THE LONG WALK TO TRANSFORMATION - V

"Change is the only thing in life that never changes. The guy always shows up." - Tana

When a butterfly egg hatches into a caterpillar, it does not stop there. It goes on to become a pupa and further into a full blown adult butterfly. Likewise, our lives do not end when we are 20 or 30 or 40. In fact, it is generally believed that the day one stops growing, then one begins to die - not necessarily physically. As continuously emphasised, the process of my transformation albeit started one day, did not happen in one day. It was in phases. Although people see manifestations of it in form of my physical appearance, there is always more than what meets the eyes.

Image source: Butterfly Joy

SECOND STAGE OF CHANGE

By divine inspiration, I left the church I grew up in and joined another denomination. (Mind you, I did not know it to be called “divine inspiration” then. I knew someone was always talking to me but I was ever reluctant to say it was God. Now, I know that what we refer to as “God said” is actually divine inspiration and it could be any of the other terrestrial beings or the universe dropping it. However, it’s okay if you feel comfortable with “God said”.)

Because I like to do things the right way, I officially handed over my file to the General Coordinator of the Corpers’ fellowship and informed them (co-executives) of my decision to leave. Of course, word got to the Associate Pastors and they called for a meeting. They questioned my decision and I told them it was because I had a “leading” to. (That line sells well.) They tried to convince me otherwise but no, my mind was fixed. If I wanted I could have been sneaky about it but that way is not my way. Next, I called my mother and informed her that the next time she would be seeing me, I wouldn’t be the same old Christiana she knew. My physical appearance would have changed and I wouldn’t be attending the same church as she and dad. Also, I had gotten a boyfriend. For those who know, that would have been a taboo. I implored her to kindly pass the message on to father.

The reason I included this particular detail is to answer some persons who worry not only for my spiritual state but also my moral uprightness. Not like I have to, but to help clear their doubts that I no longer know my right from left. I made those moves because I believed it was the right thing to do – as a sign of honour and respect to my leaders and parents.

Life continued as I basked in my newly-found beliefs and convictions. Tongues wagged at me. People were surprised to see me in earrings and trousers. Some of my old schoolmates and fellow workers asked me to share my convictions with them. It was a little bit too much. Some expressed their sadness. One woman was dramatic; she said she wept. Another said I used to be her daughter’s role model (but not anymore). You know, it was strange and bemusing at the same time that these people who did not have the slightest idea how I was faring with my life all along suddenly began to worry that I was no longer who they thought I was or would be ultimately. Come on! Who did you think I was to start with? I chuckled sometimes, was upset at times and quiet most of the time, except whenever my personality was being dragged in the mud and I could not take one more pull.

Still, I wanted more…

“The soul wants what it wants. Whether your head or heart can take it is an entirely different ball game. The soul will go seeking after what it wants and if you manage to successfully stifle its movements, the resultant displeasure and sadness wouldn’t be worth it. Deep down, you will know.”

By the time I was rounding off service, I was already getting bored of the denomination I was attending. When I moved back to Ogun in April 2016, after service that is, I started scouting for a new church. My boyfriend at the time gave me suggestions. I picked one and after a couple of Sundays, I was tired. It made no sense to me to spend no less than five hours on the road just to go and attend a 75-minutes service. And the sermons were quite the same, preached in different styles one Sunday after the other. I couldn’t help but think how the pastors managed to pull through five services each Sunday preaching literally the same thing and using almost the same lines at every one of those services. Did it not sound banal to them? No, seriously.

Well, I stopped attending that one and picked the next option in the basket. The distance was better but the stress wasn’t quite eased. I still had to ‘travel’ to go to church. And like the previous one, it was the same message for all five services. That wasn’t my grouse as much as it felt like I knew many of the things they shared. Maybe not exactly, but their sermons did not ring home. Something felt missing. The songs were good and for those who know, I could as well be kidnapped with the sound of music. Notwithstanding, my soul was dissatisfied. By October 2016, work moved me to the island of Lagos and I had to use the last option in the basket. Someway, without sounding rude, my ex was obsessed over fine pastors. You know the whole showcase of modern pastors and the magnificence or elegance of their church buildings, their diction and speech patterns. He liked those. He wanted to be one himself. I couldn’t picture me as a pastor’s wife – ever.

In any case, I began to attend this one. It was closest to my house than the former two had been and cheaper with little or no stress. The songs were great and the sermons felt good at first. Gradually, like the others, I began to get bored - of hearing the same things over and again spoken with loads and loads of exotic vocabulary and baritone-laced diction, jumping from one end of the pulpit to the other and all the favouritism and eye-service in between. I was tired. First, I stopped attending midweek services. By September 2017, I started skipping Sunday services. My boyfriend did not like it but there is only so much you can do to move Christiana once she digs her feet in the ground. I wanted more than what they were offering and I would not continue going to hear the same things over and again.

This continued until I left the island and went back to Ogun state in 2018. Again, I was back to the second church, skipping some services, sometimes with could-be genuine reasons, other days owning my decision with my “full chest” – as simple as I did not feel like going. Same 2018, I came back to Lagos and we – my boyfriend and I – found another worship centre. He was fascinated about this one; I had to share in his excitement. In all fairness, the pastor of this particular church was good. He was the best so far by my experience in the way he taught. Note, he taught; he did not merely preach. The only challenge I had was that he skipped into different topics while trying to exposit on his main sermon theme. Still, it was better than the others.

There is more. However, before then, what fuels your beliefs? What do you believe first of all? Share with me. After all, what juice is there in life if we do not rub minds together?