For now, though, I have attached a transcript of the very brief 2-minute talk I gave at the mini-book launch. Enjoy!

Talk on Fear: Transcript

"Good morning, church. Thank you Pastor Steve and all the pastors for giving me this opportunity to speak briefly about my book, Finding Grace. It is not something I take for granted.

Two days ago, I was looking through some email archives, and I found a draft of a book I was working on some years ago. I looked at the date on my notes for that book and it read: Jan 4th, 2004 – over 10 years ago. I had written about 17 pages of that book before I stopped and as I read through it on Friday; I was struck by the thought that it really wasn’t very good. I was glad not many people had seen it. But the biggest thing that struck was that it took me almost 10 years to finish my first book.

I found myself playing the ‘What if’ game: What if I had been more diligent with my writing all those years ago? Where might I be today? Of course, I wasn’t completely idle during those 10 years – I relocated from the UK to the United States, got married, started a family and went back to school. However, I did not give enough attention to this gift that God planted in me – just like He has planted something inside all of us.

A wise man said “Redeem the time, for the days are evil.” I’m grateful today that God has given me the opportunity to do just that – to write the stories that He lays on my heart.

Jesus was a story teller. He used short stories aka parables to reveal divine truths. And I see what I do in the same light. On the surface, Finding Grace is about a young woman who suffered a devastating betrayal and found herself imprisoned by her fear. Yet, that story is undergirded by the pillars of faith, love and forgiveness.

I have brought a few copies of Finding Grace and I’ll be selling them in the foyer right after service. Thank you for your anticipated support and I look forward to seeing everyone outside.

Before I step down, I’ll say this one thing:

Fear imprisons, but love liberates.

Don’t spend years locked in fear, neglecting the gift of God in you because you’re afraid of failure or rejection. You’ll never know what you can do until you try.

Thank you!

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They could have been asleep. There they lay, a jumble of young bodies on the pale sand. One of them lay curled on his side, an arm flung across a compatriot’s chest. On another day, in a different world, they might have been boys, exhausted after a game of soccer…laying on the ground and staring up at the brilliant blue sky. They could have been sleeping, but for the blood that pooled under their heads. They could have been sleeping, but for the long-robed men that stood around in a half-circle, staring at the young, lifeless bodies. They could have been sleeping, but they weren’t.

On Tuesday, February 25th 2014, a terrorist group called Boko Haram attacked a secondary school in Northeastern Nigeria and brutally murdered over 40 people, many of them young boys between 15-20 years of age.

How could they? Why would somebody murder innocent children while they slept? Why drag children into your misguided political wars? 

There are so many questions. There always are, when things like this happen. It's difficult to wrap my head around the depth of evil and cowardice shown by these murderers, cloaked in religious zealotry. It's difficult to get the images out of my head - the murdered boys, laying on the sand, blood staining the sand. I stumbled on the picture by accident and I haven't been able to get it out of my head since then. 

In some ways, I ache to forget what is now etched in my mind - that brutal reminder of man's inhumanity to his fellow men, to children. 

But then again, I want to remember. I want to remember them because they deserve to be remembered.

I want to remember them because they were innocent victims of unscrupulous men.

I want to remember them because we, as a society can't afford to forget.

We cannot and should not forget that when good men do nothing, evil prospers.

We must remember. Regardless of what side of the religious or political spectrum we are on. 

We cannot forget. No society should sit back and watch its children get slaughtered...watch their blood stain the sands while we do nothing.

May these and other murdered innocents rest in peace...let the wicked be uprooted and exposed so that peace may reign. 

Onyih Odunze

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Happy New Year!

It's 13 days late, but better late than never, right? At least, that's what they say...

The new year usually brings a flurry of resolutions and goal-setting. Like everyone, else I have some things I aspire to this year and I'm chronicling them in my head - the writing-down part will come later.

But, I've already started making good on my first and most important resolution this year - Taking care of Me. Last year was one of the most difficult and challenging periods of my life. Just being a wife and mother who works outside the home is hard enough. Now, combine that with going to school and trying to fulfill your dreams as a writer (or singer, musician, entrepreneur, etc.).

There were times when I was this close to giving up - going to school AND work every single day of the week? 

Spending the bulk of my weekends cooking, cleaning...sometimes I would be in the kitchen until midnight because I would do my daughter's hair, then cook two or three pots of soup, plus stew, chicken, maybe some jollof rice too. This of course is after I've spent 3-4 hours cleaning the house.

Half the time, I walked around in a daze, not sure whether I was coming or going; I would be driving to work and slapping myself intermittently. No, no. I'm not crazy. I did it to keep myself awake because I was so sleep-deprived that I could have literally fallen asleep at the wheel.

I was exhausted..utterly drained. I had nothing left. I mean, nothing. 

I snapped at my kids, and my husband while I tried to keep smiling for those on the outside. Tension and stress built up in me to the point that I sometimes thought I would explode - or go postal. I mean something had to give. 

It all came to a head around Halloween. I had driven from work to the store to get an outfit for my daughter - something she could wear for her school party. After finding some cowgirl getup from the slim pickings - all the cool princess outfits were gone - I shuffled out to my car, welcoming the thought of getting home and falling into bed.

I unlocked my car as I approached, somewhat surprised that the lights didn't flash. Eager to be on my way, I pulled the door, but it didn't open. Impatient, I unlocked it again, tried the door. No luck.

"What IS going on?" I muttered to myself. I didn't have time for this. It was almost 8 p.m. I was in a hurry to get home. 

Still trying to figure out what was going on, I peeked inside my car and saw the green bobble-head swing back and forth on the dashboard.

Wait...when did I get a bobble-head? Answer: I don't have a bobble-head in my car. I was trying to open someone else's car - a car that looked exactly like mine and was parked in the same row as my car. I let go of the handle like it was a hot iron, and rushed to my car, waiting patiently for me a few spaces down. 

I was trying to open someone else's car! I looked around surreptitiously , hoping no one saw me and thought I was trying to steal the car. This is Texas. Everyone...I mean EVERYONE, except me of course - has a gun. And they like to shoot things. And sometimes they shoot people too. I imagined what the headline would say the next morning:

"Mother of two tragically shot by car owner in a case of mistaken-car identity." 

It's a mistake that anyone would make, but it was the last straw for me because it was the latest in a line of incidents. I was forgetful, angry, distracted and at the end of my rope.

I decided then that 2014 would be different.

I would make time for me. Because I matter.

I will prioritize myself. Because if I'm not okay, then I can't give my children the kind of mother they need and deserve; I can't be a good wife or mate to my husband. 

And so...I told myself this:

"You will no longer work until you drop. Because you don't want to find yourself in an early grave.

So, though the year is still in its infancy, I've already started making it work. For instance, last weekend....I left dishes in the sink overnight {2013 me would NEVER do that}. Then I spent time with friends on Saturday {2013 me never had time on Saturdays, what with fixing daughter's hair, chores and cooking}. Then, I postponed my cooking to Monday/Wednesday evening. Instead of spending all day Saturday or Sunday {after church} in the kitchen, I plan to spread out my cooking during the week. A couple of evenings this week and the freezer should be loaded and good to go.

And you know, what? I've already started seeing the results of my little experiment. I feel more rested, more relaxed, and more patient with my husband and children. I realize now that my family suffers when I'm not at my best. They're the ones who have to deal with a sullen, impatient, broody wife and mother.

I see now that I have a responsibility to myself: to nurture and care for Me. I matter. I am of value. And from now on, I will treat myself that way.

So, Happy New year to Me! {and to you of course}

Thank you for reading and God bless,

Onyih 

Please share your thoughts in the comment section below. Do you feel like you neglect yourself in favor of others? If so, how do you plan to do change that?

Catch up! Recent Posts...

Spring 2008

The pain was so much; I thought I would do anything to escape it. it wasn’t so much the physical pain, which was intense –  it was the emotional pain that I couldn’t handle. I had been back from the hospital for at least a few days, maybe up to a week and I was still unable to get out of bed. The fibroids that had led to the miscarriage were so large; I could feel them just by touching my stomach. They were also painful - everything was difficult; sleeping, walking, using the restroom. Almost every action irritated them and sent the pain flaring through my stomach and fanning my resentment.

My resentment against these interlopers that had wrecked my life.

There were at least three that I knew of – big ones. The one on the right side went all the way past my navel and the two on the opposite were stacked one on top of the other, big as grapefruits {the doctor that removed them later told me there had been seven, the three big ones I knew of and four smaller ones}.

But at this point, surgery was the last thing on my mind; I was still grieving over the loss of my 14-week pregnancy. I raged at God, and at my husband as one gray day rolled into another. Every day was the same – an unrelenting, massive hole of sorrow and depression. The thought of ending it all did cross my mind. I didn’t think I could live a lifetime with the pain I carried inside me. I looked longingly at the array of medication I had been sent home with; what would happen if I popped all the covers and swallowed every pill, I asked myself? For one frozen moment, I considered ending my life – but I didn’t. The thought flew away as quickly as it had come. With God’s grace and the support of my family, I came out of my depressive state and soon had cause to rejoice.

Before that experience, I had always wondered what would make someone feel so hopeless that they ended their lives. Even with all its challenges, ups and downs, life is still worth living – that’s what I always thought. Then I found out why. I found that there’s a pit of despair so deep that some people can never get out. I lived in that pit of despair for a while, but God delivered me.

Since then, news of suicides always affects me. Depresses me. Because I realize how close I came – I know that, but for the grace of God, the story could have been about me. There have been a few high profile suicides in the news the past few months, which made me wonder again, why? Why would this person, with seemingly everything to live for, decide that there was no hope but to end it all?:

First, Gia Allemand, a young starlet who had been on a reality show hanged herself in August, 2013 while on the phone with her mother. Her mother later said Gia had been in a dark mood and was worried about abandonment. She was 29.

Then, Lee Thompson, a young actor who had been a Disney child star and was working on the show ‘Rizzoli and Isles’ shot himself in August, 2013. He was 29. The news of Lee Thompson’s suicide was a shock because I used to watch his show every week and I almost felt like I knew him. After he died, I found myself thinking about his demeanor and wondering why no one on set had noticed his depression. I imagined that I could see some melancholy in his eyes, in his acting – sort of like he wasn’t fully invested in it. This is all after the fact, of course and you know hindsight is 20/20.

But, this stuff isn’t just a ‘Hollywood thing’, you know? Suicide affects Christians too – a good friend of mine, who had been having some difficulties, once confided in me that he imagined killing himself more than once. Like me, he’s a Bible-believing Christian, and like me, he was faced with a life that just seemed hopeless. Thank God, he didn’t act on those impulses.

But that isn’t the case for every Christian who is faced with these thoughts.

Rick Warren’s son, Matthew Warren, shot himself in April, 2013. His father, a popular and well-known pastor said Matthew had been dealing with years of mental illness and depression. Ironically, the night Matthew killed himself, he had just spent a wonderful evening with his parents. But, despair overtook him when he got home and he ended his life. He was 27.

Then, a few weeks ago, I read the news that made me write this piece:

Jesse Taylor Jr., a pastor in Georgia, shot himself one Sunday morning early this month. He had sent his wife and children to church ahead of him that morning, then shot himself in the driveway of his home. During his funeral, a close friend said that he had struggled with manic depression for years.

I couldn’t imagine it. A pastor, ostensibly on his way to Sunday service, sends his family to church and then kills himself? This same pastor had just literally talked a suicidal church member off the ledge a few months before he died; then he kills himself? His close friends, who spoke after his death said he had struggled with depression for years and felt that God had withdrawn from him.

"I try to pray but Iike feel God is not hearing me”, he said during a sermon, posted on YouTube. That statement expressed his sorrow that at those times, he couldn’t hear from God, couldn’t feel God. He killed himself, because he looked down the road and found only darkness, despair, and hopelessness. I can’t even imagine the pain his family must have gone through…and are still going through.

I realize that people are walking around, but the normal facade sometimes hides pain that is unbearable; a despair that swallows any glimpse of hope. Who can see into anyone's heart and realize how close they are to the edge? Who can send help in the nick of time - through a concerned friend, a shared story, a simple smile? Why does God stay some people's hands and not others?

Questions, questions, questions. Not as many answers. 

As the season of Thanksgiving draws near, I’m grateful to God that I’m still here. I’m grateful that He surrounded me with family and friends (especially my girl Chioma, who drove almost two hours from school at my husband’s request, just to talk to me face-to-face). 

I pray that everyone who needs help finds it. I pray that God will sprinkle His mercy liberally, and awaken a spark of hope in every hopeless situation; a spark that will make a difference. 

Life is not perfect, but it is precious. If you're carrying a burden too heavy to bear, don't do it alone. Talk to someone. Share that burden. Live.

National Suicide Hotline: 1-800-273-8255

This is me...just thinking.

Onyih 

Recent Posts...

Sometime last week, I was reflecting on a personal interaction I had with someone, which left a slightly sour taste in my mouth. I spent some time thinking about it and wondering if I could really do anything to change the status quo. Even though I felt like the wronged party, a part of me was saying "You know, you should just forgive and move on. You don't always have to react when people offend you."

But, I consoled myself with the fact that I tried to stay courteous and polite, and never knowingly did anything to offend the person in question. The thought of taking that extra step to actually reach out in love and do something more substantial than just saying 'hello' nicely seemed a bit too much for me. 

"Well, He's still working on me", I thought to myself. Maybe I would be ready down the line...but not now. 

And that's when I saw it. A giant 'STOP' sign. "He's still working on me"...has that phrase crossed the line from a sincere expression of a flawed nature and become an excuse...a crutch for me, for us?

One definition of a crutch is 'anything that serves as a temporary and often inappropriate support, supplement, or substitute.'* 

Do I say "God is still working on me" when I actually mean "This is what God wants me to do, but I'm too hurt, or proud, or tired, or lazy (etc.) to actually do it, so I'll just cop out and act like I don't have the capacity to do it"?

It's true that none of us are perfect, but some habits are way past their expiration dates. How many years does it take to drop something? How long, before we realize that hanging on to some things are crippling us, obstructing the path of our destiny?

Yes, some destiny shaping qualities may take decades to hone (see Jesus, John the Baptist) but some others do not. Some things have to be cut off at the pass because they inhibit our communication with God and affect our relationship with others. 

"He's still working on me" should not be an excuse for bad behavior. If I work on myself while God is working on me, the finished product will be ready much quicker...in time for me to be useful to my generation while I'm still young (well, relatively) and full of strength. The truth is that there are some things that God can't do for us - He gave us a free will for a reason. He won't come down and force us to forgive that hurt, or put our hands to the plough...life is full of choices. What should I wear today? How should I respond to this situation? How can I go on in the face of this challenge, or that obstacle? 

Everything is about choices...Love is a choice. Obedience is a choice. Discipline is a choice. Stick-to-it-iveness (aka perseverance) is a choice. 

I have the power to choose my attitude...my reactions...my perspective. As I thought about my choices in this particular relationship, I reminded myself that time is not my friend. We are to redeem the time.

How long will we remain 'a work in progress' while the world waits...waits earnestly for our manifestation?  Let us work with God - do our part so that we can be about His business. Time is short.

Just thinking...

Onyih 

Thanks for reading...stay inspired! 

 * From: http://dictionary.reference.com 

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“Are you having chills?” a nurse asked when she found me shivering uncontrollably in my bed.

Isn’t it rather obvious? I wondered. Unwilling to expend energy on speech, I nodded mutely.

She clucked sympathetically. “Maybe your milk is coming in. Some women get a fever when that happens”, she continued as she checked my chart and gave me my medication.

I nodded as I took the pills from her, swallowing them without looking. I was used to the routine - there was a pill for gas, vitamins, antibiotics. I was used to the routine and I was tired of it. I’d been in the hospital for three days and had barely spent any time with my newborn son, only visiting him in the NICU for snatches of time. Seeing him hooked up to all the beeping monitors was heartbreaking. Hearing one of them go off was alarming and scary. Watching him suck hungrily on a pacifier soaked in sugary water was even worse, because he wasn’t allowed to have milk for the first day. Having him off the oxygen and ready to go home was an incredible blessing and I was looking forward to taking him home and cuddling him as much as I wanted.

But, then the chills came. Desperate to go home, I tried to disguise it. I just need to pop a couple of Tylenol and I’ll be okay, I reassured myself. After all, the nurses seemed to think it was just my milk coming in. No worries. I wasn’t sick and I didn’t want to spend another day in the hospital. The room was actually very nice – the walls were a nice forest green, decorated with framed artwork with green nuances. Though narrow, the bed was ultra-comfortable and there was a pull out couch where my husband or mother could sleep at night. I could watch all my favorite shows and I didn’t even have to get up to reach the remote, as it was conveniently connected to the bed. The nurses were nice and friendly and the nurse-assistants always slipped me extra packs of mini-saltine crackers and tiny juice cups, which I stockpiled for when I got the munchies. Everything was very nice, but I still wanted to go home.

And I kept thinking I would get to do just that until my doctor told me I had an infection in my womb. My visiting privileges with my son were revoked and I was placed on a brutal round of antibiotics. The fever and infection cleared, but somehow I got sicker. My blood pressure skyrocketed to 200/150. Alarmed, my doctor placed me on more medication. Potassium pills, magnesium pills. Pills, pills. More pills.

“Why am I taking so many pills?” I asked one of the nurses.

“Well, because that’s what your doctor prescribed” the new nurse answered.

“But, what’s this pill for?” I persisted, on my way to getting very agitated.

When she couldn’t – or wouldn’t give me a satisfactory answer, I called my Dad – who happens to be a surgeon – and asked him what he thought. He expressed some misgivings, which tallied perfectly with my own concerns and frustrated me even more. Why were they giving me all these drugs when all I needed was to go home? The fever was gone and the infection had cleared. True, my blood pressure was high, but I felt like it was partly due to having so many saline drips and my anxiety over being able to see my son.

Suddenly incensed, I glared at the nurse “I’m not taking that medicine.”

“But, your doctor ordered it!” she exclaimed, shocked that I would even consider going against the doctor’s orders.

“I don’t care. I don’t know what that medicine is for and I’m not going to take it.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I watched as she struggled with her own anger. Her chest rose and fell with emotion and she finally said with admirable restraint “Well, if you don’t take your medicine I’ll have to call your doctor and tell him.”

Did she think that would scare me? ‘Go ahead’ I dared her right back, still fueled by my anger and frustration.

A couple of hours later, the anger that filled my chest dissolved into tears when my doctor sat beside me, holding my hand and patiently explaining why he placed me on that medication regimen. Emotionally exhausted, tears rolled down my face as I listened to him…and I finally caved. I took the medicine, ignoring the faintly smug look of my new nurse who had been on vacation for the bulk of my stay.

My son and I ended up leaving the hospital 9 days after we first got there for what was supposed to a routine C-section. During that time, I had an ECG, EKG, a diagnosis of an enlarged heart (which made me think of Kanu Nwankwo and start plotting all the ways I could live a healthier life) and enough blood tests to last a lifetime. In the end, my discharge was rather unceremonious and lacking in drama.

“Ms. Odunze, there’s nothing wrong with your heart” the cardiologist announced. “Your blood pressure is high because you’re anxious and you want to go home. So, here. Take this blood pressure medication and go home with your son.”

And so we went home with our brand new son. I rejoiced in him and marveled at his baby soft skin. So soft and smooth. So perfect. I looked at his tiny feet. Ten tiny toes. So cute and so perfect…wait, what was that? My son’s right foot hung at an awkward angle. Try as I did, it wouldn’t sit straight like the other one. We had been in the hospital for almost ten days and he had been seen by a pediatrician every single day, but no one had noticed this? Turns out my son had Metatarsus Adductus – a condition where the foot points downwards. They said it was probably because of his size (he was a big baby) and his position in the womb (he was breech). After several consultations and unsuccessful castings, we ended up opting for surgery when my son was about 14 months old.

“It’ll be a minor surgery”, the orthopedic surgeon reassured us. “He’ll be under anesthesia for about twenty minutes and we’ll just go in, make a tiny cut and elongate the tendon. And that’ll be it.”

It sounded simple, but no surgery is ever minor. I was filled with trepidation, but we trusted God to protect him and he came out of the surgery no worse for the wear, with his right leg in a cast which he wore for one month. We all waited, hoping that he would start walking…but he wasn’t ready yet. Instead, he concentrated on fine-tuning his crawling; going from a military-style elbows-on-the-ground kind of thing to his knees and hands and finally to what I like to call ‘butt-scooting’.

My son has been through so much since he was born – no, he doesn’t have a chronic disease, or a life-threatening condition (and I’m eternally grateful that he doesn’t), but his quality of life has been seriously challenged. Multiple ear infections led to far too many doses of antibiotics and finally double-ear tubes; his formerly perfect skin became hard, scaly and extremely itchy due to eczema (which in turn is due to allergies); his previously robust frame shrank down to a shadow of his former self from many bouts of illness. Slowly, but surely, God has been working to restore him to full health. We’re seeing an allergist now and figuring out his triggers so we can avoid them. His skin is smoothening out and the previously frantically itchy skin has been upgraded to just ‘itchy’.

He’s been through a lot, so the day he took his first steps at almost 19-months old, I was beside myself with excitement. His two feet were planted flat on the ground, practically indistinguishable from each other. As he tottered forward, I breathed a silent prayer of thanksgiving. Even though I didn’t have my camera to document the moment, I knew it was one I would never forget.  It was Mother’s Day and I had been given the best present ever.

Onyih Odunze

PS: CJ is twenty months now and practically running! Seeing him walk around confidently still amazes me. Thanks for reading, everyone. Stay inspired...

Recent Musings...

I held my squirming son in my arms, trying to avoid getting grease stains on him. I had been in the middle of a late Sunday lunch when his big sister’s screams cued me in to the fact that he was getting into mischief somewhere. Temporarily abandoning my lunch, I went looking and found him in the hallway, crawling furiously towards the dresser drawers in their room, intent on opening them and unloading every single item in there.  I scooped him up and walked back to the living room, trying to figure out how to set him down without getting my oily hands on him. I awkwardly put him down on his feet, trying to steady him so he wouldn’t fall. I removed my hands for a couple of seconds, and the most amazing, unexpected thing happened. My son swayed, then staggered forward a step. Then another. And another. Four or five steps later, he plopped to the ground, looking as excited as I felt.

Almost beyond myself with excitement, I squealed and jumped up and down. My son was walking! Torn between savoring the moment and recording it, I jiggled from one foot to the other. Where was my camera when I needed it most? I looked at it longingly, sitting on the kitchen counter a few feet away. But the moment had passed. How would I remember the date, I wondered? I had been pretty good at keeping a journal, but that was in the days BK (Before Kids). Then it hit me. It was Mother’s Day. And I had just been given the best present ever. One that I would never forget.

My son’s birth was as amazing as his sister’s had been, some two years earlier. I still remember laying there, the familiar coppery scent of blood filling my nostrils as my baby was removed from my body. His feeble cry concerned me a little, but the doctor reassured me that everything seemed fine. I eagerly craned my neck, trying to catch my first glimpse of my son. I followed the nurse with my eyes and turned my head to the left to see him properly. The nurse held him between my husband and I, our faces almost touching his…and we smiled at each other, amazed at what God had done. My heart was filled to bursting as I gazed at him. My newborn son. Everything else was forgotten and the chatter of the doctors and other medical personnel in the room faded to background noise. He was perfect. In that moment, everything was perfect. Until bubbles started coming out of his mouth.

Alarmed, I alerted the nurse. “What’s that?”

“What?” she asked.

“That. Why is he blowing bubbles out of his mouth?”

“Oh, babies do that sometimes. It’s nothing.”

I was reluctant to accept her explanation. I was no expert, but I didn’t think it was normal. And it wasn’t.  {Note to all the Moms out there: Trust your instincts. If something doesn’t look normal, it probably isn’t}. Before long, his lips turned blue and it became obvious that something was indeed wrong. They whisked my baby away to the NICU and I found out later that he had ‘wet lung’, a condition where babies retain some fluid in their lungs leading to low oxygen saturation levels. I had gone into hospital on a Thursday, expecting to be home by Sunday. I had gone to have a baby, expecting to spend time bonding with him after the birth – like I had done with my first child. This time everything was different. Inside my post-partum room, my family sat around waiting for word on the baby’s condition. There was a curiously empty feeling in the room, as if someone had sucked all the air out and left us deflated. Instead of cooing together over the new baby, we sat there, nervous and apprehensive. Desperately longing for my son, I gave myself up to despair as exhaustion claimed me.

To be continued…

Onyih Odunze

You know how sometimes you feel bad, but you just can’t figure out why exactly you feel bad? I felt depressed but I didn’t know why. I was listless and unresponsive almost all day – I had no heart or strength to do anything. Ignoring the pile of presentations and term papers that I had deadlines for, I held my son and stared mindlessly at the TV. What was wrong with me? Moods are funny things. They come, they go. Sometimes they linger and drag other people down with it.

My depression lingered for a couple of days and I felt like I was bogged down in mire, struggling to get out. I wrote a piece a few months ago about David’s reaction when he was running from Saul, and how he made music out of chaos.

If David could encourage himself and sing even while afraid for his life, then I could dance! {I didn’t quite dance, but I sang a little bit}.

I eventually got over it, and I learned some things:

• No matter how bad you think it is, it could be worse. Read or watch the news and then thank God for His mercies.
• Having someone to talk to is important. You don’t need to share earth-shattering secrets with them, but just chatting and laughing with a loved one helped me immensely.
• The Word is imperative! The Word of God is a soul-cleanser {Ephesians 5:26}. It washes away the things that build up in our hearts – stress, anger, bitterness, resentment, etc. – and neglecting it is costly.
• Choose to put things in perspective and move on. Perspective is everything – if you pick up a pebble and hold it to your eye, it blocks everything out, but if you throw it on the ground, you see it as it is. You see it in perspective. Yes, we all have issues, but they’re not the end of the world.

So, I’m almost back to my normal self and I’m grateful for the lessons He teaches me every day even when I go through challenging times. Especially when I go through challenging times.

In the end, moods come and go, but we can hold on to the truth that our Anchor never moves. And for that, I’m incredibly grateful.

Onyih Odunze

How do you deal with ‘downer’ days? Please share your thoughts, and thanks for reading!

The two girls – one short, one tall – walked down the dusty path that led to the dormitory. The height difference between them was almost comical. They had known each other for a couple of years, but had just recently grown close. It was near dusk and their shadows rose to meet them in the fading light. The shorter girl giggled at the sight of their mismatched shadows.

“Maybe we should stop walking together”, she teased. “You’re like a giant next to me!”

She had a mischievous nature, and she often made silly jokes like that. But, her friend wasn’t joking.

“Well, if that’s what you want”, she huffed as she walked away. They didn’t speak for two weeks and after that, the mischievous girl learned to curtail her mischief. She hid her silly nature and jokes behind a mask, for what use were jokes if they cost her the company of her friends?

I was driving to work one morning in January when a single phrase popped into my head. You know how you think about something, and brood on it and examine it from every angle until you get an epiphany? Well, this was nothing like that. This thought came almost from nowhere and I’m convinced it came from God, because there was absolutely no way I could have come up with it on my own.

“Lord, help me to express my true self without fear of failure, rejection or censure.”

‘Wow’, I thought to myself. That one sentence expressed everything I’ve ever thought about self-expression and freedom of self. There are so many things in life that can rob us of the freedom to express who we really are – that joke that falls flat and makes you decide not to crack jokes in certain company; the rejection from a loved one that makes you decide never to trust anyone again; that betrayal that turns the world upside down and makes us withdraw into a shell…and so on, and so on. Some people have personalities that allow them to brush these things off and move on, however some don’t. I happen to fall into the latter category – my reserved and quiet personality provides ample breeding ground for doubts to creep in, for hurts to linger and for withdrawal to set in. However, after a while I realized that I was letting others rob me of my joy; I was giving other people the power to change me – and not in a positive way.

The day that prayer came to me, I felt liberated. I knew then that God had seen the direction I was heading and He had stepped in to put a stop to it. I pray that prayer almost every day and I remind myself that God made me just the way I am for a reason. I am cheating Him and cheating the world if I decide to turn myself into someone else just because of what others would say, or how they feel about me.

I was reading a blog last week, written by my friend Kiki Lawrence and she was talking about self-inspiration. She quoted Robert Kegan – an expert in adult development – who identified three steps on the journey to self-inspiration:

• the evolving self: this happens when someone decides to fulfill their full potential by being willing to shed elements of their old self and induct new and better elements into their inner core.
• congruent self: begins with the unwavering drive to be true to oneself. It results in a deep self-awareness and an unbroken flow from being and thinking, to feeling and expressing. In other words: I say what I think, what I think is how I feel, and how I feel is who I am. 
• courageous self: is the resolve to act consistently with our congruent self, even in situations that harbor significant risk.

As I read, I felt my eyes growing wider because I could recognize all three processes in my current evolution to a better me. I felt vindicated because again, I could recognize that God had directed me to that page, to encourage me – to propel me forward.

See, the world is waiting expectantly for your manifestation...yes, YOU! The world waits for me, for us to express who we really are and be a blessing! So what, if your jokes sometimes bomb; so what, if that boyfriend-you-thought-would-become-a-husband ditched you after eight years; so what, if your ideas have been rejected so many times, you don’t bother to count anymore; so what?

Don’t push yourself into a corner and present just a shell in an effort to please or be palatable to everyone else.

Don’t allow the fear of failure, rejection or censure/judgment to drain all the spice out of your life! Crack those jokes, go out with your friends, keep brainstorming and offering your ideas because that’s who you are. Let God Himself use what He wants and change what He doesn’t like.

Everyone doesn’t like peppery food, but I don’t see cayenne pepper or chili pepper losing their ‘pepperiness’ just to appeal to everyone!

The truth is that no one can be universally liked or admired – see Jesus, perfect but reviled by some and crucified.

Accept that and free yourself. Let the real you stand up and make a difference.

Onyih Odunze

“You may not control all the events that happen to you, but you can decide not to be reduced by them.” Maya Angelou - Letter to My Daughter

As always, thanks for reading and stay inspired!

Onyih

What I Learned in 2012  

By Chichi Ugonma E.

On Relationships

I’ve learnt that it’s far better to be the right person than to look for the right person.

I’ve learnt that it’s better to lose your pride with the one you love than lose the one you love because of your pride.

I’ve learnt that commitment is better than excitement.  So it’s better to have someone committed to you than be excited by you.

I’ve learnt that people of value will stick around you because of the way you make them feel and not because of what they can get from you.

I’ve learnt that your destiny isn’t tied to anyone who leaves you. It simply means that their role in your scripted life is over.

I’ve learnt that there’s a little truth behind ‘just kidding’, a little emotion behind ‘I don’t give a damn’, a little pain behind ‘it’s ok’, a little need behind, ‘leave me alone’ and a lot of words behind silence.

I’ve learnt that you can’t make yourself happy by bringing misery to others.

I’ve learnt that in any relationship whether intimate or platonic, you can never get an exact person of your type so you’ll either have to adjust or compromise. You adjust when someone wants to be with you and you compromise when you want to be with someone.

I’ve learnt that because something didn’t last forever doesn’t mean it wasn’t worth your while.

I’ve learnt that letting go is hard but not impossible. All you need are true friends, time and faith for a new beginning.

I’ve learnt that the most amazing feeling in the entire universe is to be with that one person who wants to be with you despite your faults, flaws, warts and all.

On Faith

I’ve learnt that it’s impossible to apply faith and logic at the same time.

I’ve learnt that there is a God who is with me and who is for me.

I’ve learnt that I am a three in one creation- the masterpiece, the centerpiece and the corner-piece. I am the epitome of divine creation, the center of God’s attention and the cornerstone of God’s love.

Read more of Chichi's thoughts at her blog. 

Instead of sharing it as one piece (as it was originally posted), I have decided to split it into two parts; Part 1 will feature Chichi's lessons on Choices and Life and Part 2 will focus on Relationships and Faith. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did.

Thanks for reading and stay inspired!

Onyih

What I learned in 2012

By Chichi Ugonma E.

Some of these lessons have been in the making for years, others happened as ‘eureka’ moments and through epiphany.  The most important lesson however is that “there’s no constraint on the human mind, no walls around the human spirit, no barriers to our progress except those we erect ourselves” Ronald Reagan

On Choices

I've learnt that it is our choices rather than our abilities that show us who we truly are.

I've learnt that human beings are the same by nature but separated by habits.

I've learnt that the last of one’s freedom is the ability to choose one’s reactions to people’s actions.

On ‘The Power of You’

I've learnt that the human spirit is the most potent force in the universe, stronger that any atomic bomb or any nuclear power station.

I've learnt that every battle is either won or lost in the mind.

I've learnt that nothing is literally impossible to the person who won’t give up.

I've learnt that you’re braver than you believe, stronger than you seem and smarter than you think.

I've learnt that the greatest satisfaction in life is doing what people say you can’t do.

I've learnt that my strength does not come from the gym, running and racing but in pulling myself up whenever I fall.

I've learnt that knowledge and wisdom are two separate things; one makes you a living, the other builds you a life.

On Life

I've learnt that the rain sometimes falls on those who deserve the sunshine the most.

I've learnt that every great success story starts out in defeat, humility and humiliation.

I've learnt that there’ll always be good and bad days. Some days, you’ll wake up feeling on top of the world. Other days, you’ll wake up feeling the world is on top of you.’

I've learnt that the saying “you reap what you sow” is completely inaccurate.  You always reap more that you sow. Thus, if you sowed wind, expect to reap a whirlwind.

I've learnt its okay to ask and more importantly, accept help. You can’t do it all, you don’t know it all and you can’t have it all.

I've learnt to forgive everyone everyday, and of everything.

I've learnt that it’s more important to be kind than to be right.

I've learnt it’s better to do right just because it’s right and not necessarily to expect ‘the right’ results.

I've learnt it’s impossible to be truly happy and self-centered at the same time.

I've learnt that no matter the difficulties you face, somebody out there has it much worse and no matter how good your life is, somebody out there has it better.

I've learnt that our problems are not really the problem. Rather it is the way we carry our problems that is our problem.

I've learnt that life doesn't necessarily get better, only our perception of it does.

I've learnt that the only exercise some folks get is jumping to conclusions, running down their friends, sidestepping their responsibilities and pushing their luck.

I've learnt that haters must hate. Sometimes people hate you not because of who or what you are, but because they love to hate.

I've learnt that the people who judge you the most are those who know little or nothing about you, where you have been and what your life is all about.

I've learnt that falsehood can never approximate the truth simply by virtue of repetition. A lie is a lie even if everyone believes it. The truth remains the truth even if no one believes it.

I've learnt to say exactly what I mean and mean exactly what I say for those who matter don’t mind and those who mind don’t matter. (Dr Seuss)

I've learnt it’s better to be a diamond with a flaw than to be a pebble without a flaw for a person without vice is almost certainly without virtue.

I've learnt that good always triumphs over bad for ALL things work together for good, everything happens for a good reason; good times become good memories, and bad times serve as good lessons.

Read more of Chichi's thoughts here.

Like most other people, I don't like rejection. In fact, I fear it and that fear has held me back from doing quite a few things...from stepping out in faith like I know I should. It's something I struggle to conquer, so with shaky hands, I penned the following story and entered it in a writing contest. I waited on tenterhooks for the results to be announced, and alas...I didn't win. Still, I took something out of the experience: I took a positive step by doing something scary (to me) and I gave it a good effort (maybe not my best - but, I was pretty happy with what I did).

So, even though I didn't win, I'm more determined than ever to optimize the gifts and callings of God within me. A closed door doesn't signal the end of a dream. It could just mean that I need a change of direction, or that the time hasn't come...yet. But, it will. I know it will. While I wait, I will continue to learn, grow and hone my craft.

I've attached the story here for your reading pleasure (I hope) and I encourage us all to remain steadfast (that's my word for the year, btw) and press forward until we obtain the prize. Let us decide to be ruled by faith and not fear. Fear tells us "It won't work", while faith says "All things are possible." Which do you believe?

Happy reading!

Heaven’s Whisper by Onyih Odunze

It was a cool December day and a light fog clung to the squat office building as we approached. A few visitors – early birds like us - walked in and out of the wide double doors, bundled in their puffy jackets and winter coats. It wasn’t really that cold – only in the sixties – but it was proper ‘sweater weather’ in Houston. Trembling slightly with a chill that had nothing to do with the weather, I grasped my husband’s hand as we walked slowly towards the elevators.

My nerves fluttered nervously as we pressed the button marked ‘3’. Luckily, it was still early so we had the elevator to ourselves. Lost in our separate thoughts, my husband and I rode in tension-soaked silence on our way to my OB/GYN appointment. As the elevator rumbled its way up, fear seized hold of me and I wished I could delay what would surely be a confirmation of my worst fears. Oblivious to my unspoken distress, the elevator journeyed on and when the ‘3’ button lighted up, the doors opened, leaving me no choice but to walk with leaden steps to the doctor’s office.

I completed the usual formalities and sat down to wait my turn. I squirmed lightly in my seat, anticipating yet dreading what was to come. I wanted to know, but I was afraid to know.

Father, please… I prayed silently and vaguely. Please, Lord, don’t let it be true. But somewhere deep inside, I knew. I just knew. I was in the middle of a miscarriage.

Finally, the agonizing wait ended and my name was called.

“Ojin?”

I didn’t smile like I usually did at the elderly nurse’s attempt to pronounce my complicated name. I simply nodded and followed her through the short hallway to the nurses’ station. I could feel my husband’s solid presence behind me but it gave me no comfort. I was locked in a private pain that no one else could understand, not unless they had experienced it. I answered Ms. Donna’s questions emotionlessly.

Yes. I did a home test about three weeks ago and it was positive.

The spotting started two days ago.

No, I hadn’t felt any severe pains yet.

When she finished going through the brief history of my pregnancy, she took my blood pressure and checked my weight. I surrendered to her ministrations wordlessly and when she finished, she walked us to the ultra-sound room. As though infected by our pensive mood, she was quiet and efficient – nothing like her usual ebullient self.

“Wait here. The technician will be with you shortly.”

“Thank you.” My husband spoke for the first time since we left home. His voice had a rusty quality to it, either from recent lack of use or from tears. I glanced at him but could see nothing in the dark room. What did it matter if he cried, anyway? I asked myself. I had shed enough tears for the both of us, and yet nothing had changed.

After a silent and tense ultrasound exam, we were finally ushered into the doctor’s office. Tears flowed unrestricted as he confirmed what I had already guessed. I had miscarried at seven weeks. A sob escaped my lips as I tried to deal with the emotions churning inside me. Even though the events of the past few days had brought me to the same conclusion, hope had lingered and I wasn’t prepared for the finality. It felt like the earth had moved under me and I clutched my husband as we made our way back to our car.

We drove home in near silence, each grieving for the baby that would never be. When we pulled into the garage, my husband helped me out of the car and into bed. I didn’t really need help, but I let him. I knew that he wanted to feel like he was doing something – anything – to help me. In truth, he felt as helpless as I did. Our baby was gone and there was nothing we could do about it.

Drained, I crawled into bed and cried myself to sleep. Just before I drifted off, I thought I heard a soft voice whisper to me. Weeping may endure for one night, but your joy will come.

I remembered that whisper exactly one year later as I gazed into the sleeping face of my newborn son.

How do you overcome your fear of failure? Please, share your thoughts with us! 

But, what am I supposed to do? I asked myself again. I’ve written about wearing many hats before – and it just seems like the demands on my time are getting more intense. Especially with a 14-month old who I affectionately call ‘my handbag’ – as in, he won’t let me go anywhere without him.

I imagined what the pastor would say if he could see what I had traded in my Sunday morning worship for:

“Remember the story of Mary and Martha”, he would say, voice thundering with indignation.

“Martha was distracted – serving guests, cooking, washing up – worried about too many things. But, Mary sat quietly at the feet of the Master and got the one thing that was needful.”

I could picture the frown on his face as he scolded me. Contrition flooded me and I wondered whether I should have just chucked it all and gone to church like I was supposed to. But, the thing is, it would all still be waiting for me. Between work, home stuff, kid stuff, marriage stuff and personal projects, time is at a premium for me and I always remind myself that I need to manage it better.

But, what am I supposed to do when I wake up on a Sunday morning and the house is a mess because I spent half the day wrangling my daughter to sit still so I could fix her hair? And the other half of the day was spent cooking 2-3 pots of soup, stew, jollof/fried/coconut rice and maybe some baked chicken? What happens when I can’t do my usual Saturday cleaning because I didn’t leave the kitchen until midnight?

On days like those, I feel more like Martha than Mary. She was so exhausted trying to do it all; she finally went to Jesus and blasted Mary! I know Jesus reprimanded her – for good reason, too – but, I can certainly sympathize with her. On days like those, I send up a prayer for forgiveness, tackle the housework and think to myself that Martha certainly gets a bad rap. Poor Martha.

Onyih Odunze

Think About It: Do you ever sacrifice ‘needful’ things on the altar of ‘important’ things, like Martha did? How do you cope when you feel overwhelmed with activities? Please share your thoughts below.

The long line of cars stretched out ahead of me in never-ending columns. I crawled along an inch at a time, constantly checking the time and wondering when I would get to work.  Gosh! Driving on Highway 10 (Katy Tollway) during rush hour is a nightmare. Serious nightmare. Yesterday it took me like 10 minutes just to get on the ramp! The work commute isn’t fun so I try to distract myself while keeping a watchful eye to make sure no one sneaks in ahead of me. Every inch of progress I make feels like I just won something. So I crawl along, being careful to stay in the second lane to the left.

You see, habits create a pattern. After driving this route for some time, I realized that the second lane to the left moves much faster between the my entry point (Westgreen) and the Highway 6 exit. Then from there, the first lane on the left moves faster. I’m not really sure why that happens, but I think it’s because all the cars using the Katy tollway stay on that first lane so they can use the left entrance. Since the entrance right around Highway 6 is the last one for a while, all those cars exit to get on the tollway at roughly the same time, opening up a huge space.

Sometimes, though, I get distracted when I see the first lane moving seemingly faster, and then I switch lanes. But, I always regret it because this pattern holds almost all the time.

And then I look longingly at the cars in the second lane as they zoom past and I think “who even sent me to change lanes, eh?” then I brood about how much farther along I would have been.

So, this morning it happened again. I was cruising along in my chosen lane, studiously ignoring the cars in the first lane as they drove past and I crawled along.

“Nope, not gonna switch”.

I knew where my space would be and I was targeting it seriously. Well, I got distracted, and frustrated by my lack of progress while other cars seemed to be moving faster, so I decided to switch lanes – and guess what? I regretted it almost immediately because right on cue, my previous lane started moving…and it got me thinking.

“Isn’t that just like life?”

Life is like a race – kind of. Paul the apostle said we should run so that we’ll win the prize. So. Life is kind of like a race and there’s a prize at the end of it. But who are we racing? Is it like the 100m Gold Medal race at the London Olympics where eight elite athletes lined up to race against each other in competition? When Usain smoked the rest of the field and won the Gold medal? Hmmm….I remembered somewhere in the Bible where Paul talks about comparisons.  I wasn’t sure exactly where it was, so I waited until I got home and I checked it out on my trusted online resource.

Paul the Apostle: For we dare not class ourselves or compare ourselves with those who commend themselves. But they, measuring themselves by themselves, and comparing themselves among themselves, are not wise. 1 Corinthians 10:12 (King James Version)

According to Paul, we are not to compare ourselves with each other. So, if I’m not racing against others, does it mean I’m racing with myself? That question rattles around in my head for a while. It reminded me of the Olympics (Back to the Olympics again, but I can’t help it – they were fantastic!...even the random sports like archery and fencing were exciting). Sometimes, during the swimming or track and field competitions, the announcers would say someone had swum or run a ‘Personal Best’. They may not have broken the world record, or the Olympic record – they may not even have won the race, but they did the best they had ever done up to that point. They had a personal record – they surpassed their previous successes.

So, I learned something from my long commute today. I learned that:

• Life is a race
• But, it’s not a competition
• We all have our lanes (aka gifts, talents, calling)
• When I look at what others are doing, I get distracted and lose my place, and by the time I get back on track, I would have lost some valuable time.
• The goal is to have a ‘Personal Record’. To best myself. To be better today than I was yesterday.
• And that sounds like a race worth running – and winning. A race against myself.

What do you think? Do you agree that the race is a journey, not a competition? Do you have random thoughts at weird times and places (just like me)? Please share your thoughts below. Thanks for reading!

Onyih Odunze

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“How great is our God

Sing with me how great is our God

And all will see how great

How great is our God”

I swayed to the music as the worship built in intensity – Praise and Worship at House On The Word is always fantastic - seriously, I’m not just saying it because it’s my church. So, if you're in the Houston area, check out our website for more information at www.hotw.org. See how I just gave a nice shout-out to my church? :) Anyway, like I was saying, that day was no different. I thought about the words as I sang along, and bits and pieces of it stuck in my head…the splendor of the King…darkness tries to hide and trembles at His voice. I thought about how great God is and in my mind's eye, I could see the storm quaking to a stop when Jesus said three simple words; I could see the sun freeze in the sky so that Joshua and the Israelite army would have the victory; I could see mountains falling flat on their faces at His command. Wow! Such power! To change the course of nature and command circumstances – what greater miracle could there be?

As I thought about it, I wondered. Nature bows to the One who created it all in the first place, but nature doesn’t talk back. Storms still at His voice, but their emotions never run away with their common sense. The sun doesn’t hold grudges and withhold forgiveness from those who wrong it…hmmm, maybe there is a greater miracle after all.

The miracle of a transformed life – where someone who previously dwelt in unforgiveness starts to release everyone who has hurt him; where we choose to obey God whether our emotions agree or not; a life where my will is totally surrendered to His…where like Jesus, I can tell God that I will obey Him, even if it costs me all that is precious. The sun, moon and stars have no voice, no will of their own, no choice – but, I do. We do. What greater miracle could there be than a surrendered will, completely yielded to its Creator? Oh, how I yearn for transformation…to be that person that can look back and be completely amazed at how different I am! What a miracle that would be!

Onyih Odunze

What do you think is the greatest miracle? Please share your thoughts! As always, thanks for reading.

A Dream Deferred - December, 2007

“Do you think I should see a doctor?”, I asked my sister worriedly.

“No”, she reassured me. “These kinds of things happen. You know the female body does some strange things every now and then, but most times it doesn’t mean anything.”

I’d been feeling unusually bloated and had noticed a few other things that made me suspect that I had uterine fibroids. I had almost convinced myself of that fact because my Mom had severe and reccurring fibroids and I had read that it could be hereditary. Maybe that’s why I haven’t gotten pregnant yet, I thought to myself. I grappled with the idea of going to see a gynecologist for a few weeks. Which was better – to see a doctor and have my fears confirmed, or brush it off as one of those things and worry endlessly? I didn’t have to decide because a couple of months later, I found out I was pregnant. I was elated and excited that God had finally answered my prayers and I eagerly shared the news with my family. Everyone was excited and the pregnancy seemed to be progressing well, but my belly was swelling pretty quickly, which I found strange.

“Oh, don’t worry about it. Everyone is different, you know. Besides, you don’t look that big”. I did look that big, but I took the well-meaning advice because I didn’t want to confront the real reason behind my rapidly-growing belly. I was only a couple of months in when I started having terrible pains – gut-clenching-can’t-sit-down kind of pain. It was persistent, so I woke my sister up and she drove me to the ER around midnight. After waiting endlessly, we got the diagnosis – uterine fibroids. The doctor told me I was having a ‘threatened miscarriage’ and told me I would probably end up miscarrying. All this was said with a slight smile and no empathy whatsoever. He could have been telling me I had a headache for all he cared. My sister was furious at his cavalier attitude, but I was heartbroken by his news.

I went home dejected and struggling with my faith…and all the dreams I’d had. Why would God allow this, I wondered. Why answer my prayers, only to tear the answer away as I reached out to hold it? I was puzzled and hurt, but I held out hope. Maybe…just maybe everything would work out well. It didn’t. A few days before our first wedding anniversary, I started having slight cramps which intensified after a few days.

On April 24^th, 2008, I woke up and discovered that my water had broken. I was four months pregnant. We went to see our doctor and we were supposed to go back to the hospital that evening for a scan. As we walked into the hospital, I was wracked with terrible pains. It was unbearable…both physically and emotionally because I realized that the baby I had shared my body with for four months was struggling to come out – five months early. Way too early.

Wracked and almost delirious with pain, I paced up and down the lobby restlessly. I tried to sit but couldn’t. I tried kneeling on the chairs. That didn’t help either. And the pain only got worse until it engulfed my whole being. I literally couldn’t stand it and I had to be wheeled into the ultrasound room. I writhed in pain as I lay on the bed, and I had to be held down by two nurses. God, please….please, I begged silently. Let this pain be over. I knew the baby was already gone and I just wanted the pain to stop.

I miscarried that evening. Screams of pain tore from my throat as I mourned the loss of my child.

“My baby is gone”, I wailed. “My baby”….my poor baby. It felt unreal, but it wasn’t. It was all too real and there was no escaping it.

“Would you like to see your baby?” the nurse asked me gently.

Did I want to see my baby? I knew I shouldn’t because it would be too painful, but a part of me wanted to see – to look and remember what I had lost. I nodded. Yes, I would see the child that would never be. She held out a stainless steel bowl and I gazed at the little baby that lay curled in it – tiny and lifeless and my heart broke, it just shattered into a million pieces. Eyes clouded with tears, I turned my face away and the nurse walked back to the corner of the room and placed the baby on the counter. Still sobbing, I watched as my husband walked over to her.

“What was it?” he asked the nurse in a subdued voice.

“A boy”, she answered quietly.

Emotionally drained and physically exhausted, I lay there sobbing and mourning what I had lost – what we had lost.

When Joy Came

The months following the miscarriage were very difficult – emotionally, physically and spiritually. The physical part was easy to correct with surgery, but the rest? Not so much. My husband struggled to help me understand that yes, we had experienced something horrible and very painful, but that wasn’t the end of the world. We could – and should – still go on and try to have a happy life. But, no. I wasn’t having it. I resisted all his attempts and thought him insensitive for moving on so quickly. Was I the only one that cared about what we had lost? Doesn’t anybody else understand what I’m going through?

It was difficult, but God helped me through it with the help of my husband, good friends and my awesome family. I began to understand that God’s primary concern is not my happiness, per se, or my physical comfort. There was more at stake than my desire to have a child. So, what if I never have my own children? Would I stop serving God? No….no, I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. I realized that I had so many other things to be thankful for and I finally surrendered my desires, my pain, my anger and my hurt to the only One who could heal me.

One day, a few months after I had surgery, I had a dream where I clearly saw myself holding my baby with tears of gratitude flowing down my face. A short while after that, I woke up with a name in my head ‘Chimezirim’. As I thought about it, it seemed clear to me that I would have a son whose name would be ‘Chimezirim’ – God has restored me….God has fixed me. I didn’t know it at the time, but God was actually showing me two different children.

A couple of months after that I found out I was pregnant. Again, I was excited, but my excitement was tempered with caution and a lot of prayer. I prayed endlessly (and called my doctor’s office nearly every day!). In July, 2009, our daughter Chizaram was born and I exhaled. Finally, my joy had come and I had the child of my dreams.

Another Dream Deferred - December 2010

When my daughter was a toddler, we started talking about having more children. By God’s grace, I found out I was pregnant again on Thanksgiving Day of 2010. I was excited! This new baby and Zara would be born a week apart and I was already planning their shared birthday parties in my head. It’s going to be so awesome, I thought happily. I could already see them in their coordinated outfits, two small hands gripping a plastic knife to cut their joint-birthday cake. Oh, God is sooo good! I was happy…I was satisfied. After everything we had been through, God had finally wiped all our tears away and had given us two children.

A few weeks into the pregnancy, I realized that I wasn’t having any symptoms. Hmm…I hadn’t been sick the previous two times, but I always had crippling nausea and it was missing with that third pregnancy. But, I brushed it off. Every pregnancy is different. Surely, I wasn’t going to have another miscarriage? The fibroids had been removed and my uterus had been repaired so I felt confident that miscarriages were a thing of the past.

During my seventh week, I began to spot. I called my doctor’s office and they reassured me.

“Oh, that happens all the time in the first few months.” Reassured for the time being, I hung up with the admonition to come in if the blood turned bright red.

That happened the very next day. As the stream grew redder, thicker and more continuous, my hopes waned. Not again, I thought. Not again. But, I knew. Experience had taught me. I told my husband the pregnancy was over a day before the doctor confirmed it. Even though I was only seven weeks along, it still hurt. For many women, once the pee stick shows a positive result, they see a baby – they dream of a live, cuddly baby and I was no different. That baby was real, and losing it hurt.

I miscarried two days after we saw the doctor, but this time it wasn’t in a sterile hospital room. It happened at home, when I was alone with my small daughter. I was devastated, but not crushed. I already knew what God was capable of. All I had to do was look at my daughter. I cried for a couple of days, then I dried my tears and spent a very lovely Christmas with my family just one week later. I tried to keep things in perspective. I knew my pain wasn’t unique – many, many women suffer miscarriages during the first trimester. I also knew women who had experienced multiple miscarriages, or who had died during or after childbirth. I had been blessed and I was determined to thank God for the wonderful child He had already given me.

Two months after that miscarriage, I found out I was pregnant for the fourth time. But, this time was different. This child had been conceived exactly three years after the first child and would be born exactly three years later – three years to the day. The EDD for my very first pregnancy was October 18^th, and the EDD for this baby was also October 18^th. The date of my LMP for the first pregnancy was January 11^th, and it was the exact same date for this fourth pregnancy. Coincidence? I didn’t think so. It wasn’t a coincidence. It was God’s way of completing my healing. It was His way of telling me that he hadn’t forgotten the pain and tears from three years prior. Finally, my joy would be complete.

I still struggled with fear, and battled all through the pregnancy to keep my mind on God’s promise. In October, 2011, God blessed us with a son whom we named Chimezirim. He is neither a replacement, nor a re-incarnation. He is a precious gift from our loving Father and his arrival has made our family complete.

The difference between a glass half-full and a glass half-empty is perspective. I’ve been pregnant four times and I have two children. Instead of thinking “I’ve been pregnant four times and only have two children”, rather my mindset is more of “Wow, I can’t believe I have these two amazing children!”

Pain is not unique to anybody. Suffering and sorrow are universal emotions and we all have to figure out how to handle the difficult moments that life brings.

At the beginning of this piece, I said that this story was meant for someone, someone who is right now where I was a few years ago. If you’ve read my story to the end, you know it had a happy ending. Your story can also have a happy ending. The same God that did it for me will surely, surely do the same and more for you. Hold on through your pain, hang on through it all. You may wet your pillow with tears every night, but your joy is coming. Pain is not unique. Neither is joy. Mine came….so will yours.

Onyih Odunze

Questions rush through my mind, but of all of them one persists…insistent on an answer. Why? Why? Why? A blogger had managed to collect pictures of many of the people that had been on board that flight when it crashed. Why him? I wondered as I saw the picture of Adeleke Oluwadamilere, a fourth-year student of Bowen University. Why her? Uche Alasi, a young flight attendant who graduated from Feddy around the same time as I did. Why them? Fatoku Anjola, a young mother who was traveling with two of her children…the entire Anyene family – parents and four children.

Why like this? Death is one thing, but this kind of tragic death is another thing entirely – something horrible, sad, heartbreaking, and scary. Very scary. It’s scary to think that the people on that flight woke up that day just like I did. They made plans for their day and set out to accomplish them….just like I did. They planned a short trip from Abuja to Lagos, got on a plane for a one-hour flight and ended up going on an unplanned trip into eternity. It’s scary because they were people just like me. Real people with families, dreams, hopes and fears – just like me. Real people with unresolved issues, who laughed, cried, prayed and played. Real people with real families who are still devastated by their loss, even as many of us have moved on. It’s scary because it happened to them – and it could happen to me, to any of us.

Questions again…more questions. What’s the point? What’s the point of it all – the hustle, the stress, all the hard work – if it’ll be snatched away in an instant? What is the point, I ask again. There are more questions than answers.

Things like this can be earth-shattering and can throw one off course. What’s there to hold onto when nothing makes sense? How can you find safe anchor when the seas are so rough that your ship is broken up by the waves?

(Sigh). So many questions…not as many answers. But, I’m grateful that I can hold onto Someone who has all the answers. Someday, I too will fully understand why. Until then, I can only keep living, keep being, keep trying… and keep reminding myself that this life is but one short stop on the long journey to our final destination.

The 153 people on that flight (and the others on the ground) are more than just a statistic…more than just a number. Let’s remember them and continue to pray for their families.

RIP.

Onyih Odunze

“Okay!” she replied rather cheerfully. My sister and I looked at each other with some surprise. It was rare for her to give in so easily because she loves hanging out with her auntie and her cousins. I was glad though, because I definitely did not have the energy to drag her into the car. She even waved at them happily as I strapped her into her seat. I quickly bundled her and her brother into the car and we took off on our short drive.

She had been eating some Sun chips her cousin gave her before we left, and when she finished it, she asked for more.

“There’s no more, baby. It’s at Auntie’s house.” That reminded her that we had actually left her Auntie’s house and she asked to go back.

“No, Z”, I replied soothingly “We have to go home so we can sleep and get ready for tomorrow.”

She started whining in that really annoying way that kids have perfected “I don’t have to.”

I’d never heard her say that before. Where did she learn that one from? Hmm…daycare. “You have to, my dear. We can’t sleep at Auntie’s house today.”

She cried a little bit and I just ignored her. Peeved that I wasn’t giving her attention (which would have legitimized her mini-tantrum), she said petulantly “I don’t have to. I don’t have to. I don’t have to!”

That really cracked me up. Maybe she thought that by chanting it three times in quick succession like a mantra, I would immediately give in and drive her back to have more fun at her auntie’s house. She couldn’t see the big picture but I could. I knew that in order for her to get enough rest and be ready for the next day, we needed to go home then. I also knew that she would have many more opportunities to go hang out with her cousins…in her childish imagination, she couldn’t see any of these things and she just wanted immediate satisfaction.

It got me thinking: how many times have I acted like that, petulantly demanding something right now, and forgetting that there is Someone who sees the big picture. He sees what’s ahead and moves me into/through different situations and circumstances in order to get me ready – to prepare me for the road ahead. Taking my daughter away from a fun experience seemed like punishment to her, but I did it for her own good – to give her enough time to rest so she wouldn’t be cranky the next day from lack of sleep. Sometimes God allows certain doors to close in my face…certain relationships to fail…trouble seems to be camped in front of my door…sometimes, it just feels so discouraging. But He sees the big picture – the end from the beginning. I need to learn to trust Him more, because He knows what He’s doing…

Onyih Odunze

Ring…Ring…Ring…

Bleary-eyed, I fumbled for my phone and shut the annoying alarm off. It’s 5 a.m. in the morning. Before the alarm went off, my little human alarm had already pulled me halfway out of a somewhat deep sleep and the alarm did the rest. I (very reluctantly) dragged myself up, and started feeding the baby.

After feeding and burping him, I set him down and opened my textbook – time to work on my assignments. I mentally flipped through my program for the rest of the day – I thought about the mountain of washed clothes in dire need of folding and skipped past that. No, no time for that today. Too many other things to do. Life sometimes feels like a balancing act – something has to give way for something else. I’m married, I work, go to school and have two kids who need me to take care of them.  

A friend of mine visited from Nigeria recently and we used to joke that over here, a wife/mom is not just a wife/mom, but also a cook, driver, housekeeper, washer-woman, nursemaid and so many other things rolled into one. She was glad to see that my housekeeping standards had relaxed a bit – hey, with an active toddler running all over the place, there’s no way it can be spick and span like it used to be BFK (before kids). There are days when I can’t pick up the toys all over the living room floor, or I can’t wash all the dishes in the sink before I go to bed. There are times when I fish their clothes out of the dryer for days because I can’t find 30 minutes to fold/hang them. I fully accept the fact that I’m not SUPERWOMAN, and I’m glad I’m not, but I do try to be a super woman. I try to be a great wife and mother, a good employee, a competent student, a loving sister/daughter, a good friend, a faithful steward and so on.

Many of us wear many hats and even though they may not always sit right – a moment of anger can make your ‘good wife’ hat askew, but a few sweet words and some TLC will make it sit right again – we can take pride in the fact that we manage to juggle so many things pretty well, with no major catastrophes!

Every now and again, I pull out all my hats and admire them; I’m blessed to be a wife, thankful to be a mom, grateful for my job, happy to be back in school, glad that I have a family who loves me. All my hats don’t always fit right, but they’re mine…and I’m proud to have the privilege of wearing them all.

Onyih Odunze

In November 2010, I found out I was pregnant again and I was sooo excited. The baby would have been due in July 2011 and I was already planning combined birthday parties with him/her and Zara. Their birthdays would have been like a week apart and it just seemed so perfect. Six weeks into the pregnancy, I remember commenting to my sister that I didn’t really feel pregnant. I’ve never had morning sickness per se, but I always feel extreme nausea – but it was absent that time. She told me it was probably nothing…every pregnancy is different and all that. So, I let it go. But somewhere in my heart, I just had a weird feeling. My weird feeling panned out and I miscarried in my 7^th week. Oh! Not again…why me? Why me again, Lord? You know, the same questions came back…if God knew I would miscarry, why did He allow me to get pregnant in the first place? It just didn’t make sense to me. I was traumatized and heartbroken again. But God did not leave me without hope - I could look at my precious daughter and see what God had done. I knew that if He wanted to, He would do it again…and He did. I miscarried on Dec 16 2010 and on Dec 25 2011, we dedicated our precious son – our promise kept. He is now almost 4 months old and every time I look at him, my heart exclaims “God loves me so much!” I don’t know about you :)

David said ‘O taste and see that the Lord is good’. I have tasted and seen…yes, yes, yes! God IS good!

Onyih Odunze