Joy Incomplete

We’re having dinner together the other day at the table.  Regular family evening.  The tv is on in the next room because, prime time news. Light conversation.  Mum takes a call.  I can’t tell whom she’s talking to.  I usually can, by either tone, or language.  This one must be a friend I don’t know.  They talk for a bit. I also can’t tell whether it’s an argument or a friendly chat.  But that’s just how Kiembu is.  There really is no polite way to speak it.  Infact,  if you tell them to speak politely you’re asking them to shut up. . . Or change language. 😂. Wî mwaro my peoples? 😂

Mum : Aaaaah no.  There is no such thing.  The devil remains the devil. He steals and kills and destroys .  Whether you know him or not. He does not favour.  The end result is always the same.  I’d rather the angel I don’t know. 

This,  naturally, in response to that old saying, “It is better the devil you know, than the angel you don’t”.
I have never really thought about it.  I think I have used it at some point.  Severally even. Up till now. And all of a sudden, I cannot stomach it.  I mean, mum is right! The devil is just wrong.  Even after you’ve had a working relationship with him many years,  your only guarantee in the end result is discord and chaos. HA! Think about it!

I’ve had growing concern over how we treat each other in the tribe.  The family of believers.  Us that are joint heirs with Christ [Rom 8:17]. Complete with the right/privilege/power to become children of God [John 1:12 AMP].
Is it just me, or are some of the emptiest relationships within this family? Regardless of where we’re from, shouldn’t there be this warmth in our chest every time we think about our fellow co-heir? I mean,  you should want the best for them. That also to mean,  prayer and genuine concern for each other should be on fleek 👌! (What is this though?) 

I’ll use my own example.  Two. 
Last week, I’m going some place for an event. I stop for fuel not far from home.  Just as I exit the station is this friend of mine.  We fellowship together.  Powerful Brother in Christ. (Notice the caps, it is a title. ) He’s going my way so I offer him a lift ride. There’s this smell. I don’t know what it is, but its lowkey nasty.  Just plain bad. Problem is, its not the first time I’ve smelt it. It can’t be coincidence that every time its when I’m around brother Sir! For a year plus! Also,  I can’t be the only one that can notice it. I cannot! I desperately want to tell him, to do something about it. Or if they don’t know what to do, then we can, together, find a permanent solution.  Because if it bothers me,  it must have bothered a few Sisters in Christ, their employer from his past job,  fellow workmates, potential souls during evangelism, fellow brethren during fellowship. Et cetera.  I tell him. In the politest of tones.  I’m almost remorseful after.  He breaks down immediately.  I doubt you know how difficult it is for a man to cry.  It is. Very.
We don’t even discuss it.  He’s late,  as am I. So we leave it at that.  But we meet up, later that evening. It’s been a problem.  He doesn’t quite know what to do.  And he is amazed that I care enough to point it out. Seeing as we’re not particularly close.  But we share a Father! And an inheritance! 

One of my girl friends has found her love. 😑  That is the report I’m given. So don’t look at me like that. They’re crazy in love, I’m told.  I get the chance to meet said bae.  Have you met someone for the first time and your system lights up with red flags and all? I ignore it.  Then said bae begins to act ‘funny’. I still say nothing.  Just,  “Tutamwombea aki”. Said bae finally hits my friend in an argument, and goes ahead to blame it on the rage and anger issues et cetera. I feel like it is my fault.  I share it with another friend who also thinks it is. :?.

I found something that explains why our joy, is soooo incomplete. 

[John 15:11-12 NIV] I have told you this so that my joy may be in you and that your joy may be complete. My command is this: Love each other as I have loved you.


📷 Love IWRM - PurpleSherbet

I don’t know what about believers says it is ok to be silent about important issues. I do not get why it is easier to tell your girl nahuko about their wrong choice of bae, but will gladly watch as your church girl gets into relationship after another with thugs and armed bandits. Or your boy about his poor hygiene and smelly socks, but have absolutely no problem taking in those fumes from a believer. It makes absolutely no sense.  I expect you to tell it to me straight. If it bothers you, you can bet it does 10 others that I don’t know about. I might not change, but I’ve been warned. I need that kind of concern. We all do in this family! Better than smiling then turning to your phone and going like,  “DID YOU NOTICE HOW BROTHER BRYAN. . .” Take the hallelujahs down a notch! Love me that typa way! 😤 (lol. Hello durama!)

I refuse to accept that you will let the one you love walk around with a bad odour, or skimpy clothes, or bad breath, or an ungodly relationship. A bad decision, a running mouth, a nasty begging/eating habit, baseless argument. Et cetera. Jesus wouldn’t let you walk around like that,  why should you let anyone? Complete your joy! Love for real!


This past weekend I was at a stay-in residential retreat. It’s those things you’re not quite prepared for,  so you don’t know what to pack.  But I’ve learnt you can never go wrong with a Bible and notebook.  Everything else takes shape. 
Anyways, I’m walking from the shared showers (1per two rooms), and around the common area there’s men,brushing their teeth, others just waiting out their turns at the showers.  These three men catch my eye.  One has been in a fire accident before.  The whole of his back is scarred.  Another has this jagged scar, running roughly diagonally from his left shoulder to the navel. The third, something recent, looks like stitch marks slightly lower than where the heart is. 
All three men go about their business with confidence.  As if they’ve made peace with whatever scarred them , evidently, permanently.  As if loudly proclaiming, “It didn’t kill me, automatically I’m stronger!”

Saturday morning devotion 6am. I walk in 15mins late.  I settle at the first seat I can find.  Reading my Bible, I notice next to me is the second man.  With the longer diagonal scar.  Let’s call him Rafiki.  His worship is something biblical. I imagine that’s how King David would worship today.  He bows until his face touches the ground.  Silently, but obviously in fervent prayer.  Free tears. 

I sit down for heavy breakfast. Across the table from me is Rafiki.  This cannot be coincidence. I think to myself.  Small talk,  for a bit.  Conversation takes a turn when a third person, a lady, joins our table.  She’s engaged. Getting married in November. I don’t know how we talk about weddings.  Rafiki has alot to say on weddings. He got married last year, March. 
“Where is your ring? ” The lady asks. 
“It doesn’t fit anymore. They’re working on it at the shop.”
It doesn’t sound believable, but what do I know. 
I lose interest and disappear into my phone for a bit.  I’m brought back by the lady’s words.
“Aki sitaki kuwa bridezilla! ”

(n) : A bride whose behavior is seen as demanding or unreasonable. Stubborn. Know it all. (suffix derived from the Japanese movie monster Godzilla)


Two weeks ago I’m ranting, talking to God. I’m irritated about a few things. So I took it to the throne. God says He’s preparing me,  His bride, that I might be found blameless,  without fault, on that day. He has given me a helper, the Holy Spirit to polish up my countenance,  tighten up around me my garment of righteousness,  make sure my outfit before and on that day, is what He paid for. [Eph 6:13-17] The full armour of God, and nothing less.  You know, the main things a make up artist /stylist does to a bride before the wedding day. 


📷 Robert Hamilton - The New Start

He says I’m just stubborn. I want things done my way,  scripture to fit my situation, making adjustments to my outfit,  such that there is no shield of faith,  because it is easier more fashionable to worry,  no belt of truth. Rather half-truths because it is more glittery that way. No helmet of salvation, because, what bride, ever, wore a helmet? We’d rather a the bird-cage veil of relativism and lukewarm christianity.  I mean 💁. And the breastplate of righteousness? Man that thing is heavy yow! Let’s just do a light corset of ‘it’s not too far’ ,  and ‘it depends on the situation’. And the sword of the Spirit? How unreasonable, right? Have you seen a bride with a weapon? Let’s just do the flower bouquet of quotable quotes. From great minds that trod the earth. This scripture memory thing is too much for a bride on her day to look pretty! *sigh*
And God went on and on,  and I broke down. Because I could see myself in a few of these.  I don’t know about you.  But I am have been bridezilla.  I want.  I want.  My day has to be.  My way.  My terms. Et cetera. 

The problem with this is that,  we know that our way has wrecked us before.  It has left crazy scary scars, it has brought us almost to death, YET we are bent on staying off course. Ignoring the advice of our make up artist /stylist, the Helper. 

Rafiki tells me over lunch, that he got that diagonal scar AFTER He received Jesus. He kept going back and forth on old habits, even while knowing it was wrong. Car accident while coming from a party in the afternoon.  High as a kite.  His passenger, his cousin died months later as a result of accident related injuries.
He’s currently serving as a youth leader in his local church. 
“What’s the hardest bit about it”, I ask him. 

“That not all of us get a second chance over our stubbornness. “