The flags of our fathers: A father’s greatest gift…

This series is something that I have always wanted to write but is one of the hardest things to write.  It is hard because, despite what I think of my dad, he is my dad and I love him. I don’t want in any way for what I say to shame him.

However even as much as I love my dad I want to speak and speak out. I want to speak out because no one has ever given me the permission or the place to speak, to pour my heart, share my grief and shout my frustrations.

Something about the African society just goes all mysterious when it comes to parents or adults. But also the blatant abuse of the responsibility of fathers is clear. I want to ask why anybody isn't speaking up.  I am surprised with tradition, culture and scripture. Children don’t speak to, about or against adults. This is not our culture. Honor your father if you want to live long.

But sometimes I want to ask, what about the children, these little eyes, ears, feet and hands all unified by this mind. Won’t these little people readily propagate the same hurtful and damaging cycles their parents initiated? Is it a wonder that Ugandan society seems to be spinning a little off centre.

I may not be the best or the right person to speak, but if I cannot let the evidence all around you speak.

There is the little girl who somehow ended up at my church early in the morning with the thought to end her life.

There is the little girl whose was abused by an uncle and when she spoke to her parents the pride of the clan was greater than her pain.

What of the family that endures the unfaithfulness of their father. Something everyone including friends knows to be happening.

The family that has to go through a divorce after many many years of marriage because of infidelity.

The son who “run" away from home simply because at a friend’s home, he found a sense of family, something he said he had never experience while in his father’s home.

The girl who believes she is curse simply because her mom say such dreadful things about her.

The boy who struggles with self-image because his dad told him he would amount to nothing.

You can fill the spaces with examples ad infinitum

I know nothing about parenting but I know a lot about being a child staggering under the weight of my father’s actions, words and more and yes honour parents, respect culture what whatever is done to the least of these is done also to Jesus and trust me some of it isn't pretty.

So what is a father’s greatest gift? It’s not education though that important. It’s not clothing or housing or all that other stuff that parents have a duty to provide. Put simply its love. Because love empowers us to be more than just dutiful adult person we can grow to be all round human being brining life and healing to a world sorely in need of it.

No wonder Christ’s major work was love, not the material gifts of a gracious God.

Work out your own salvation a.k.a Twakowa sausage

Today is Monday May 20^th 2013. For many of you out there you have a very detailed plan for your career and perhaps hope for your relationships by 2018.

You have read all the right books, joined all the networks online and groups on Facebook. You have signed up for all the newsletters and follow the  right people on twitter and are current with all that pertains to your field of interest all in a bid to stay on top of the game career wise.

You mouth all the mantras and live all the principles. You have Steve Jobs biography on you shelf. A copy of Richard Bransons “breaking my virginity” book has dog ears from over use while Kiyosaki's “Rich dad poor dad” has been underlined to the point of illegibility.

You subscribe to this newsletter, attend that weekly ‘millionaires’ meeting, seek mentoring and leadership from the business persons you admire and have invested in several businesses. All because in ten years you have this picture of financial stability, independence and more.

But I wonder how many of us actually put the same amount of effort into growing our faith. What are our spiritual targets for the next 5-10 years? Who are the men of faith we have submitted to in mentorship and discipleship to get to where we want to be? Which books that build our faith have we bought and totally worn out from reading and rereading. How many select groups do we attend to both encourage and find encouragement? How much have we invested in both time and money and more into this venture called our spiritual life? How many of us actually spend time training our spirits in the ways of the master.

When you read scripture a lot of the analogy for spiritual disciplines was connected to work. It was a sort of apprenticeship with us as the novice and God as the master. Those days and even in apprenticeship today it was mostly learned by doing. But there were other skills needed.

Because apprenticeship was long and hard and often took year’s commitment was foremost. Others I imagine was teach-ability, faith that your master would teach you all he knew, humility as learn and ask questions, grace under rebuke and failure, respect for your time and that of the master as well as keen eyes and hands cause after all that was the basic mode of skill transfer. You watched and did and watched and did till you were as God as the master. It was only then that you could work on your own.

So let’s all let go of these excuses we give, mbu church has failed us (this is my personal favourite) oba there is no longer preaching of the right gospel, true gospel or full gospel. Stop using the failing of other Christians to justify your actions; they were never your example to follow in the first place. Let us abandon the self-righteous internal neo judgment peppered with false humility that Christians lately are wont to do.

Instead let’s put out hand to the mill and follow that age old advice contained in the scriptures

¹² Therefore, my dear friends, as you have always obeyed—not only in my presence, but now much more in my absence—continue to work out your salvation with fear and trembling,

Philippians 2:12

New International Version (NIV)

God knows we all need to.

Chasing your dreams III: Hello Fear (one more round)

I was quite miffed that I was. Seated in a friend’s Spartan living room, I was wracking my brain for the answer(s) to the question she just asked. “What would you do if you had one million dollars?” How do i explain this fire in my heart.

And right there is the heart of my quandary. When I was growing up choosing “full time” ministry was like the loftiest goal a Christian would have. Our scripture union heroes were those that had quit or passed over “lucrative” chances to serve God instead. That was true denial to self and true answering of the call of God.

Today it’s a different story. Men who chose the “ministry” are scrutinized more and those that blindly walk into a profession are only questioned if the number of zeros to their salary is requisite and if they are what figure is at the beginning. I do not know how many times I have been asked to make sure that ministry is really the path God has set for me.

I feel like a man stuck in a time warp of sorts. Here I was, in the prime of my life, in a game whose rules had been changed. I feel like I am taking part in a game with an outdated rule book as my guide and being given a thorough butt whooping.

The world and the church by extension applaud winners. Nobody remembers who comes second they say. If two people walk the same path and one succeeds and the other fails, well the one who succeeds is revolutionary while the loser was probably 'delusionary'…this was not his true calling.

You see failure(s) is no longer well received in today’s church either. It’s either condemned or soothed away with the message of grace. And as far as I saw it I was a failure. I was quitting a good job for ministry.

The response of the faithful to my decision to leave a “big” job in one of the leading corporations in town was nothing but confusing. I think part one of chasing your dream goes into detail of my fears and more but the one comment that stood out for me and today still rings in my ears was one made my a close friend. He said I was being lazy and did not want to work hard and was using church and ministry as an excuse.

That left me reeling both from the meaning of the statement and the person who had spoken. I am not sure I have truly fully recovered from that. It was the seed that I am now constantly fighting to uproot. It is the doubt that has become my proverbial thorn in the flesh.

You see if your dream was to be at the top of this or that corporation then today’s game is for you. But if your dream was “mother Theresa” in shape or form, you have  your work cut out for you because nothing about today’s world or church, in so much as I have experience it, is rarely rooting for you Unless of course you win.

When they do listen they want you to present them a clear “ministry plan” of how this is going to produce dividends (saved souls) at the end so their money can be well spent and every time this comes up, well how do you explain a desire to give yourself towards the discipling of people, the provision of a home, a place of comfort and refuge where the weak, tired, worn can come and receive some “chicken soup for their souls”.

Every time these issues come I say. “Hello fear, I have two fist, faith and a promise let’s do this cause backing down and backing out are not an option.”

Ding! Ding! Ding! I’m ready for one more round.

Chasing your dreams II: waking up to the dream

Now here I stood fresh out of my corporate job and absolutely no plan, except to trust God and see where that road led. 

I was excited. I felt liberated. This was one rat that had made it out of the rat race alive and in one peace. I felt like a prisoner who had just made a successful escape from a super max high security prison.

I had quit to follow my heart and do ministry. That right was the first obstacle. What was this ministry I wanted to do? You see I had made this move at a time when “ministry” had been demystified and so even you work was ministry. It was all about going out to the market place and living the gospel. Taking the Gospel to the people so to speak. And here I was doing the exact opposite.

I was undaunted. I chose to volunteer at my home church All Saints Cathedral Kampala while figured that out. I also started raising support which in this case was asking people for their hard earned cash to facilitate this ministry.

Nga Christians do not give, especially to ministries that cannot be quantified or where they have not benefitted or witnessed the “power” first hand. And here I was, green and bleak, a newbie, a fresher in this whole “ministry” business.

That was just one of my problems. I wondered what I would tell people when they asked why I had left the job the God had “blessed” me with as a reward for my years of faithful service. I honestly did not have an answer. All I knew was that like Jeremiah I had a fire in my bones. I thought that perhaps a scriptural analogy would suffice but nga Christians really carry out due diligence when it comes to separating them from their money.

So I went back to God, remember the advice of a good friend who was doing something similar to what I wanted to do. He told me, before you leave make sure you have promises from God about these things. In other words, get a promise from scripture to back up your call and ministry.

SO I went back to God.in the months leading up to my notice period elapsing I asked and asked and asked.

HE sent me to the story of Abraham.

The Lord had said to Abram, “Go from your country, your people and your father’s household to the land I will show you. “I will make you into a great nation, and I will bless you; I will make your name great, and you will be a blessing. I will bless those who bless you, and whoever curses you I will curse; and all peoples on earth will be blessed through you.” So Abram went, as the Lord had told him….

One thing that really stood out was the portion “Go from your country, your people and your father’s household to the land I will show you. There are no assurance Just the command to leave all that was familiar and go “to the land I will show you” it does not get any more vague than that and scary.

Many people think that following God is about him showing you the whole map and telling you this is what will happen and how. But often it’s the command and the promise that keeps you.

The other thing I asked is God what shall I tell them. How shall I qualify all the crazy things I am sure you are going to make me do? I need some back up here.

He took me to the story of Moses.

Moses said to God, “Suppose I go to the Israelites and say to them, ‘The God of your fathers has sent me to you,’ and they ask me, ‘What is his name?’ Then what shall I tell them? “God said to Moses, “I am who I am. This is what you are to say to the Israelites: ‘I am has sent me to you.’”

Two things happen here. God asserts Himself and He deputises his servant. Well here I am, God has sent me and God is who he is. Hey I don’t make the rules I just follow them.

He also reminded me of some instance in the past where I vowed to expend myself in doing his work and in return that He would expend himself making sure I was covered because poverty and I had parted ways and I was not going back.

So armed with nothing but A COMMAND and A PROMISE I set out to the ‘land’ He was sending me to. I an still Journeying.

Chasing Your Dreams Part I

This piece first published on Facebook  on Thursday, 29 July 2010 at 15:2 
I Hope to continue this walk from here.

Sweeping my sitting room floor this evening, or is it night; it was 11:45 pm, I mused at how much pleasure that single act brought me. In fact I had paused a series I was watching because I was overcome with the urge, so to speak, to clean my house and test my new broom.

I just love the way it sweeps and I love the way simple things now bring me joy. No longer do I have to pray for the joy of the Lord but now I take joy in the Lord and the things that He has made. Joy is no longer something that I have to search for in fact I find it in the most unusual places these days and mostly in the everyday things of life.
It’s funny how the little things bring out the best in you and you know what it’s also a good thing because these little things are all around me so I don’t have to search far for a smile.

I rewind back to the days when I seemingly had it all, a good job, a good pay chaque and with this a new freedom that even my lack of curfew could not bring. Man, I was “in things” but I was out of touch.

I hated my job, not because it was a bad job, heck I spent three years and nine month and an extra retake semester preparing for this. I chose journalism. I was made for this. I had all that people said it took, confidence, an eye for detail read critical thinking, I was good and English, literature, I was an avid reader and I was average with people. But for some reason Mondays seemed like another tool the devil was using to torture.

I was groggy right out of the stock and I knew it. Something just did not feel right, at least not the way I had expected and I did the obvious Christian thing, I prayed about it and put my back into it. But like a bad stain, the more I rubbed the worse it got and soon my work begun to reflect the death that I was feeling on the inside. 
I felt like every day I spent chasing the news I was losing billions of brain cells every day. Million, trillion little creative cells seemed to fall off like dandruff. I felt like I was doomed, sentence to a life of routine and…well whatever it was that I was living at that time.

I could not find solace in my secular friends the just said I was lazy and to an extent they were right. To my Christian friends, well to them it was all about attitude and praying or speaking positive things in my day. The only positive thing to the day was the fact that it would end I could go home and spent another restless night waiting for the next day.

But my life was not all drudgery and pain, in fact there were some pretty colorful things about them but sadly they had little to do with my life as a journalist or even getting stories into the paper. I enjoyed the times I finished a story and could go and hang in church for a few minutes. I enjoyed the books I bought with the money I earned and the ideas that swam around me head when my boss was not breathing down my neck. My job gave me the money but robbed me of the time.

It was then that a crazy notion hoped and skipped its way into my heart, why not quit it all and just do something you love? Why not just shout “screw you world” and run out and follow your dreams. But reason stepped right between me and this thought and said, 

“ What? Are you crazy? Do you know that this job pays the rent and buys you cloths and food and all this other stuff? It asked
“Heck it even allows you to do some ministry on the side” it’s said rolling its eyes and stood back with its hands on its hips.

Leaning forward and pointing a finger into my face, it lowered its voice and said, “ Do you know that that would mean you going back to your father’s house?
We all shivered at that thought.
Poking its head through the window, the journalism Angevil, that yellow eyed, red faced, off white cross between an angel and devil chipped in. 

“Do you know how many lives you could change? Think of it, we are the ones who keep everyone honest and bring all that filth into the light? Man we are engaged in a national duty. You don’t have to be in church to change lives? Boy gets back in here!” he motioned with his pen spiked fork.

Taking all this in, I thought for a moment. All that was said was true and made good sense. The idea of going back to live under my father roof terrified me. Id sooner lived under a bridge than done that. Journalism did do some good but what evil I had to be put through to do it, I was not willing to pay. 

What about the Christian folk and all their peer pressure? What would they say? What about my reputation for laziness and failure? Wouldn’t this just prove them right? But if I leave what shall I do, God whom shall I say sent me? These and thousand other questions filled my mind, they were so many I took me 2 months to tender my resignation and another month to serve out my notice period.

But there I was, free and a bird and as clueless as a deer caught in headlights. What was my next move and where would I go? I went where every sensible Christian would go, I went home, to my Father’s house.

When death Visits...

I am mindlessly clicking through random websites trying to drown out my thoughts as they linger around death and tragedy.

Another person was killed on the Kisaasi-Bukoto road. That makes the Third accident and second death in as many months. The most recent was a white lady and her bajaj guy who was hit as the joined the road at a T junction.

Strangely enough I have arrived on the scene moments after these three different accidents happened. I was furious. I was sad. I was tired and sometimes waved it away with the traditional luganda phrase. “Kitalo”

The very first accident was a cyclist. He lay still and unconscious on the side of the road. His bicycle squashed that both tires not touched lay a few feet away. Around his were a few people who wanted to help but could not. Makes you wonder why first aid is not compulsory all the way to university.

The dimly lit taxi cabin illuminated the expressions of its occupants. I wonder how many of thought to do something. This was the day where I was tired. I waived it off. Our taxi lurched forward propelling my homeward but my heart was unsettled. This new beautiful road was just another death trap waiting to happen. When I finally got to my stage, I opted to skip my boda ride and walk that last few meters. This had been a terrible punctuation to what has been a long day.

I reported the incident to police and sat there listening as he tried to cut through all the chatter on his radio and get the right authorities. Funny how the roads are totally a different jurisdiction and he had to call a highway patrol man from God knows how far. After a few moments of chatter back and forth, I heard the confirmation that a car had been dispatched. I hoped it would reach in time. I trudged home, I felt a little better.

Today’s accident is still fresh in my mind. I wonder if it’s because there was a foreigner involved. You see one of my fears was dying with no one knowing what had happened. In this our pearl I am sure you know how that is possible. Here he or she was, far from home, pursuing God knows what and boom out of nowhere a speeding motorist ends that journey. She was So far from home. I guess death needs no visas.

The second of these events was a collision between a boda and a van. That impact was horrific because the damage done to the van looked like it had been clipped by a truck. Irony was that a friend and I were heading home on the latter’s motorbike. Coming upon this scene makes you think on how getting home alive is a blessing.

Thankfully my friend was a medic and he gathered a few people and they lifted the injured into the van and rushed them to hospital. His prognosis was that one seemed to have suffered and fractured hip and the rider, who took the brunt of the impact, would not make it.

We rode in silence for a while.

There is a bad taste in my mouth now. Death visited my neighbourhood this afternoon.

The Flags of our fathers: An introduction.

The flags or our fathers are a tedious thing. A great burden we have to carry. A heritage and an inheritance we never ask for but must bear most of the days of our lives.

I have always wanted to write these pieces, actually make it a series of pieces, talking about what our fathers here in Uganda have left us and how many of us are forced to contend with these long after we have left our parents’ home and grown into young men and women.

I wanted to write but I did not want to sound like a defeated youth blaming the acts of yesteryear for their misfortune especially in an atmosphere that seems to whisper, “if you have failed it is your fault.”

I did not want to cuddle up to the other masses of on line attention seekers who illicit sympathy and readership because of their dark brooding lives and tales of woe and misfortune…I did not want to be a cynic either regaling you with how the world is quirky and sort of does not work by poking fun at other, myself or you the reader.

I want this to be one man’s honest journey into his past and his present, investigating the things that make him who he is and how they shape his future.

It will be a tale of some joys but mostly sadness for I cannot write about the laughter I did not have or the smiles I could give but the tears cried and uncried that defined many aspects of my life.

I want it to be a roadmap for my future. A statement that from henceforth I shall not be the man that my father was but I shall surpass him or I shall die trying. I shall carry my name proudly but I shall not carry the shame or the heritage.

This is a chance for me to lie on the couch and let loose into the cosmos the burden of my heart and hurt and let the flags of my father unfurl in the breeze allowing a chance for new life and new hope, that this symbols that has been such a burden shall start to breath a new an air fresher than that of the savannah after a heavy African rain. That the wind shall carry away with it my fears and hurts and pains, but like the moisture heavy ocean winds bring with it a torrent of newness and life.

The flags of our fathers

Are a burdensome thing

For our desperate hope and

Identity to it we must cling

Dearly like the fragile sapling

borne to the crevice whilst

just a seed , it’s the sum of our

Of our existence.