…whatever achievement and pride I had hoped would fill the emptiness I felt inside me ended up being cracked cisterns that the bible spoke about in Jeremiah. Until that night – ten years ago – in my room

Growing up, I wasn’t really a troublesome kid. I had five brothers, and my parents had more than enough to take care of us, at least for the most part. I had all I wanted. I was bright-headed, and I knew my turf. I went to church twice a week. People who knew me would probably say I had it all, except I really couldn’t say the same for myself, as nothing I had was enough.

I had this emptiness that I carried around. It felt like I was searching for something “extra”, so I pumped all I had into my books. I thought I had nothing else to boast of other than my brains, so I wielded it like a weapon. I had no interest in spiritual stuff or all that “relationship with Christ” people yapped about. I went to church, and I was in the choir. For me, that was enough. My pride wasn’t just in my brilliance; it was also deeply entrenched in my sense of morality. Don’t get me wrong, all the church moments I had counted for a lot, but I soon realised that even those weren’t enough. I would later find out that I was merely a typical religious girl. 

This emptiness soon morphed into something bigger when I got to the university. Life there was different, and it was quite tricky to blend in. I was from a pentecostal background where things were more regimented and controlled. There was a set time for prayers, worship and offering (I still love the format). So, imagine my horror when I entered RCF that Monday evening, and all they did was sing, for hours, waiting for the move of God. I actually thought they had gone nuts. I kept waiting for the presiding pastor to preach so we could go home, but nobody came. I became furious because I felt they wasted my time. I swore never to step my feet into that auditorium again and resolved to look for another fellowship that had what I really wanted. How I ended up in the church for prayers the next day, I do not know. The experience was the same. Students all over, praying in tongues and groaning in prayers. I was more stupefied than I was angry. It was strange, but that wasn’t my last time in the auditorium.

After a while, my heart began to embrace them – and somewhere in the middle – I became jealous. These people had something I didn’t have. I was born again, but I lacked weight. I would attend Bible studies and prayer meetings. Gradually, I started seeing things in a new light. It was not so much about the aesthetics (I’m not castigating it); it was more about the flicker of light in my heart. 

The first thing that light exposed – through the scriptures – was my frail nature as a man. I saw my weaknesses, many of them. I also saw how terrible my heart was and how I had hidden behind a pseudo-identity for years. I was born again, but I couldn’t even recognise God’s voice if he spoke to me. I had hate, bitterness, jealousy, envy; name it. These made me conclude that I wasn’t the right person for the “relationship with God” thingy. I told myself God wanted perfect people, not hateful people, so I closed off and wallowed in self-pity. I didn’t know any better at that time, so the devil amplified my situation and gave it a name.

In no time, I had become a timid girl who couldn’t get past her weaknesses. The one who, like Moses, reminded God now and then why she wasn’t qualified to be called ”The Chosen”. The girl circled by inadequacies and whose cloak of morality was her only sense of doing right by God, hopping round the emptiness and boredom that had been forcefully infused into her religious routine.

There was no hunger, fire or desire, just emptiness

To be continued…

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