Skip to main content

Why I jumped


‘Search me, God and know my heart. Try me and know my thoughts. See if there is any wicked way in me and lead me in the everlasting way. Psalm 139:23-24’


She says:
I jumped because…
I just don’t know if l was worth it
Worth what this life was throwing at me
Worth the fame and glory
Worth living!!!

I jumped because…
You never answered
You never answered when my mother died!
You never answered when they took my childhood!
You never answered when he cheated and left me!
You never answered when l lost my job, my friends, my home!
Dead silent, you were!

I jumped because…
Maybe...just maybe l thought it was better where you are
To be re-united with my dear mum
To be free from pain and suffering
To get the fullness of joy

He says:
I died…
For you to live
My life for yours
I left my father’s house so l could make things right for you
So, were you worth it?
Yes! More than a jewel or gold or diamond you were

I didn’t say…
Life would be easy
You would never experience pain and suffering
Or that l won’t be there for you when you call out to me

There is a reason…
Why l let some things happen; good or bad
‘What kind of God will let bad things happen to good people?’
A question l hear several times
The Israelites had to undergo turmoil in the hands of the Egyptians
Before l gave them a promised land


So, what kind of God am l?
One who works for the good of those who love him
One who makes sure we have what we need when we need it, and then some
Gives strength in tribulations
One who searches for you when you lost in wilds of the world
And most importantly, one who loves you!


Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Five Scars and a Breath

 Some stories find you and change you. This one did. In today’s post, I’m honoured to share a deeply moving account of pain, survival, and unexpected grace. It's a story of resilience, recovery, and what it means to return from the edge with five scars and a breath. Shared with permission and written in her own words: Five Scars and a Breath " At the beginning of last year, I became fluent in the language of pain. I knew the routine by heart - walk into the hospital, wince through registration, and recite my prescription like a nurse: Start with 40 milligrams of Nexium, top up with another 40 if the pain doesn’t retreat. I wasn’t a doctor, but I played one with practiced confidence. Until one day, the pain didn’t follow the script. They gave me 80 milligrams of Nexium, then paracetamol. The pain remained, stubborn and screaming. Then came the opium. Relief arrived cloaked in a darkness so absolute it stole my sight. The pain retreated but not without a warning. I finally surre...
3 comments
Read more

The Messenger

“Mama! Mama!” That call became her signature tune, the sound that made her mother’s heart skip a beat every time she heard it. This is the story of Ella, the family’s messenger of doom. A role she never asked for, but one that somehow chose her, maybe because she is the eldest daughter in the family of Habbu. Ella is the fourth child out of eight. Before her are three brothers whom Habbu, their father, sent to the white man’s land, America, to study and make something of themselves. So when they left, Ella became the eldest at home, holding the fort for everyone else. She took care of her parents, her younger siblings, and in many ways, became the glue that kept the family running. With that came another role, that of the bearer of news. All news. But mostly, bad ones. The first message came like a thief in the night. A telegram from Nairobi. Her younger sister’s husband had died, barely two years into marriage, leaving behind two little children, one still breastfeeding. There were n...
Post a Comment
Read more

Calling on Our Ancestors

When I think of prayer, I remember that the African way was often through calling on our ancestors. Long before formal religion came to our lands, our people believed that those who had gone before us still walked with us, standing at the threshold between the living and the divine. Ancestors were not distant shadows but custodians of wisdom, protectors of families, and intercessors who carried our cries to God. Whether through libations poured on the earth, whispered names in the quiet of the night, or ritual gatherings around the fire, prayer in Africa was deeply relational, a way of keeping the bond between generations unbroken. I never imagined I would one day find myself reaching for that path. But when my niece lay in a hospital bed, and doctors struggled to find a clear diagnosis for her discomfort, I felt powerless. That night, my sister sent a message saying the doctor suspected a heart defect. My younger sister and I had just left Gertrude’s Children’s Hospital around 3 a.m.,...
Post a Comment
Read more