Opening the Door to 54: Basi mungu kuwa mungu

Yesterday began with a powerful Bible Study, where we opened the Word and received teaching on Zechariah 11 and 12. I’ve never studied this minor prophet before, so I’ve been learning quite a bit. Tucked inside this book are two of my favorite passages:

Zechariah 4:6 New International Version (NIV)

⁶ So he said to me, “This is the word of the Lord to Zerubbabel: ‘Not by might nor by power, but by my Spirit,’ says the Lord Almighty.

and

Zechariah 4:10 New Living Translation (NLT)

¹⁰ Do not despise these small beginnings, for the Lord rejoices to see the work begin, to see the plumb line in Zerubbabel’s hand.”

Yet, I’ve found so many more. That is the beauty of Bible Study, isn’t it? We can read and study for years and years and still there is more to learn.

Let God be God.

At the end of our time together, one dear woman shared a story about her daughter moving to Africa. Before her daughter boarded the plane, she gave her a picture (I believe), with four words, Basi Mungu Kuwa Mungu, written in Swahili, meaning:

Let God be God.

The daughter shared this with the flight attendants who immediately broke out in a native song from their country entitled, “Basi Mungu Kuwa Mungu.” They continued by sharing that the women of that culture actually stitch those words into the fabric of their skirts. It seems it is a powerful saying or mantra in their lives.

We all were silenced by this fact.

“We have to do that,” I said. “What can we do to have that on our clothes?”

I suggested pins. Another suggested bracelets.

We all will remember those four words. Each one needing God to be God in the lives of our friends and families.

Little Did I Know

Later in the afternoon (once again, the afternoon knows what the morning never imagined), around dusk, I was working hard on finishing a PowerPoint presentation for an event I will be speaking at this upcoming Friday.

An email came through from a literary agent I have been seeking to represent my newest book project.

I was scared to click it, fearing the worst, as always.

My heart sank as I read the very solid rejection. Very encouraging, indeed, yet a rejection all the same.

Yes, I melted. The dam of negative thoughts broke. I’m not going to lie, this rejection hit me hard. It’s yet another one in the long line of rejections.

My husband walked in from work.

“Is anyone home?” he said.

“Yes, I’m here. In my office.”

With one candle glowing on my desk, he put his hands on my shoulders. I let him read the email. He didn’t say anything. We’ve been through this before. He simply rubbed my shoulders, kissed my head, and offered his strength.

“We’ll get through this. What can I do?”

Living What I Teach

The rest of the night I allowed Disappointment to run its course. I applied my teaching, “Replace the D with an H and you have ‘HIS APPOINTMENT.'” Mentally, I counseled myself with the words of my Genesis 2:7 Beginning teaching (part of the lesson I had been working through on PPT):

• God infused His God-sized breath into you.
• You have a God-sized capacity to live this life.
• Your worth is not defined by anything other than God’s love for you.
• God has a plan and purpose (Jeremiah 29:11-13) that is exceedingly abundantly above all you think or ask (Ephesians 3:20).
• Let God be God.

Yes, I know it is only one rejection notice. The average for an author is 27.

I will send it to another. And another. And another, until I hear God speak otherwise.

When We Can’t Find the Words to Pray

So grateful to be enrolled in this great course. I’ve been art journaling for years and years but this adds so much more to it.

After a restless night sleep, I knew I needed to set aside time this morning for some processing. While doing so, my dear Brooke forwarded this song, by Sidewalk Prophets, to me. How divine. It gave me the words I couldn’t find on my own.

It reminded me of why I sit and write. To help others find the words they can’t find on their own.

She then wrote me a short note,

Don’t lose focus on what you think your called to do just because of a few people not believing in it– you want to be with a publisher who will LOVE it not like it– God was rejected by everyone and still knew he still had to save the world by loving and dying for us— rejection isn’t a dead end it’s just refining your goal even more!!!

Maybe Brooke’s words and the song she shared with me will be exactly what you need today. I pray so.

We’re on this journey together and boy, do we need one another.

Stay true to who God has called you to be and mentally stitch, “Basi Mungu Kuwa Mungu” on your skirt/pants/clothes today.

The Afternoon Knows: We all need to do a little “UNPACKING.” (Part I)

He who would travel happily must travel light” (Antoine de Saint-Exupery).

“Mom, seriously?” remarked Candace. “You really need all of this?”

“Well, you never know,” I said. “It might be hot. It might be cold.”

“Mom, take 5 outfits. Mix and match. You will be in different places. No one will ever see you in the same thing.”

I really should have listened to my wise, professional travel writer daughter. She knows exactly what to pack.

I took a few things out, but definitely not enough. And boy, oh, boy, did I pay the price.

For fourteen days, I lugged around (well, Candace actually lugged it quite a bit), one very heavy suitcase. My shoulders burned like fire from lifting, nudging, pulling, and oftentimes, dragging that darn thing on to trains, buses, and into restaurants and hotels. One man, a waiter in the first restaurant we visited after arriving in Prague, asked, “Stones? You have stones in here?” Talk about embarrassed.

A taxi driver asked, in broken English, “Corpse? You carrying around a dead body?”

Ugh. I was mortified.

God bless my daughter, because she never once said, “I told you so.” She really didn’t have to say it, I said it for her.

“Go ahead,” I said. “I deserve it. I am so sorry.” I apologized a million times, but it didn’t make my suitcase any lighter.

In fact, it got heavier. After attending a Wine and Folkloric Festival in Uherské Hradiště, I was forced to actually purchase an overload bag, because it wouldn’t all fit. I mean, c’mon, how could I resist traditional Czech crafts from my maternal homeland? I tried, I really did. But, in the end, I gave in.

Candace shook her head.

“Mom, I feel like I’m dealing with a toddler,” she’d say. “Practice self-control, please.”

One thing is certain…I provided a great deal of fodder for laughter. It was either laugh or cry or get real angry. So, we chose to laugh.

My suitcase timeout taught me several lessons:

1. I overpack (laugh with me, not at me).
2. I carry around a heavy load (i.e., baggage), that is highly unnecessary. In fact, I didn’t have a hairdryer for five days in Uhersky Brod and my hair did just fine. Okay, it was a little rooster-like in the beginning of the day, but it calmed down as we went along. No one but my vanity and ego cared a lick.
3. UNPACK. Let go and leave behind the unnecessary load. Unpack, defined, “to remove the contents of; to unburden or reveal.” Every time we left a place, I unloaded a little something. More about this in Part II.
4. Simplify. Simplify. Simplify. IF I had done this before I left and carried a lighter load, my journey would have been so much better. Oh, we made it and we laughed alot, but my heavy suitcase was a burden. I felt so bad for my daughter. It really stressed her out at times. If only I had listened…..
5. There is a price to pay for carrying around highly unnecessary heavy loads: physical pain, emotional strain, and overall drain.
6. CHANGE. Learn from my mistakes. I thought I learned this lesson after my 30-day trip to Europe back in 2009. I did better this time, but still not LIGHT enough. So, I’m going to make sure when I travel again, I’ll be wiser and more prepared. Less ego, more fun.

I thanked Candace a hundred times for putting up with my suitcase. But what I really need to thank her for is my suitcase timeout. All jokes aside, it made me realize that I don’t have to go through this life so heavy-laden. My shoulders don’t have to burn with pain. I can let go of my silly ego and enjoy life so much more.

Maybe, like me, you need a little suitcase timeout today. Are you carrying any unnecessary baggage? Do you need to unpack, i.e., let it go and leave it behind? Please learn from my mistakes and put it down. Stay tuned for Part II. We are going to become wiser and more prepared.

The Afternoon Knows.

The afternoon knows what the morning never thought of” (Robert Frost).

“Janell, it is so good to see you,” smiled Erin. “How on earth are you? Tell me what’s going on.”

There in the middle of the women’s bathroom of the YMCA, I smiled.

“I don’t even know where to start.”

“Well, tell me about your mom,” she said. “Then, tell me about your family and the wedding.”

The next ten minutes or so, Erin listened to my heart. We only touched the surface, but it’s amazing how profoundly special ten minutes can be.

Erin touched a very tired last little nerve in my writer’s heart. I want to write. I want to process. I want to get back to some sense of a normal routine. But the past year hasn’t allowed that to happen. Remember that blind corner I mentioned way back when? That sudden, drastic alteration of one’s plans? The unwelcome life lessons that transform us into who God truly wants us to be?

I’m sitting here in my local library desperately trying to find my writer’s voice again. The operative word here is again. Because, it seems, every time I sit down to try and put words on paper, or should I say characters on computer screen, yet another “seeming” interruption happens.

Yes, last week held yet one more trip to the ER and then another hospital stay for my dear Momma. In the wee hours of Wednesday morning (3 am to be exact), I found my way to her brand new AL (Assisted Living) home, meandered through the hollow halls, to find her in desperate pain. Anxious and frustrated, all I could was drive as fast as I could. The ensuing hours brought test upon test. All I could do was hold her hand. Help her take her shoes off. Fluff hospital pillows until they settled into a spot that brought her comfort.

“I know you’re mad at me,” she said.

“Mom, I’m not even awake enough to be mad,” I replied.

Hours unfolded into more hours, one test led to another and then finally, a decision to admit her was made.

I’m always amazed at the human body. How can two little kidneys cause such a fuss, but they do, especially in those “who have been on the earth a very long time.”

So off we went. By 1:30 or so in the afternoon, she was settled in.

“Go home, Janell,” she said. “For goodness sake, you need some rest. I’ll be fine. AND, don’t you dare come back tonight. Get some rest.”

Torn in two, I left.

In the crowded elevator, I couldn’t help but notice the strained faces of those around me.

“You just never know what the day will unfold, do you?” I sighed. A woman sighed. A man winced.

It seems poet Robert Frost understood.

“The afternoon knows,” he writes, “What the morning never thought of.”

When I found this incredibly poignant sentence, I cried.

“Yes, Mr. Frost,” I whispered. “Yes it does. That is precisely what I have been feeling. I just didn’t know it.”

Today, I begin to process “months of afternoons,” in hopes of hearing what Afternoon has to say to me.

To you.

To us.