So yesterday, I was at work, and right in the middle of attending to a client, this song that my mum sometimes sings and I don’t have a title for it, but every time that I remember this song, it doesn’t leave my system for days. The sad thing though is, I can never seem to remember the words and eventually the tune evades me too, and I am left with this itch and a need to sing a song that I can’t remember. So I messaged mum last night and asked her for the words and in the process, I remembered the tune. Mum sent me two audios and lyrics and I keep playing the audio. There’s something soothing about my mum singing that song and it doesn’t feel like I am playing the song over and over. Whenever I was away from home or from my family, I prided myself in not missing my parents, but after not living with mum for just over 4 months, I think I miss her. Key words being “I think.” I’m also beginning to think that maybe, (just maybe) this is a song I will be singing to my children.
so today I read a sad story about a 13-year-old who was molested by a vice principal at a her school and the sad events that followed. I couldn’t help but think of my own daughter who is 14 and whether she would be comfortable enough to talk to me about any such experiences. I sometimes wonder, like many parents if we have done enough to protect her or if ever it is possible to protect her.
I was reminded of my own experience from about 20 years ago. I am a Trust school kid, and at the time was in Grade three. I was one of those students who didn’t do her homework and didn’t finish her work in class but still managed to come 12th out of 24 students on the grade ladder. Eventually I think my teacher and my headmistress tired of my attitude and notified my parents. Mum straightened me out on the homework front, but my speed when carrying out tasks was none-existen … still isn’t great. One afternoon, another student and I didn’t finish taking down notes and we were asked by our teacher to go back and finish them (we could go home and eat lunch and then go back to school). I went home and because I lived 30 minutes out-of-town, by the time dad dropped me off at the school my classmate had already left.
I went into the class and started taking down notes and a janitor came in to clean the class. At some point he was standing close to me, and though I can’t remember the conversation, I felt uncomfortable. He reached to touch my face and I pulled away. He kept reaching and I was going to fall off the chair when I blurted out “I’m going to tell my mum”. He left me alone and I stayed clear of him every time I saw him in school. Of course I didn’t tell anyone about it but the reason I have blurted out that I would tell my mum was that I had remembered my mum saying that if anyone touched us in a way we didn’t like (not her exact words) that we should tell her.
I moved to the upper trust school the following year and sometime later, the same Janitor was with another janitor (one who was nice to students) and he tried to join a conversation that the nice janitor was having with me and my sister. I pointed out that I didn’t like him and that I hadn’t forgotten what he had done. He said he didn’t know what I was talking about and I insisted he did and he walked away. His collegue looked puzzled and hezitated before continuing the conversation.
Just that one experience has informed my parenting in an attempt to protect my daughter, but I don’t know if it is effective or not. I started telling her about inappropriate touch from about 2 and a half and tried to make it clear that if anyone touched her in a way that made her feel bad, she should tell me. Why those words? because most sexual abuse victims will tell you that they felt something was wrong or they felt bad or ashamed and the language needs to make sense to the child. As she’s grown older, my language has also changed and sometimes I simply give her scenarios and ask for her responses. By no means do I think it’s fool-proof, but our options are limited. We can’t go everywhere with our children but we can give them tools to protect themselves. Even with those tools, their courage may fail, or things might still happen for whatever reason. In such cases, remember to not place blame on the child, and to show them they are loved. And always remember to pray, because where we don’t go, God still goes, and in the end, His ways are higher and His healing hands always able to bind what the enemy destroys.
As for this child, I pray that she finds peace and that she remembers her worth and beauty and the courage to live life to it’s fullest.
There’s nothing that makes me feel older than other peoples birthdays…My younger siblings more than anyone else. Though one that shocks me a lot is my daughter’s. There are four birthdays from the 23rd to the 30th of November. The 23rd happens to be my big mum’s birthday. She is a precious woman in whose house I spent many of my childhood days. Growing up, I always new she was my mum’s sister and was probably in my teens before I fully understood that she was actually my mother’s best friend. Seems dumb I know but I think it explains the kind of relationship that we have with their family. There were times when my parents couldn’t pick us up till late and we spent the night. We spent holidays there, shared in birthdays and hand me downs went between the two houses. I miss sitting pa mpasa after school and talking with her and gleaning from a life lived well. She has been a source of wisdom and when I had a child out of wedlock, she loved me all the more; she defended me. She reminded me I was worth so much and that I could achieve anything.
She loved my child before she was born and the day I went into hospital, all mum had to do was call her and her and her eldest daughter (my sister) were there when we got to the clinic, and she stayed until they had no choice but to go home; same time mum left, and she was back the day after and the day after that. She was there when I was struggling with intense feelings of sadness, when I couldn’t understand why God would let my life go the way it had. Even today, all I have to do is call or text and her wisdom always leaves me feeling at peace. I have always been safe with her and I love her beyond words. Celebrating her birthday leaves me feeling blessed.
Then there’s the birthdays, other than my daughter’s that make me feel old. Younger siblings! Bwalya, Ndeke and Dalitso; their birthdays are on the 24th, 28th and 30th respectively and they turned 18, 17 and 21. I feel old because I’ve seen all three in Diapers and carried them on my back…
I don’t think I ever carried Mr D but still, he’s my baby brother and even though he now thinks it’s inappropriate for me to say so, he will always be that and that image will never go away. Maybe one day I will manage to get him reading.
Bwalya and Ndeke are just two of the bravest girls I know. Both have faced so much and are still standing. You guys inspire me and I know I can be very mean and love to tease and portray a very harsh no nonsense face but I love you guys and I am inspired by you. I can’t wait to see you guys in the next few years. I can’t believe how big you are and for me the hard thing is to let you be grown because I will always see you as my babies in need of protecting. God will take you places and I know that people will be blessed because of you!
I once posted the heading of this piece on Facebook. I was praised by some but on a larger scale was bombarded by anger and disappointment. No doubt people were thinking “yes, tell them!” and others probably thought I was looking down my nose at Africans because I am in the Western World. This is not even in the least a licence for any non-African to say, “Africans are lazy”. Believe me when I say I love Africa; There is no place more beautiful, no group of people more lovely, no culture more rich and definitely no group of people more hard-working.
Okay, so why would I say we are a lazy bunch if I believe we are hard-working? I don’t believe in stereotypes and this is by no means a labelling of a whole group of people. The simplest answer would be the analogy that if Africa were a person, God would not come back today and say “well done my good and faithful servant!” That is the simplest answer I can give based on the fact that Africa is the richest continent there is. We have every resource, starting from people right down to minerals, land and food. I will give an example of a small country in Southern Africa, called Zambia. Compare Zambia and Australia, you find that the soil in Zambia is way better; throw seed on the ground, it grows. The rain comes every single year without fail. Australia on the other hand is mostly desert. The soil is not as rich and the rain not as reliable and yet they manage to produce food and even export it.
We have been blessed with so much and yes, our challenges are huge! The thing is, these challenges are meant to grow us, not make us shrink back and stop trying. We have been ravaged by HIV and AIDS, leaving many orphaned, yet we are not leading the effort to find a cure. Malaria is stunting the growth of our economies and yet there is little effort on our part to get rid of it. We are at the mercy of pharmaceutical companies that have no need to care about Africa. We allow people from other parts of the world to dictate how we run our countries. When the west came with baby formula saying it was better for babies, we let them in and even though we still breast feed our children, they came back years later to teach us how to breast feed. We allow ourselves to be shown as incompetent because at the end of it we will get some money.
Instead of working hard to develop our countries, our politicians are lazy and power-hungry only concerned with lining their pockets, forgetting that the Africa they are building will be the Africa their grandkids occupy. Our mines are owned by foreigners and we all sit back and watch as what is ours is taken from us, tax-free. How can a continent so rich be so dependent on the western world for Aid??? Why is there no justice in our own countries when the one victimising us is a foreigner? Why have we made ourselves so vulnerable? How long will we cry colonialism and how long will we blame the world for our failures?
Belgium and France might have divided the Rwandans but it was a African leader who was too lazy to do his job that he decided it made sense to make a difference as small as tribe be what people focused on, and it was the people, marching with weapons who chose to kill, regardless of who shot the Presidents plane down or who supplied the weapons. It wasn’t Britain that bought designer suits using Zambian Tax payers money while education standards were falling. It wasn’t Britain dividing and conquering us, as people took to the streets with weapons because their political party had internal fractions. It wasn’t colonial masters that took farms by force in Zim and after the white farmers left, it wasn’t them that failed to manage the farms. Yes sanctions were imposed but there was still a whole continent willing to trade with Zim. In the same vein, it wasn’t the Colonial “masters” that mismanaged ZCCM to a point that we couldn’t run our mines. The examples are endless.
We keep pointing to what the Colonial “masters” did but our choices today are ours and we have to take responsibility for them. Our street kid problem can not be blamed on the “powers that are trying to divide and conquer Africa” but us! We have failed to take care of our children. And as long as we blame “them”, aren’t we then saying, we are still under “them”?
I know there are a lot of people who spend sleepless nights studying for exams. There are people tilling the land and people working endless hours trying to provide for their families, but in a sense like the servant in the bible, we have buried the gifts given to us and refused to multiply them. And it seems that even that which we have, is being taken from us.
When God gave the bags of money to the servants, he gave them each according to their ability. We have been given so much! Have we really realised how able we are to change the lives of our people? We can bless the world! Why would God choose us, to give all this wealth to? Considering to whom much is given, much is required, have we really lived up to the requirements of our gifts?
The issue isn’t how hard we work as individuals but that we as a continent, are waiting for the world to solve our problems. I was asked what I was doing to change my country and continent because all I do is talk. I don’t claim to know it all. I know I am part of the problem and I hope and pray that we will rise up and fight this fight to see ourselves as worthy of more. That we will be able to say “I am responsible for my country and continent!” if anyone has interfered with the goings on of my house, it is because I have let them!
Yes, maybe lazy isn’t the best term but I have racked my mind to find a better term and cannot. We need to stop looking at greener pastures and complaining about what we don’t have and start working with what we have because it is so much more than we realise. Being in Perth for 6 years has made me realise just how blessed we are as Africans. To whom much is given, much is required and considering how much we have been given, we will be held accountable for a lot!
People wonder why I’m still single. I’m a 24-year-old who’s never been in a relationship and people are getting worried that if I go passed this age bracket, I might never get married. At different stages of my life, I have had reasons for not being in a relationship. One big one was fear. I was not willing to give a man a chance. Then at one point, I discovered I had my heart set on one man and was unwilling to let go completely. I finally did get close to being in a relationship but his heart was not really in it. I was an option, or at least that was the impression I got.
I had to move on and though there have been offers; not many I might say, I don’t believe in jumping from one relationship to the next, so even though I have never actually dated anyone, it feels right for me that I wait and see where God takes me. Those issues are still there, I guess everyone has their own but I need to work on me and my relationship with God so that when that man finally comes I’ll be ready. I wasn’t anywhere near ready the last time. What does ready look like? “In love with God” is what ready looks like and I am not there yet. I know what I am asking for in a man but I have to be working at being that kind of person. So it’s not a matter of counting works or checking a love metre. When I get to where God wants me before He brings a man, if He has one for me, then a man will be there waiting.
I am single because I am a daughter from a long line of strong men and women; men and women who have shown me to stand strong when I believe in something; women who built legacies alongside their husbands and men who respected their wives and protected them. I refuse to settle for less. If he can’t respect me before he marries me, it won’t matter after.
I am a sister and have younger sisters who need to see that settling is not an option. That there is more to life than a man to buy your Brazilian. That there should be a standard and that it is okay to be alone if God permits (Not yet at that stage). That they are too valuable to settle for a man who only sees their body or a man who is willing to trade them in for pleasure or a man who fills himself with alcohol endlessly or a womaniser. I have seen that too many times; even in my own family. If it did happen that I ended up with a cheat, it should not be because I saw those traits and settled anyway.
I am a mother and I want a man worthy of my daughters affection. The day she was born left no room for men who don’t know what they want. I am too “unstable”! There is no way I am going around adding to my instability by finding myself a man who can’t care for himself. Marriage is not an adoption and I refuse to be a grown man’s mother when I’m called to submit. I want my daughter to see in me, if I do get married, the example that I have seen some before me show. I want my sons and daughters to be blessed by my marriage and not to be maimed by it. I want a man whose example for my sons will leave them loving God, respecting themselves and the women around them; protecting them and not making baby mamas at every corner. I want them to see that I was me and that I was not defined by my singleness or my being coupled. That in whatever state I was in I lived. That I refused to be pushed in a corner and settle for just anyone. That while time waits for no one, focusing on the man I don’t have is daylight robbery. I refuse to let others make choices for me and that the responsibility for the consequences is mine.
I am more than a couple, more than a single woman, I am more than my feelings more than my aging ovaries. I do want to get married but not out of fear of dying alone, yes I am sometimes scared but this is the season of my life and I will live my life as it comes. Along with these things, I want my example to be that I did not sit around and wait for a man but that I lived for God and that nothing held me back. I want to move from where I am and to grow in each season, counting my blessings and not looking at what I don’t have.
This is probably the first year since my Uncle died four years ago that I have not woken up feeling low and depressed, or felt the need to feel that way. Today is my other Uncle’s birthday. So rather than focusing on what’s lost, I choose to give thanks for what I do have. In constantly focusing on what we will never again have, we sometimes forget that every single day, is a blessing and that we can be what that loved one was to us, to someone else. While there might always be a struggle for joy because of loss, it’s a struggle worth having. While sitting in the dark the whole day because of grief might seem attractive, if we allow ourselves to see it, there is a whole world out there that is more attractive than the depression death brings.
Celebrating life, requires we get up and live it, not drown our sorrows in alcohol or drugs or waste it spinning wheels of death as we do burnouts or encasing ourselves in darkness refusing to take part in the land of the living. I’m glad that when God chose to take Isaac, he did it on my other Uncle’s birthday because it gives us something happier to celebrate. Today I can look and say, today God decided to call Uncle Isaac home, but today also marks the day that he gave us Uncle Solo, a man we love to bits and vice versa. I can celebrate the man who was Isaac and also celebrate a man who is Solomon. There is no shortage of blessings and even in death, Uncle Isaac continues to be a blessing, so I will enjoy the day, rejoice in it and be glad in it.
Okay so last post was a bit heavy. Here’s a lighter one, one telling you what was so good about Zambia. There’s something about being home that is liberating, maybe because I’m the kind of person who loves being around people (Not huge crowds) and in Zambia, people were plenty. Before leaving Zambia, I hated, crowds, still do, but having been in Perth for six years and not seeing as many people out and about, I didn’t mind the crowds of Lusaka at all. maybe after a while, it would have bothered me, but for three weeks, it didn’t. I enjoyed being around family and we did rub each other the wrong way once or twice, but there was plenty of joking and laughing. I am truly grateful because our family has something that most don’t. We have unity that most families don’t and we are far from perfect but we are truly a unique bunch.
We managed to see at least seven of my grandparents and unfortunately only two of my great grand parents, plenty of mothers and some aunts and uncles, one of them being my Uncle who passed away last week, siblings and cousins and a few friends.
After spending time in Zambia for three weeks, we headed to Zim, where the hospitality was beyond words. We attended my elder brothers wedding – I have a Zimbabwean brother 😉 -and boy was it fun! Its funny because generally, I hate it when people speak in a language I don’t understand but this time around, I quiet liked it and by the end of five days, I was beginning to understand Shona.
The food in both places was tasty and coming back here, the difference is noticeable. The weather was very mild and the scenery was just lovely. Generally, the trip home, has left me even more unsettled in Perth but for now, this is where I am meant to be. The trip was definitely a God given gift and I am grateful!
she walked out of the house, throwing the blue new tropicals to the floor, she slipped her feet in and ran towards her grandmother who was walking down the dust path that led to away from their house and onto a dusty road. It was an hour’s walk to Chinfinsa congregation of the United church of Zambia. She could make it in 30 minutes if she picked up the pace but that was not going to be the case walking with her grandmother. she pulled the worn skirt made of chitenge material, to cover her belly button and walked beside her grandmother. She couldn’t hide her excitement at going to church today.
“natwendeshe” her grandmother called picking up pace. she wanted to make it to church before the St Marks Choir arrived. She never complained about the distance from Luano to their Church, which was in Munsenga, on the other side of the Chingola-Kitwe Road; a trek from where they lived.
“But mama, “she replied, “our service never starts on time.” Her grand mother insisted they get to church early every week. she had no watch but they always made it on time. Precious had never heard the St marks Bemba Choir sing, but her grand mother had told her, how beautiful they sounded. her grandmother had heard them sing many times and had even visited the “mother” congregation. The announcement was made a week ago and everytime she thought about it, she felt her heart skip a beat.
they soon met other people headed in their direction “mujibi yepi?” the woman called walking towards them.
“emwani,” her grandmother extended her hand, clapping the other womans hand and touching her chest and repeating the gesture again in greeting; Kaonde greeting. She had grown up speaking iki Kaonde but now mainly spoke ici Bemba despite being in Lamba country. she greeted the woman and run ahead, knowing her grandmother would be fine with her walking companion for the day.
She didn’t care for the dust that was gathering on her legs with each step she took; the faster she run the worse it got, but she would be at the church in no time. She was out of breath by the time the Kitwe-Chingola rd was in sight. On the other side was the Munsenga junction. A small dirt road that meandered from one end, forming a loop and coming out the other. It was mostly bush on one side of the dirt road and houses on the other. she slowed her pace as she came to the road. It wasn’t as busy on Sundays, but she made sure there weren’t any cars coming before running across. There were other people walking down and she walked with them, not quiet feeling at home, she talked with them, maybe if she showed her excitement at what was happening at church today, no one would see the discomfort she felt.
* * *
Jahdel was glad she had made it to church on time. Her 2 friends Limpo and Mwansa were coming to church with the visiting chior. She was excited. Her and Limpo had become close friends, despite her vow never to become friends with men. He had reintroduced her to Mwansa who she had previously known but had not talked to in years. She walked to her sister Karen and the woman she was talking to. She watched as the young girl walked away from them. Her clothes were worn. Her skirt, made of chitenge was not as bright as it had obviously been before. she kept pulling the skirt that kept riding below her belly button.
“You see that girl.” the woman talking to Karen said, “takonfwa.”
Jahdel wondered why the girl was said to be naughty, she seemed so full of life.
“she sleeps around with different men,” the woman shifted the baby in her arms from one side to the other, settling her on her hip and leaning in closer “Bonse bali mwishiba.”
Jahdel was too shocked to respond, did this woman just say everyone knew her? She watched as the woman clapped her hands, as if shocked at what she was relaying, “ka moneka kwati kalonfwa, kanshi….”
“You honestly think that it’s her fault?” anger rose in Jahdel, “How do you decide she’s naughty on the basis that grown men sleep with her?”
“All I know is they pay her and if they pay her, it can’t be that bad. And she’s so young, imagine what she will be like when she grows up.”
The way she said it only infuriated Jahdel more; worse still, Karen seemed almost ready to agree until Jahdel spoke up
“So all you adults know about it. Even her grandmother knows about it?”
“it’s no secret, and her grandmother has tried to talk about it with her to get her to stop but she just doesn’t listen.”
“So you even know which men sleep with her?” she waited for the woman’s self-righteous yes before continuing, “and all you do is talk behind her back?”
“Yes but what are we supposed to do if that’s what she’s chosen.” the woman didn’t look upset at the challenge rather ashamed and disappointed that Jahdel did not share her enthusiasm at the gossip she had to share,
“No! you fight for her!” Jahdel could almost feel herself shaking but kept her voice calm, “grown men, should know better. It’s not her fault that they can’t control themselves!” she looked at the little girl who was walking towards them
“Anyway, that’s that little girl you see.” she clapped her hands and walked away.
“Baunfwa nsoni.” Karen chuckled to herself.
“she SHOULD be ashamed of herself.” Jahdel felt her whole body shake
Karen chuckled again, “they love gossip.”
“Niwebo nani ishina?” Jahdel asked turning to the girl. She didn’t look older than eleven.
“Precious.” she replied with a big smile,
Jahdel smiled at her, heart breaking, knowing this girl had no one to fight for her. Precious, her name spoke of how God saw her. She was precious in His sight, Yet to men, she was “easy pleasure”. Something they could ride, no strings attached. They talked for few minutes, Precious pointing out where her grandmother stood, when asked who she lived with. She was a bubbly little girl. Some thought her insane.
Just then the small Canter made its way onto the church grounds. Precious ran towards it, Jahdel waiting for the boys to disembark. She said hi to both Limpo and Mwansa and introduced them to Karen. Karen left them as they chatted for a while before they had to go into the church and sit in their designated areas. The men sat on the left hand side and the women on the right.
Jahdel was in a haze; her mind fixed on Precious. Would she make it,or would abuse devour her like it had Jahdel. She knew all too well the horrors it brought, the guilt, the suicidal feelings, the shame and pain that just made no sense. The feeling of being in the wrong body, unwelcome in your own flesh, feeling like dirt had made it’s way under your skin. As the service went on, she found it hard to concentrate. Those men, deserved death! She looked at Mwansa and Limpo and remembered Limpo’s words, How could he expect her to trust any man, when his species could be so heartless and selfish. She had to admit though that both young men were different. They seemed sincere; different, they spoke kindly and offered respect even when she was undeserving. But she couldn’t help but wonder.
After service, Jahdel talked to precious some more, hoping that she could find hope in words that didn’t raise her apparent failings. She talked to Mwansa and Limpo more as well before they all had to go.
Every time she saw the little girl after that, she talked to her, but with exams looming, Sundays at Chimfinsa became a rare happening, St marks or not attending church becoming the options because of the extra lessons she needed to do in order to get ready. Hope reigned still, Precious, was the birthing of a dream, just maybe, Jahdel would one day fight what many refused to see as present. Zambians frowned when they heard about paedophiles in the western world, yet in their own world, this child, had no voice.
Years after meeting that precious soul, reading another story of a girl used by her step-father, Jahdel remembered, knowing there were many such stories. burying her head in her hands, Jahdel wept. She would never forget Precious, she hadn’t the means to help her, but one day, she would fulfil a dream.
There’s a girl, a lot like myself…not much different from any other girl.
She’s never known what it feels like to be pure, to be untouched. She’s been used her whole life by those who should have known better…Those who claimed to love her
She is scared, broken and unable to love…
Christ has saved her but she finds herself struggling with the same demons of the past. She can’t let go.
The thought of trusting any man is just impossible; to love him would be weakness. She can’t bring herself to lie with a man she loves, one she’s married to because it just seems wrong somehow…
If only she was clean, pure, untouched, undefiled…
There’s another girl, lost and pregnant.
She thought it wouldn’t happen to her.
Oh God what is she to do? It was just one time and now she’s paying the price.
She’s only in high school, her parents will kill her. She has nowhere to turn!
She’s given them reason to throw her out…what will she do? She was right after all! “You’re a naughty girl!” she would say
She decides to have an abortion…better that than having to face that witch of a woman…better than proving her right!
As she walks out of the clinic…she wishes she could undo what she had done…but she can’t! the baby is gone…she feels cold inside…empty
They said it was just tissue…not yet alive but she knows it’s more
“it’s moving,” she had heard the nurse say. Her baby is gone
“you’ve already proven her right!!!” she hears a voice say, “you’re naughty even without the baby to prove it! You are defiled, unclean…”
She wishes she were untouched
There’s another girl, she’s a mother.
People ask, “How come? Isn’t it wrong in Christianity to have a baby before you’re married???”
they question her beliefs, they question the existence of her God.
She proclaims Christ and yet is bound by sex. She can’t bring herself to be with anyone, and yet she touches herself. She knows it’s wrong and yet she can’t seem to stop.
She can’t stand men. She’s been hurt to many times to know…to many times to let go…
She met a man, who’s just lovely and knows he’s not like the rest.
She’s been abused and has herself abused.
She is unworthy of him just as she is unworthy of Christ
oh how she wishes she were clean, pure, a virgin,
There’s a girl, she sees her friends, one after the other, falling prey to the culture around them.
She decides to join in…
They Party like the world, dress like the world and make sure they are in Church on sunday
they sleep around, always making sure they use contraception
they look down on the unwed mother…they gossip about the one caught in the arms of the married man
They pretend that’s not them. Testing forbidden treasures, ,one, two, three, four, playing with toys and all, It’s just experimenting…No one need know, forgetting that “there are no secrets in life.
They are fooling everyone including themselves. And yet Christ knows…he sees them just like the others. Just like those they look down on
They might just be worse off because remorse does not touch them
They are unclean, untouched, defiled
There’s a girl, she introduces her friend to the party scene…tells her friend lies…handing her over to the lion himself.
She sees her friend going astray but only gossips…She doesn’t want to be judgmental, after all, Christ said “judge not!”
her friend is taken by the world…her Masters voice she no longer hears. Yet she has her legs still crossed and that’s all that matters right???
Both are unclean and defiled…touched
There’s another girl,
She dresses just right…nothing vulgar, decent.
She’s in the house of worship every service
she gives her tithe, serves, says her prayers, refrains from forbidden foods, does what is required of her…the whole deal. She sometimes thinks bad thoughts and occasionally lies…but it’s nothing serious…you can’t do everything the holy book says….
She follows the law of God
She sees girls throwing their lives away and sleeping around, living like the world and thinks she’s better than them. She thinks, she is clean, undefiled, untouched.
She doesn’t share Christ because they are unworthy of Him.
She forgets that she like them, like all humanity is unclean, not untouched, defiled…that it is Christ who cleanses us.
Lord, if men would realise that women are to be treasured and protected…not to be used to fulfil selfish desires but to be honoured…that girls will give sex in exchange for companionship, love and respect because they are disillusioned and that their hearts break when that love and respect is not shown…if only men could open their eyes and see that the girl they lie with today, is beauty that they might destroy. Worthy of the respect due a mother; she might one day mother their own son’s wife. That she is a grandmother, mother, wife; she is a child, a sister, a granddaughter, a friend; maybe even your own. If only they would open their eyes and see that she looks enticing, yes, but let the man who she was meant for enjoy her, just as you will one day hope to alone enjoy yours. That they owe their wives nothing less than what they expect, a man who is untouched. That as enticing as she seems, she might just be the seam ripper that makes you come undone…
That we women would open their eyes and see that if he loves “me”, He will wait. He will want the best for “me” even if it means he loses “me” . If only we would realise that compromise leaves us lost and broken…unsatisfied…pleasure lasts a moment but when it’s gone, what do you have left? If only we could treasure what is right and true, closing our ears off to the sweet nothings he whispers and hearing the truth in his words; hearing that we will get hurt and that he cares very little in the end. Hear the truth in His words…the words of a loving Father…You are precious, loved and need nothing other than Him. That honour and respect; that love does not come by giving yourself away. That letting him have his way with you, deprives you, and if he hasn’t married you, he was no right to you…That there’s something more that awaits you, a man maybe, who will value you. If only we would realise that just because you gave in once, you don’t have to keep giving in, or that just because he denied you your right to “NO!” does not mean you lost the right…If only we realised that just because he ignored your “NO!” doesn’t mean that all men seek to take from us, by force if need be… If only we could see His tear-stained face, with arms outstretched, sweat beading, bleeding for us, His deeds shouting as loud as His words, I love you this much!