THE LONG WALK TO TRANSFORMATION - II

"... Be ye as little children." - Jesus

There is a reason why Jesus uttered this statement. Have you watched a little child, especially between the ages of 0 to 5? Have you seen the glow in their eyes; how they go after things; the fearlessness with which they approach life? A child's innocence is so pure that you could almost hold it in your palms like it were a tangible object. The interesting thing is, that is our most natural Operating System. It isn't until our parents, society, schools, churches, and experiences get in the way before we begin to lose that I-can-do spirit which is innate to every human being. We begin to gradually lose our fervour and flavour for life and in their stead, hop and rush through life, constantly chanting, "I cannot wait to be 15, 18, 21, 25..." In my case, by the time I was six years old, I had begun to count, waiting for that glorious day when I would finally leave home and be independent.

FIRST STAGE CHANGE

My independence ticket finally came and though it wasn’t what I wanted, it was still good enough. I wanted a federal school outside Lagos; my father was not going to release his only daughter out of his reach, even if it meant #1,000 bus fare and two hours drive away. It had to be Lagos or I could enroll with my mother to learn sewing. Wow! Lagos, it was then. I got in on my second attempt and off I went to school. As a fresher, I lived on campus and mostly lived a triangle life all through my four years actually – class, hostel, library and fellowship. Those were my hangout spots. One can understand the first three but the last spot was mainly because, well, I was used to going to church, whether I liked being there or not. At that time in my first year, I did not want to be there. So, I usually went late. Four times a week. Four different locations. Like, how? And why? The routine of the services and sermons wasn’t cutting it for me. I was bored. I slipped in and out of fellowship, not wanting to be known or noticed. By second year, I gave my life to Jesus – too. Whoo! Ha-ha! God is good, darling! I became more fervent and devoted to services. I attended the workers’ training course and joined a department as a secretary. My wardrobe changed. Bigger skirts and tops – big enough to hide my contours, I thought, but years down the line, I learnt it did not have that much effect, because it did not stop department boys from swooning at my backside. Hehe.

By third year, my questions began to well up again. Why couldn’t I wear the things I used to wear before? My knee-length short skirts with reasonable inches of overlapped slit on the back, the V-neck tops, shirts. If I could wear panties and under tights, why couldn’t I wear trousers? Powders are bad; that means babies would be going to hell? Some of the sisters in the fellowship wouldn’t even rub cream on their body. No deodorants and perfumes? Why? Why was my spiritual standing judged by how I appeared, what I wore or didn’t wear? I was getting bored of having to mentally count how many short skirts and V-neck tops I had in my wardrobe when filling forms during workers’ meetings on an annual basis; having to answer if I could go on picnics with the opposite sex or hug one or if I wore perfumes and all that. I recall attending a music concert outside school in 2013 where the artiste was dressed in ragged jeans with jewelry and tattoos and by merely singing, cripples stood out of their wheelchairs or threw their crutches away and walked home on their feet. What, then, was the point in obsessing over people’s appearances if God did not need that to work a miracle through them? The following year, some workers were suspended from service because they had attended the same concert I had attended the previous year. The rationale behind that “punishment”? The artistes weren’t children of God. I did not understand it. These made me ask what spirituality really is, and so, marked my first unconscious step towards dissing religion and embracing spirituality.

On the other hand, there were other stereotypes I found inexplicable. For instance, why I had to hit and bang tables and chairs, throw my head around, swing it from side to side, squeeze my face like crumpled paper and even wail most of the time when praying. Did the bible not say that God already knows what I want to ask before I approach Him and while the request is yet in my mouth, He has heard and answered? Why then did I need to scream, agonize and beg hard to get whatever I wanted. Yet, it would be easy to feel out of place if you didn’t pray like they did. Because then, you wouldn’t be believed to be praying. I’d usually go to the school’s chapel and find a quiet place to talk to God privately, quietly and calmly. I basically sat down, closed my eyes, gave thanks and discussed with him. I stated whatever I wanted and when I did not know how to say it, I told him just that. On such days, I’d stay quiet and remain there. If nothing came still, I’d stay till I felt better and leave. Other days, I just wanted to cry. So, I’d go and tell him that all I felt like doing was crying into his palms. He’d ask me to go ahead and I’d cry my eyes out till I felt better. I’d say “thank you”, and leave. And most of the time, I’d hear him say, “it is done”, whenever I had a request. Once I heard that, I was done praying about that thing. But then again, they say “pray without ceasing” and even though I did not know why I had to repeat the same thing just as the bible says to avoid needless repetition, I would bring it up once in a while and still hear the same response - It is done.

I genuinely did not know what it was, going on in my mind, but I knew there had to be more to prayer than we had been told or taught. I intuitively knew that there had to be more to worshipping and serving God than the rules and regulations disguised as biblical doctrines. This intuitive discovery led to my first detour and act of rebellion.