Simply grateful that I am still loved; I still have purpose; I still have a support network; I am still enough; and no one lives in my mind rent free!
Everyday is a present; 365 presents is a huge blessing—God is good. Alhamdulillah for everything!
Yesterday Daddy and I laughed and celebrated his birthday as best as we could. His phone rang incessantly. Many called to wish him a happy birthday. Some dropped by the house to fellowship with him and give gifts. He even enjoyed watching music videos of his favorite: The Uko Akpan Cultural Group
As much as I tried, and although I know Daddy feels full and blessed to see another year and be surrounded by friends and family, one point was glaring for me:
We’ve just completed a full revolution around the Sun since you departed this plane a year ago. 🥺
Not a day has gone by that I haven’t thought about you and seen your face. There have been rough days; Saturdays are the worst…as that’s the day God called you home. Some days I scroll through old text messages and pictures of you; or laugh at the funny videos we shared that you didn’t seem to realize were taking up all the memory on you phone.
Daddy and I have talked everyday since. Don’t worry, he’s okay. You saw my post yesterday: he’s eating well. He’s still doing his 6km walk 3-4 times a week. He’s taking his vitamins and getting his doctor’s checkups.
Your grandchildren are thriving too.
But we miss you terribly. 😩
Missing you has forced me to rethink “Time.” How much of it we think we have, how we spend what we do have (24hrs), with whom we spend it, and to what end.
Missing you has forced me to focus less on the time I can’t control (tomorrow).
You can’t even imagine the things the world has chosen to focus on just this year alone. One hint: It’s not “time.”
I keep asking myself, what would Mummy do? I know, for sure, you would pray first. Then you would talk with Daddy. Then you would act! We miss that about you…your decisiveness.
We are working hard to live the way you modeled. To be devoted to a cause, to be authentic, and to be purposeful.
Rest in Power…Sweet Mother! ♥️
Today you turn 84! Last night we chatted, like we have in some form everyday since we lost mum a year ago tomorrow. We thanked God for grace, for favor, for the strength to live each day we are given. We ended our chat acknowledging, if it’s God’s will to see today, we will do it all over again…and so here we are, it’s the 2nd of April.
You are an inspiration for a generation.
Your example as a father here on earth is why I can relate to God as a Heavenly Father.
Your peace in the midst of storms is why we understand the blessing that God promises to peacemakers.
Your heart for service is why we know it is better to give than to receive.
Your love for us allows us to understand God’s grace.
I thank God for the 84 years you’ve left fingerprints on all the lives God has placed on your path.
You look good.
You are funny.
You sound good.
Your mind is sharp.
You remain gracious.
You’re in good health.
And you still inspire a generation. ♥️
All my life today, October 31st, has always meant one thing…my mum’s birthday. This day in 1945 had to happen or you wouldn’t be reading this post. She was the vessel God chose.
Because of this day, as was our family tradition, I learned to appreciate exquisite Asian culture in Nigeria.
Because of this day (and many others), I observed ways husbands can make their spouses fill special.
Because of this day, I learned how special can be simple and simple can be special.
Mum would have turned 76 today. However, she completed her mission earlier this year.
There will be cake (dad’s making sure of that).
There will be prayers (because that’s what we do).
There will be moments of pure sadness, but also peace, and joy.
Because we will meet again…where everyday is today and we celebrate.
I can’t believe it’s been half-a-century! I never saw past the age of 29. Yes…I said 29. I know that sounds strange. Let me explain: After listening to Prince’s “1999”, I got so caught up in the lyrics I actually thought the world would end with a great party in 1999 and in 2000 the rapture would occur. There’ve been 21 revolutions around the Sun since then and as I celebrate this half-century milestone, I find myself reflecting again on song lyrics and their role in my life.
“1999” by Prince (First Stanza)
“I was dreamin’ when I wrote this, forgive me if it goes astray. But when I woke up this morning, I could have sworn it was judgement day. The sky was all purple, there were people runnin’ everywhere. Tryin’ to run from the destruction, And you know I didn’t even care. Chorus: ‘Cause they say…2000 zero zero, party over, oops, out of time. So tonight I’m gonna party like it’s 1999.”
Every year since 2000 has simply been icing on the cake. God has been gracious and indeed merciful. I’ve survived things and environments I shouldn’t have. I’ve sat before “Kings & Queens” and dined with the not so privileged. Somehow I’ve remained Tina’s son and no, the party wasn’t over.
On Going Through Life (“The Gambler” by Kenny Rogers)
“You’ve got to know when to hold ’em, Know when to fold ’em, Know when to walk away. And know when to run. You never count your money When you’re sittin’ at the table
There’ll be time enough for countin’ When the dealin’s done.“
I thank my parents for introducing me to country music decades ago. Funny to think about it now, but I remember my parents owned a copy of Lynn Anderson’s “Rose Garden” album and I’d memorized the very adult “I Don’t Want to Play House” song. Yikes! 🙂
On My Relationship With God (“Worth” by Anthony Brown and group therAPy)
“You thought I was worth saving, So you came and changed my life. You thought I was worth keeping, So you cleaned me up inside. You thought I was to die for, So you sacrificed your life. So I could be free, So I could be whole, So I could tell everyone I know.“
This song reminds me of who I am, whose I am, and why I am. A sinner saved by grace. Designed deliberately by a creator who thought enough of me to give me inherent value and then infuse in me a purpose for my journey. My worth is not determined by, what I consider, external non-voters. It has been set by the One who made me, the Son who saved me, and the Spirit that sustains me.
On My Dependence on God (“Lord Give Me a Sign” by DMX)
“Let me know what’s on yo’ mind. Let me know what I’m gon’ find. It’s all in time, show me how to teach the mind. Show me how to reach the blind, Lord give me a sign! Show me what I gots to do, to bring me closer to you. As I’ma go through, whatever you want me to. Just let me know what to do, Lord give me a sign!”
One thing that I found endearing about the late DMX was, despite his struggles and vices, he had an emotional honesty that he always wore on his sleeve. When he released this song, I was drawn to his frank prayer/conversation with God. It was a deviation from traditional prayers of eloquence. It reminded me of my own dependence on God for every step, every breath, EVERY THING, and the many times I’d prayed earnestly for a sign.
On My Purpose (Paraphrased from D.T. Niles)
I am simply a beggar telling other beggars where to find bread.
I am far from a musicologist; however, I do appreciate the role song lyrics play on our journeys. Songs that make us cry like “Good Good Father” by Chris Tomlin; make us laugh like “I Think I Can Beat Mike Tyson” by DJ Jazzy Jeff & The Fresh Prince; hype us up for a run like “Hey Ya” by Outkast; make us think “Redemption Song” by Bob Marley & The Wailers”; or remind us from whence we’ve come like “We Shall Overcome” or “No Agreement” by Fela Kuti. I’m grateful for the lifetime of songs that mark my many revolutions around the Sun and the loved ones, friends, associates, and comrades that have made the journey rich and memorable thus far. I wish my mum was here for this moment–miss her terribly; I am me because of her.
Today, I just want to give you your flowers. I woke up this morning to thoughts of perseverance and endurance and your image came to mind.
For over eight decades these words have marked your journey and your life. That you are now an institution is a testament, not just to your efforts, but to the plans God had for you from the beginning (Jeremiah 29:11)
I know this new chapter you’re in will take some significant adjustment. Your soulmate, life partner, and confidante, recently went home to be with the Lord. Each day we learn new things mum took care of that we have to now figure out. I like your sense of adventure in doing just that. And as you keep saying, “we will figure it out.”
Each day we chat to check-in on each other and I am inspired, as always, by your resilience. You’ve lived long enough to see meaning in everything. Long enough to possess a keen sense of discernment. But most important, you’ve walked with God enough to know “love bears all things.”
This Father’s Day, I honor you as the Bible commands. I thank you for the earthly model of fatherhood you have been to me. I relate to God the Father because you’ve shown me how. I try to follow the golden rule because you’ve lived that way all my life.
Thank you for being a good father…a great dad!
I grew up in mainland Lagos, Nigeria in a neighborhood called Ilupeju (Ee-loo-pay-ju). As a young lad, I remember community sports were a big thing. Not the organized kind you see today; more like the “go outside and play until it gets dark” kind. Like the pickup football (soccer) game in the park when you just showed up and joined whatever team needed a player. Or that time my dad traveled to France and brought back a pair of boxing gloves and my older brother, Uma, would set up the neighborhood’s weekly boxing matches—yes, with only ONE SET OF GLOVES!! He was right-handed, which meant whoever the other kid was, unfortunately, would have to fight as a south paw..:with the other glove! Uma never lost. 😂
My favorite community sport came with our decision to host table-tennis tournaments in our front yard. We didn’t have a table, a net, or paddles; all we had money for was the pack of ping-pong balls. It’s wasn’t as if our parents couldn’t afford it; it’s just that we weren’t going to ask them for the money. The tournament was our idea and we’d found the materials ourselves. There was a sense of ownership as we worked tirelessly to create our own community sport; like we were becoming our own sports franchise owners; think cricket, WWE or UFC.
We found an empty oil drum, a flat piece of plywood from a construction site dumpster for the table; two small empty cans of evaporated milk and a long beam for the net; another piece of plywood was used to fashion two square paddles and a box of matches. Yes, I said matches; those were for when someone would mistakenly step on the ball. We’d light a match, using the flame to expand the ball back to its original shape. Except it never returned to form. We played with it anyway.
Then there were the tournament rules. There was really only one rule; similar to Vegas…”the house always wins.” Basically, we played until it was dark and someone in our household won. If it meant missing dinner, so be it. We played and played and played. Instead of the famous “best of three wins”, ours was “best of “whatever” wins. I was about 7 years old back then and because of the level of competition and the frequency of play, I got better as a player. Eventually I transitioned to actual paddles, added some new tricks to my arsenal, and even learned to play with both hands.
Fast-forward many years later, I was on an official visit to Abuja, Nigeria and stayed at a hotel where they had a table-tennis room. Walking by one afternoon, I heard the familiar sounds of the ball being smashed and trash-talk. It brought back memories and I immediately signed up to play the winner. Three games later, I’d just finished defeating everyone in the room when an older gentleman who’d been watching the last game asked if he could be next; I obliged. His next words made me laugh out loud:
“I’ll give you 19 points ahead.”
“Excuse me, what?!” I responded.
“You have 19, I have zero.” He said rather softly.
“You’re joking right?” I said wondering if he’d been drinking. Did he not just watch me kick butt up in here?! I know he knows the game ends when the first player reaches 21 points.
At this point, I tried hard to suppress my feelings of being insulted and simply said, “okay, let’s go!” I must admit, I still gave him a look.
He beat me, 21-19!!
I couldn’t believe what had just happened. Had I used all my trick moves? YES.
What about my special serves? YES!
How about the shortcuts? YESSS!!!
“Let’s go again!” I challenged; recalling those “best of whatever” days.
He won again…and again! Three straight games and I didn’t score a single point!!
After that third humiliating loss, there was nowhere to tuck my tail. I told myself I was too old to cry (I remembered all those times the older kids beat me back in Ilupeju). Just then he casually said:
“You play well; but I could teach you a few things. I’m one of the coaches for the Nigerian National Team.”
My jaw dropped! All these years I didn’t even know Nigeria had a National Team; let alone be beaten by one of its coaches. He proceeded to give me a few tips and lessons to improve my game. He left a fingerprint on my life that day. Interestingly enough, we never exchanged names…we were simply strangers passing through time and space. Sometimes, life is perfect that way.
She finished her undergraduate degree from the University of Nebraska during an era of racism and bigotry that was strange to her. She’d arrive there thanks to a scholarship from the United States Agency for International Development (USAID). I remember the story of how excited she was to meet her first American roommate. She sat eagerly in her freshman dorm that weekend morning. The young lady walked in, her parents behind her, my mom beaming with excitement. She looked at mum, saw the color of her skin and turned to her parents and yelled: “I am not rooming with that!”
I don’t know if she’s ever gotten over the shock of that day, that moment. Nevertheless, it didn’t stop her. She had come to the U.S. with a clear purpose. She’d been presented with a great opportunity and she wasn’t going to let obstacles in another land get in her way. Why? There was a civil war going on in her own country. Millions would die. Loved ones would disappear. The country would need to rebuild. And she was going to be a part of that effort.
Along the way life happened. She got married to a dashing young Nigerian with similar aspirations who was there for his PhD and was a standout leader within the African Student’s Association. She went on to Purdue to obtain a Master’s degree only a year later. They moved to California, had me, and returned home shortly thereafter to do the work they felt called to do.
Today she turns 75! Happy birthday sweet mother! I am grateful for this legend in my life as she sits at home thanking God and celebrating this milestone. I join her in reflecting on her journey thus far. She did her part working in the Nigerian civil service for 35 years despite the glass ceiling.
Long retired, since 2001, I join her today as she reflects on the Nigeria she worked so hard to help develop. I mourn with her as she looks out at the streets of the city I grew up in, the brutality against unarmed men and women, the people longing for better qualities of life, and the society that prays for an end to self-serving leadership. I join her as she prays for a generation of leaders that will arise, like she did years before, to continue the work.
Nevertheless, she continues to serve and continues to give because she knows the work is not yet done. She knows leadership matters. She knows example matters. She knows her purpose and as long as the good Lord gives her breath, she will continue to walk in that calling.
I am me because of her.
#legendsareborninoctober
Today as I reflect on yet another extension of my own shelf-life, I couldn’t help but smile in amazement!
First of all. Growing up I actually believed Prince when he sang the song “1999.” So much that I thought the world would end that year! So here I am celebrating the 20th anniversary of when I thought the world would end. Thank you Lord!
Second, is the journey thus far. Coup d’états; malaria; asthma; a gas stove explosion to the face (yeah, this face); unsuccessful attack during combat convoy; surgery; unmet expectations; disappointing others; poor decisions; loved ones’ health challenges; etc. and through it all: Though I walked through the valley of the shadow of death, God, you were with me. Your rod and staff comforted me.
Third is the work to be done. I realized years ago and took on the mantra that I was “a beggar telling other beggars where to find bread.” My life’s purpose would be lived out with the words I spoke; the encouragement I gave, and the seeds of good news I planted.
Everyday I’ve woken up is the confirmation that God wants me to continue in that purpose.
Today is a reaffirmation of that mission. Lord I thank you for my voice; my purpose; the platform to share; and the harvest in which to till.
Thank you for grace and mercy; those unbelievable twins to which I am so indebted.
Most of all…thank you for the family you’ve assigned me to; the place to which I am to first reflect Your goodness.
Thanks for your note and the follow-up phone call.
While my emotions were (and are) still raw, you acknowledged not realizing how deeply impacted I was by the events unfolding across the country. You were horrified by the video capturing George Floyd’s death and your voice choked as you described how you felt seeing the other officers casually stand-by. You admitted not really paying close attention in the past because, “well it didn’t seem to affect anyone I knew.”
You were apologetic at first but then as the peaceful protests seemed to be diluted by violence and looting, your empathy turned to anger over the crimes of opportunity. You became righteously indignant about the lack of law and order. Your voice got louder as you watched the violence unfold; bricks were thrown into buildings, vehicles set on fire, and businesses looted and destroyed.
I heard as you went from calling them peaceful protesters to naming them thugs. You said “what about the good cops risking their lives!” I wondered if you noticed the truck pull-up nearby to drop off bricks to catalyze the violence. You muttered something under your breath about why they just don’t destroy “their own neighborhoods like they usually do?” You didn’t know I heard it. Almost like you realized what you’d said, you looked up to see the tears streaming down my face. You tried to apologize but realized you’d shoved the knife even deeper.
In your shame, you muttered: “I don’t know what to say; I feel like anything I say right now will just be wrong!”
I realize I was right; this is going to be very uncomfortable for you. A good starting point would be to admit that discomfort and be prepared to squirm in it for a bit. However, maybe I can give you some other things to consider doing and not doing:
– Don’t say you don’t see race/color or that justice is color bind. It’s disingenuous and also makes me feel like you don’t see ME. You only see the parts of me that make you comfortable.
– Don’t explain away with data or “facts” (I also hurt when a black person dies under the hand of another)
– Don’t try to validate or feign allegiance with how many black friends you have. It feels like pandering.
– Do acknowledge that there are so many experiences, emotions, and opinions out there and we’re not a monolith.
– Don’t place the burden of explaining or justifying on me. Do some learning, reading on your own.
– Do examine history and be open to learning. Watch the “13th” documentary on Netflix for example.
– Do be willing to become as vulnerable as I am and willing to walk with me in this mess.
I know this is the beginning of many more real and raw conversations between us. Maybe we’ll talk about why people are moved to peacefully protest; why people are angry enough to riot; or why they’re desperate enough to loot.
We won’t fix this overnight…we didn’t get here overnight.
Talk to you soon.
Sincerely,
Still Your Black Friend
Can we talk? I don’t take the word “friend” lightly. I believe our paths crossed for a reason. God brought you into my life at the right time and place. Our life stories intersected and we’ve left fingerprints in each other’s lives.
We laugh at jokes only we would get. The kind of stories that start of with “you remember that one time…?” We’ve walked through valleys and struggled together. You notice when something is off. We check in on each other; hope all is well with our families, and end text messages with “You know I’m here if you need anything.”
Dear White Friend: I need you right now.
Friend, I just want you to know I’m struggling. There are people who are threatened by my very existence. When I go running they wish me dead. When I go shopping, they imagine I’m there to steal. When I go bird watching in the park and try to follow the rules, the cops are called on me. When I sit in my apartment, I’m afraid to leave the door open because I could get shot for being in the wrong place; my place!
My sons are struggling too. One is 6’4” and looks like a football player. Someone threatened to call the cops on him while playing basketball with his white friends in their yard. Why? She didn’t believe he was staying with them (he’s been there since his university closed down due to COVID-19). My other son looks like an actual basketball player. I’m scared for us three. Scared we may not make it back from the next grocery store run.
I know you’ll think I’m overreacting. But right now I really need your help.
Would you please go out and defend me publicly the way you would privately? Can you stand up for me as friends should? Would you help me root out this evil so we can go back to laughing at those good jokes again? I just want to feel safe in my own skin. I’m struggling with the idea that my very existence is tied to someone else’s imagination, bias, or prejudice against me/us.
If this is asking too much or it’s too uncomfortable for you; please let me know. Because I now feel the same way about our friendship.
Sincerely,
Your Black Friend
Heard this still small voice this morning during what I now call a God moment. There I was making my usual quarantine hot tea, wondering in silence when I heard this: “Don’t ask Me for anything you’re not willing to give away.”
Argh! It sank down deep into my bone marrow and just marinated there for hours. I shared the moment with others and they had a similar reaction: Woah! 😯
I thought of all the things it implied. I thought about all the things I’d prayed for. All this thinking took the rest of the day. I realized quickly that everything God needs to say has already been captured in God’s word.
I remember growing up and my mum would yell some directive at me. I’d respond like I didn’t hear her the first time with a “huh?” Then she’d say something like, “don’t have me repeating myself; I know you heard me!”
I didn’t need that same reaction from God so I went digging. Where in the Bible had someone prayed desperately for something, received it, then gave it away willingly?
I found the story of Hannah in 1 Samuel 1. She’d prayed and cried desperately for a child. Even her own husband thought she was drunk at times. God blessed her with Samuel. Then after she’d weaned him, she gave Samuel back into the Lord’s service.
So then I thought about my own prayer list. If God gave me what I asked for, would I be willing to give it away like Hannah did? If the answer is no, then am I really praying for the right thing or with the right motive?
Hannah gave away Samuel. Abraham was willing to sacrifice Isaac. God gave His only begotten Son.
What about you? How bad do you want freedom and are you willing to give it away for the good of others?
How bad do you need to be forgiven and are you willing to forgive?
How bad do you need patience and are you willing to be patient and answer that question for the upteenth time?
I need to go bandage my toes. I’ve stepped on them enough.
Now that we’re isolated in our homes for the most part, what we “see” is limited to the images we consume on TV screens, smartphones, computers, and tablets. We quickly form opinions regarding those images and may even go as far as voicing those opinions either with comments or retweets or shares. We “like” what we agree with and “dislike” what we don’t.
I often wonder, am I always looking at the world through my perspective or God’s, and is there a difference? For me the answer is a clear YES.
If I see people as God’s creation, worthy of love, mercy, and grace then I believe my “audio starts to match my video.”
Is this hard to do? Heck yeah it is!
But it doesn’t mean it shouldn’t become my true north. If I claim daily transformation to become what God created me to be, then I have to imagine God doing the same for everyone I see…regardless of where they are in their own “process”.
A snapshot image should not define an entire process nor a journey. I heard something recently during a corporate prayer session that was spot on: “Whatever (or whoever) you see that concerns, irritates, or bothers you, is what/who you should immediately pray for.”
That’s a game changer! Imagine the effect that decision has on ones blood pressure alone. Or your mental health or level of “pisstivity” — yes, a made up word.
Better yet, consider the impact of your faithful prayers offered with God’s perspective in mind.
I’m choosing to see God in people and letting that shape my next move.
#staysafe #stayhome #seethroughGod’seyes #praypurposefully #mentalhealth #Heisrisen
It’s been a rough week for a lot of us. The tragic deaths of 9 people in a helicopter crash in California brought us all face to face with our own mortality and the fragility of life here on earth.
It forced conversations on what we value, what we do with our time, talents, and treasures. It made us think about how we grieve, who we grieve for, and why.
For a brief moment we detested the lack of decorum social media offers when tragedy hits a family and the first time they hear of it is through a tweet.
Many of us stopped scrolling and actually called our loved ones to connect.
While the shock still reverberates all over the world, there are healthy things happening:
– Men are increasingly getting in touch with how they feel and expressing those feelings publicly…even crying ( that’s a big deal!)
– #girldad is trending as men declare the important role they play in the lives of their daughters. The secondary effect is the example it shows to young men about valuing women (that too is a big deal)
– We’re all learning a valuable lesson in shaping our stories. While the world sometimes chooses to pick apart negative chapters in our lives to highlight, it is the body of work and the humility behind that work that matters.
I’m reminded that Christ chose 12 of the most imperfect people as His disciples; God called King David “a man after God’s own heart”; and Saul the terrorist became Paul the author of most of the New Testament.
So pursue everyday with drive, chase your passion with purpose, and leave fingerprints on people’s lives. Tomorrow is not promised. Today is a gift.
My parents have been visiting for over a month and I’ve never seen them so relaxed. From NJ to NC, to TN, and then to VA. What started out as a planned visit to my son’s HS graduation in Europe, turned out to be the most priceless of moments a surviving son could have with his living parents.
The last three weeks have been the longest consecutive time I’ve spent with them “alone” since the three of us left northern CA for Nigeria with me as a toddler! Okay, that was a long time ago. Even I didn’t realize it’d been that long until dad mentioned it. We’ve had pockets of time together over the years but never more than two weeks (and never really alone) where I was the novelty visitor who hadn’t been home in a while; getting served all his favorite meals from childhood or catching up with old friends of my parents.
This time though has been different. It’s just been us three for the most time. I’m the one cooking or getting the meals. Taking dad out for a pedicure and haircut. Shopping with mum for whatever she wants. Binge watching talent and dance shows on Hulu or Netflix. Sitting to listen to mind-numbing news and comparing world cultures. Laughing as they enjoy yet another Chick-fil-A salad. Playfully taking turns to alter the room temperature because I like it cold and they don’t. Then watching mum wear a sweater inside in the middle of summer. I’ve cherished every single moment. It’s not the length of time we’ve had, but the quality of that time. Nothing planned. Just being present.
My son also had a special bonding moment; one I never could have envisioned. On the summer before he heads off to college, he got to spend a week alone with both sets of his grandparents under one roof. I don’t know many people who’ve had that experience. Typically you see one set of grandparents at a time. But this time, it was all four with just him. I pray he too cherishes the vitality of the moment. Only God knows if he’ll ever have that again. I pray he does…maybe when he graduates college.
God couldn’t have orchestrated a better couple to bring me into this world. They are simply the best! I am who I am because of who they are: servants of God who answered their individual calls to serve humanity as an educator, an animal scientist, a management consultand, as philanthropists, and as my parents.
Like for my son, I don’t know if such an opportunity will ever happen again…I pray God allows it.
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