me in error. But by then, I am frozen from all the weeping I  have done before The Throne of my Eternal Daddy. Why hasn’t He come? Why is my rescue and that of my family taking so long?

I look to my feet…there is sooty mud under my cheap but faithful rubber shoes…and I have caught the eyes of those that try not to stare at them – the combined dust and mud that have encased my feet. I have a race to run. I rest.

vipslit@yahoo.ca

Bird Call

So I woke up this morning. I tried to get out of my bedding but was struck by the heavy implications of this day coming at me – headlong and in full speed. I lay my head back on the pillow as a deep darkness sought to overwhelm and drag me to a place I no longer had the strength to dwell in or out of on my own. I heard my Forever Friend whisper in answer to my unspoken plea for a particular breakthrough “Not today beloved.”
At least I knew what to expect from this day – I encouraged myself as the darkness rushed at me. But The Holy Spirit is never asleep and I heard my mouth begin to pray: And my heart to reminisce – especially to the beginning of the last ten years. And the words that poured out of my heart – battling painfully with my determined enemy were those of thanksgiving. God took me back to a time I was facing a similar situation but was even more frightened and reminded me that He had taken me through. And that opened a floodgate of thanksgiving. Thanksgiving from various places I was now privileged to remember during that period. Slowly the darkness dissipated and I was now overwhelmed by peace. I got up, drank my bottle of water, folded my bedding and packed them neatly into a large shopping bag.
Then I sat. And the darkness that I thought had given up on me for the day, returned. I faced head-on the meaning and possible implications of my Forever Friend’s words. At least I knew. But just in case He had forgotten, my mouth opened and I began to speak from a place of pain, despair, fear even…and peace fought back. The battle in me evoked tears. More sad words poured out of my mouth – honest words, then I heard what to me sounded like a crowing of a cockerel. I tried to push it back but another, and then another rang out. At the third cry, I heard the words coming out of me change to repentance as I wept. The frantic crowing went on until the bird had vented seven or eight soul piercing sounds…then silence. I continued to pray, to repent, and when the darkness had passed, got up and took a bath.
I realize that this is battle. I have had one other session of thanksgiving, this time going back to the time of my children’s birthing. The peace has prevailed but I am alert to the possible attack of the darkness. As I stood outside trying to catch a bit of the lingering warmth of the sun, I noticed a mother hen walk by followed by her four beautiful white and light brown chicks. It sank then – the trumpet had been sounded by a mother hen, and not her mate. I laugh thankfully and then sit down to immortalize this lest I forget. Thank You LORD for ensuring I stay faithful. Shalom.
#WhenAMotherCries #MotherCall #MotherHeartofGod #WellUnderHisWings
“I will extol The Lord at all times;
His praise will always be on my lips.
I will glory in The Lord; let the afflicted hear and rejoice.
Glorify The Lord with me; let us exalt His name together.”
Psalm 34:1-3
vipslit@yahoo.ca
+254-722755485
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