What It Really Means to Rejoice in the Lord

What It Really Means to Rejoice in the Lord

I woke up early this morning. I stretched and yawned. As I staggered to the bathroom, (now some of you would think I was having a terrible hangover) a distance voice was saying Rejoice! Rejoice!. It was a strange feeling because I have always had difficult in understanding why should I rejoice? Really what is there to rejoice for? There are so many things and situations to worry about in my life than there are to rejoice. Have you ever felt like that? Perhaps you are currently feeling like that.  Then another inner voice said “stop worrying”. Well I stopped for a moment on the hall way and saw our son sleeping quietly, then a thought crossed my mind he is not worried. ‘Look’ I said to myself, “here is a child with a care free soul. He believes in his parents. He knows His dad is capable and her mom loves is never ending”. I remembered the many times I have told him, “son lets go”, he never questions me first with where are we going dad questions? He jumps to his feet with excitement and start looking for his shoes first and off we goes. I remembered many times I have woken him up against his wish, disturbed his sleep at my will so that I can take him to school, visit places, eat, take shower and the list goes on and on. Yet he rarely questions my authority. Why is that? I posed that question to myself for second and an instant answer hit me; because he believes you are god. You are god to him. I provide, I love him, I protect him and I play with him hide and seek yet am his god.

The same case I am Gods child. How many times have I failed to believe in God of exodus yet my little boy believes in me. Yet my little child boasts of me to other children like my dad did this, my dad is that even when sometimes I don’t measure up.  But the other day as I drove him to church he said, “Dad you know I am a genius, I will give you my brain to use because I am a genius”. My hands froze on the steering wheel. My wife looked at me and our eyes locked as I came to halt at red sign. The look in my wife’s eyes was such like I am happy am not the one talking, “go get em son”.  We were all silent for are moment, and then my wife and I busted in laughter. The couple in the next lane watched us with awe. Perhaps wondering why and how on earth are they laughing at. Why should they be happy? Here we are contemplating on our multiple challenges yet some people can afford to laugh so hard and disturb the peace of our problems. Can’t they see its no laughing matter. This thought crossed my mind as the lights opened.  As I hit highway 35 I remembered {Psalm 127: 3-5} Sons are a heritage from the LORD, children a reward from him.  Like arrows in the hands of a warrior are sons born in one's youth.  Blessed is the man whose quiver is full of them. They will not be put to shame when they contend with their enemies in the gate.

Now how many times have we failed to believe in our Mighty God as Christians? How often have we failed to trust in Lord Jesus and His grace? How many times God has woken us from our sleep, and we refused to wake up? How many times have God told us to go yet we defied him and stood still. How many times the good Lord of Calvary has told us to stop yet we broke loose and got hijacked in the highway of life. This is all because we have refused to be children. No wonder it is said in Matthew 18:3 “Assuredly, I say to you, unless you change and become as little children, you will by no means enter the kingdom of heaven.”  There was my son and seated at back seat and willingly borrowing me his brain yet he trusted me more than the GPS he was playing with in his tiny fingers. This is what God ask of us. To be childlike. How many times have we refused to be childlike? Or even better how many times we have refused to be at the backseat and let God take control of our lives. This because, we are no better, but stubborn like the children of Israel in the desert. God seeks a childlike submissiveness and meekness, a gleeful childlike heart … and a childlike faith. Faith builds character, and this process starts when you are a child. Without faith, we cannot please God. “And without faith it is impossible to please him, for whoever would draw near to God must believe that he exists and that he rewards those who seek him.” (Hebrews 11:6). I proceeded to the bathroom and the inner voice said “My child stop worrying and rejoice in the Lord always”. My stubbornness in faith insisted, but how can I rejoice in the Lord always? As I washed my face and rose to see my face projected in the mirror I realized if I only remove this mirror I will see not my image any more but see God and rejoice in Him. At that moment I hoped on my laptop and started keying this blog.

Nearly every Christian knows the verse that says, “Rejoice in the Lord always, again I say rejoice” (Philippians 4:4). I memorized that verse when I was 5 years in my Kenyan Sunday school.  The exhortation is to “rejoice,” the location is “in the Lord,” and the duration is “always.”  Phew! that’s challenging. Reality demonstrates that Philippians 4:4 is sometimes difficult to apply, however. How can a Christian truly, “rejoice in the Lord always?”  How can I rejoice when I have lost my job. How can we rejoice with multiple debts and mortgage to clear. How can we rejoice when we have not talked to our spouses for days yet we live in the same house? How can we rejoice when the world is in war turmoil? Suicide bombers willingly ready to kill us in the name of God and you tell me to rejoice in His Name? How can we rejoice when the very nature and climate change does not guarantee our future generation?  How can we rejoice when living in foreign land as beggars, refugees or illegally without papers? How can we rejoice when all ‘good’ women and men are taken? How can I rejoice when am not sure of the next meal, living in abject poverty, sick and tired.  Simply put rejoicing in the Lord is not a guarantee of lack problems. Its like as Psalmist records in Psalm 113:9, the Lord will make the barren woman abide in the house as a joyful mother of children praising the LORD! Even though she is barren she will rejoice in the Lord like a joyful mother. Now that’s complex yet practical.

Adults have a tendency to become cynical with age, while a child has yet to be touched by the concerns of the world. It dawned on me of course, God wants us to come before Him as children, because children are innocent, and trust with a pure, uncorrupted heart.

The phrase, “rejoice in the Lord” is found several times in the book of Philippians. Perhaps an examination of these passages will aid our understanding as I share below the 4 explanations as presented through a sermon from Edgewood Church of Christ in Texas. I found it very encouraging yet thought provoking, challenging and more often than not very uncomfortable.

1. “Rejoicing… in Jesus Christ” (Phil. 1:26) — We are to rejoice in the Lord at the thought of reunion with our brethren. This is especially true when that reunion involves deliverance, as it would in Paul’s case (he wrote the book of Philippians from prison). So, rejoicing in the Lord is a matter of fellowship. Do our lives show that we intensely desire greater fellowship with other Christians? Do we earnestly pray that our brethren will be delivered from perilous places in their lives? It’s a matter of rejoicing in the Lord!

2. “Rejoice in the Lord” (Phil. 3:1, 3) — We are to rejoice in the Lord because of the humble and self-emptying examples of Jesus (Phil. 2:5-11), Paul (Phil. 2:17-18), Timothy (Phil. 2:19-24), and Epaphroditus (Phil. 2:25-30). Further, we are to walk in their footsteps by exhibiting a mind of humility ourselves (Phil. 3:1-11). Rejoicing in the Lord is a matter of self-renunciation. Do our lives demonstrate that we truly esteem the Christ-centered life as something most precious: “What things were gain to me, these I have counted loss for Christ” (Phil. 3:8)?

3. “Rejoice in the Lord” (Phil. 4:4) — Christians are to rejoice in the Lord always, especially when it is difficult to get along with others (cf. Phil. 4:2-3). Rejoicing in the Lord, then, is a matter of reconciliation (Phil. 4:2-5), prayer (Phil. 4:6-7), proper meditation (Phil. 4:8), and imitation of what is right (Phil. 4:9). Unnecessary conflict with brethren keeps us from true rejoicing. Lack of prayer and the wrong kind of thinking will keep us from rejoicing in the Lord as we ought. Do our thoughts, prayers, and actions demonstrate that we place our utmost confidence in God’s power and goodness?

4. “Rejoice in the Lord” (Phil. 4:10) — We are to rejoice in the Lord because of the active, obedient faith of other Christians, regardless of the circumstances in which we find ourselves. Paul could rejoice in the Lord even though he was imprisoned, partly because his circumstances gave others the opportunity to exercise their faith (Phil. 4:10-17). Thus, we might say that rejoicing in the Lord is a matter of love and contentment. Do our lives show contentment by seeking to do all things, “without complaining and grumbling” (Phil. 2:14)?

From the passages above, it seems that rejoicing in the Lord is a matter of looking for God’s influence in every situation of life and pointing out that influence to others. Rejoicing in the Lord is, quite simply, a change in perspective and outlook. Do I really believe that God is working through me as I seek to do His will (Phil. 2:12-13)? Do I consistently look for reasons to praise God, even when my own circumstances are difficult to endure (Phil. 1:12; 4:10-17)? When I see God’s influence in the world, do I regularly mention it to others so that they may glorify God with me (Phil. 4:10)?

Remember also rejoicing in the Lord does not mean you sit back and do nothing. It means we have an obligation to align our thoughts with God’s will, because we are co-creators in the Kingdom of God. That Kingdom of God starts here on Earth not in Heaven. The reason we should not only say The Lords prayer that has been far removed from our midst but deeply meditate on it.  

By ~Njoroge wa Ngige~ 121915-1120. 

The Original Kenyan Christmas.

The Original Kenyan Christmas.

It was raining cats and dogs. The last time I checked in my nursery rhyme book C-for cat Meows and D- for dog barks Woo Woo. Why it was raining cats and dogs we might have to ask the fake “English” weather man in the black and white neighbors Television set. In the pitch of darkness I woke up. I had ironed my clothes the previous night but left the charcoal still burning. I had slept late thinking of the bus ride ahead. I thought I saw it pass by. In those days it was fun waiting for the bus. We will go to the bus stop early in the morning around 5am. My mom would have woken us early but not without splashing cold water on our eyes for us to be really awake. Waking up was not that easy especially during the school December holiday.  At the bus stop I loved the anxiety and sheer magical faces heading upcountry. Where I come from it is expected that one would make a maiden yearly pilgrimage to see the extended family. The upcountry buses were a maze, they came in different colours, catchy names and numerous honking sounds. The drivers would start honking a mile away before the busses came to a scratching stop full of funfair. The bus conductors would be hanging at the doors in style and when the bus charged to the next bus stop the conductor will run and jump  in to the moving bus, that was so cool to watch.  In those days we believed in the city but no one would call the concrete jungle home. The land lord was constantly hated. Played cat and mouse game with tenants, while I played hide and seek game with my peers. I was a free soul. I trusted in my parents to provide and shelter me from the cats and dogs rain of life. They did well to their ability. Now I have inherited all their worries. I wish I never grew up.

I sprung from bed just in time to knock the hot charcoal iron box with my protruding jigger infested toe. Both houses were on fire. The jigger house toe hurt sweetly bad, my grandmother soon will weaver her itchy needle under my toe. My only Christmas shirt was on fire too. My mom burned down with range as she motherly charged towards me. Gave me a quick firm spanking on my naked butt saying “I have always told you to look where you are going”. Even today I have never seen where I am going I only know I keep on going. She sent me running with a nice pinching on my chubby chicks. She tossed the burning shirt through the window to the storming rain, and I was sure I heard the thunder roar for I had seen the lightning flash. 

Suddenly there was an incessant knock at the door. It was not friendly knock.  My dad opened the door. He was halfway shaved with one thick side burn still intact with snow like soap foam. I loved see my dad shave, he was meticulous and methodical. After he would tell me “I need my shoes shined-son”. I religiously sparklingly shined his shoes for the longest I cared every weekend.  In the afternoon he would take me to the horse race at Ngong Racecourses. My dad loved horses but he never owed a burn. He could bet the best horse to win. In this particularly bright Sunday he struck his luck and won a cow. He left me with an indelible mark always reminding me “For you to win you must objectively risk to play smart and hope to remain in the game”. We cashed the cow and headed home to celebrate.

The Land Lord under a heaving voice said “You haven’t paid my rent now you want to burn my house down”  “You almost hit me with a burning shirt and I almost broke my hip dodging it”. My dad laughed so heartily that the soap foam on his side burn melted away and started dripping on the soap dish.  My dad replied, “Where are you going this early Mr. Karongo? “ “I found you ….” Mr.  Karongo continued “I have been coming here the whole week every morning and Mama Watoto-tells me “He left early. Now I found you…” My dad smiled and quipped, Mr. Karongo you don’t have to wake the entire neighborhood or break your hip neither do you have to dodge burning shirts, I will see you today at Hakanyua”. That was my dad firm and collected. Hakanyua was the village pub the meeting point. It was a popular pub where teachers, city farmers and the village chiefs congregated to rescue their evenings after work.  At Hakanyua the same evening I came to learn later that Mr. Karongo was paid the outstanding rent arrears and served four bottles of beer. Mr Karongo returned hand with two beers, and gave my dad a ride home in his old Peugeot 404 that defied time as they talked politics. In those days that were the way issues were friendly solved. Today they will garnish your salary. Send you creditors to collect the money and before they declare you bankrupt skin you alive by literary throwing you to the rain.   

I dashed out to try salvaging my damaged shirt. The rain had done justice but the red hot charcoals left three large holes on my new shirt. I still nostalgically keep the charcoal iron box as a souvenir to pass down the generation. It is actually older than me by miles.  I changed to another rugged T-shirt and donned a warm sweater. We ate breakfast and everybody headed out to the bus stop. My father bid us good buy saying “I will join you in a weeks time, got to go to work, say hi to everyone.”  My Alarm went off. I pipped through the window. It was so cold. The earth was covered in winter snow and my body ached from previous night 16 hours double shift. It was time to go to work.  Surely it was just a dream. A real dream, in a foreign land.  I wish I never alighted from the original Christmas bus. 

By ~Njoroge wa Ngige~ 121615- 0900.

I am an Island

I am an Island 

Even an Island has to rub shoulders with rough sea. Sometimes its good to be an island. Why so often are we quickly reminded oh no man is an island. To be an island you have to rise above the average. Defy law of gravity, and grow your horns upwards. You must have considerable depth of roots and firm foundation to stand tall in  tumorous ocean activity. You must stand against tectonic forces and active volcanoes. Sometimes I am an island, where you will find deep herbal legumes. Sometimes I am a rough sea, remember if you rattle a snake adage even if you are not prepared I will bite you. Don't come close to this Island for I am shrewd too as positive quality to fight evil corruption, the book of life reminds me too to be as harmless as dove, so I will bite you while therapeutically am massaging you, and you will still offer me your over recycled advise, no man is an Island. I will smile back with wit because my shadow is longer than yours, I am the tallest mountain in the rough sea. Now go tell the world no man is Island.

~Njoroge wa Ngige ~ 121315- 1041

Sex Swap: A moral Suicide?

Sex Swap: A moral Suicide?

It’s almost the end 2015. We have 21 days to 2016, the year I want to change my Sex. Every day I want to change my sex not my thinking how convenient is that? This is not a New Year resolution or a promise.  Wait,   I meant weight.  Can I go back?  I want to change my sex!  Well, Transfiguration is not the same as transsexualism. In transgender you are consciously configuring yourself to the nearest whole number.  My nearest whole number while I “might” be of the opposite sex is my current dominant biological born sex status.  It is heart breaking people.  No let me re-phrase that; no let me re-face that. Perhaps I meant let me ‘change’ myself to something else.   Hearts are broken in the name of seeking worthless fame and overnight fake stale global headline stories. They are just that, yes! Empty stories that the world cannot afford to ignore because they are of “special importance” with a more secular political correctness status not ordained from God. But my African adage informs me promptly me that empty pots make loudest noise.

We all have stories to tell, but very few stories to keep. Very few stories to last one sunset if any. Who said for our stories to be retold in the halls of fame and stored in the world museums of consciousness we must be so weird and psychologically twisted?  To rekindle our hopes it’s equal to zero or pure accidental. In our in-satiable desires, we want make headlines at all costs and for the obvious wrong reasons. Why do I say this? Because soon we are scared of the generational truth that does not change. Think of lies becoming truth and truth becoming lies overnight. Ever thought of that in real world? That is what they feed you. What they feed you, you become.  You cannot be entertained in dinner of arrowroots and sorghum herbs and yams and expect you to pass stool (Feces) of Macaroni and Cheese in your long call of nature.   If they don’t get what they want they will declare you bankrupt and misdiagnose you with a strange strain of incurable disease that is permanently immoral and contagious.

I do not understand how I can be a man of say 71 or 21 years and tomorrow morning I wake up thinking I should be a she. Why can’t the sun do the same to the moon? The stars decide one day to be a rainbow when there is no rain at all. And in our ignorant consciousness flood the market with umbrellas thinking it will rain cats and dogs. I am sorry there are no dogs any more. Even the cats are skinned alive.  The Chinese are on mission to make all our pets an extinct delicacy.  Hallo mankind? The writings are on the wall, but it’s all in Greek.  There is something terribly wrong with us people! What should say in this case? Let me begin from the beginning. I am a male to begin with, then a husband, a father and to the same effect a grandfather.  Then one morning I am a female. No I am not. It can’t be. Not unless I am growing young in backwardness then can I pull that shot with minimal sleep tranquility. We do not need genital reconstruction in my view. We need spiritual and psychological reconstruction before we start suffering from post-operation depression. The question is do we change the chromosomes? What about the genetic makeup? Why should we inject our self with fake hormonal imbalance? Some studies have shown and suggest that sex reassignment, although alleviating gender dysphoria may not suffice as treatment for transsexualism. The answer you are looking is simple but the actual operation is complex.  Once you cross over you have simply signed your suicide note with your own blood

Being a female in my opinion is not being a woman. Those are two different time zones like the actual menstrual periods and menopause stages are different and complex in all females.  If I change my sex physically I am consciously obligated to change my sex psychologically, emotionally and socially speaking. Tell me in in real world how I will stop to become a grandpa to a grandma, A father to a mother, a husband to a wife? A boy to girl or vice versa.   I must be watching a script straight from hell.  The same way I do not call a press conference to announce that I am actually straight. The same way I do not expect you to cause a political stampede simply because you want to be recognized and viewed as gay and “ass” such with special “ass” rights than an ass itself.  The more you keep quite the more you do not rattle as snake. Why in the world does looking so differently lost have been mistaken to be so fashionably cool? Just saying. Keep your own bedroom story to yourself. Join the conversation.

By Njoroge wa Ngige 121015-0203

Mistari {Lines} ( A Swahili Poem:) On Corruption