In the language I can understand.

"Speak to me, Lord, in the language I can understand".

While I was growing up, that's one prayer my dad prayed, actually still prays, ever so often. Dutiful daughter I was, I picked it up and added it to my personal prayer
vocabulary.

Of course, when I became born-again, that sentence in all its 10-word glory made much more sense to me. From then on, I said it not as a grammatical and flowery addition to my prayers; it became the heart-felt desire of a soul hungry to hear God.

I, however, reserved it for those times I wanted to read the Bible or a Bible-based book. Those moments just before the preacher/speaker at any gathering mounted the podium. Those oh-too-frequent times I didn't know which exactly step to take.

As I read Max Lucado in "He Chose the Nails" (a book i STRONGLY recommend) the chapter titled "I Will Speak to You in Your Language" threw that sentence in a whole new light. After over a decade, the full import of what had almost become a casual mantra really sank in. And believe me, it packed quite a sucker punch- it hit real hard.

I've somehow, always expected God to speak in the vocal tones of my limited human language. My mind had already confined His expressions to those available in my dialect. Even while I said that prayer, the boundaries of my experience bordered the answer. As the words left my mouth, God who searches the heart and tries the reins must have been mildly amused at the mental pre-determined format in which I desired His responses, and my dogged insistence and refusal to even remotely consider the existence of alternative "languages" through which He speaks.

In my ignorant wisdom, as it were, God should be well versed in the idioms, proverbs and nuances of my language for me to understand. I never knew that to Him, speaking to me in the language I could understand goes beyond the boundaries of syntax and structure. I forgot that He who by causing confusion ironically created all human languages at Babel (Gen 11: 7-9) and understands even the chirping of the birds- He sure didn't speak Igbo, English, Hebrew, Aramaic or French when He commanded the ravens to feed Elijah (1 Kings 17:4) could speak my, your or any other language He desires.

Nevertheless, not one to be restricted by the fickleness of human experiences and the shallow imaginations which shape language with all its inadequacies, God moves beyond the realm of speech to the realm of events. He speaks, in Pastor Lucado's words, through the "day-to-day" drama of our individual lives. He reaches through the heavens down to the earth, through eternity into time to impress His Truth in our hearts in such a way that understanding is inevitable.

God articulates truth through the "Abjectness of Adversity". He is quite lucid in the "Language of Laughter". He bellows through the "Bounties of Blessings". He speaks through the "Solemn Silence of Sorrows". He whispers through the "Wintry Winds Weird events". He enunciates clearly through the "Erosion of Ecstasy". He resonates through the "Rhythm of Riches".
Through the "vernacular of want" and through eyes "Misted over by Misery", through "untold pains" and "un-worded wails", through "shared smiles" "corporate conquests" and "bitter betrayals", His intents ring out clearly. He always, always speaks in the language we can understand.

If only we could divest ourselves of preconceived notions and truly listen, we would hear Him. Better still, we would understand.

David must have also had a taste of this experience for him to say "the entrance of your Word gives light, and understanding to the simple". (Ps 119:130).
The word "entrance" presupposes barriers. Things put in place, by us and our environment which stop us from hearing God as He in His wisdom speaks in our own peculiar "language" that would communicate best to us per time. Steel doors on metal frames and rusty immovable hinges that bar God's Words from gaining entrance into our hearts.

As I caught this, I found myself praying.
But as I continued my study, my prayers changed three times within 90 minutes. First, I needed God to over look the door and just speak. Then, I asked Him to oil the hinges so the door would open smoothly and without a squeak. Finally, The Spirit made me understand- "Success, you don't need no doors". So I now pray, God don't just oil the hinges. Don't even stop at opening the door, though that would be mighty nice. God, please, remove the door and pluck away the frame. I'm now prepared to join my predecessors who listened, and understood and learnt. I'm eager to learn new "languages", no matter how difficult. I now say that structurally simple but profoundly meaningful prayer with a brand new heart and from a whole new perspective- I just know it's gonna be an awesome adventure with My Father. "Speak to me, Lord, in the language I can understand".

There's always room for one more person.
Would you care to join Us?

I have an Itch

I.
Have an Itch. 

This Itch emanates from the centre of my being. Right at the junction where pleasure and pain are defined. I respond to the stimulus and I scratch, but instead of abating, the Itch increases in intensity. 

Yes.
 It is exactly what you think. 

Concerned not to embarras myself in public, I rush to the privacy of my room. I take agonising minutes to rid myself of all barriers. 

I must. Repeat. I simply must give this Itch all the attention it requires. 
I must scratch with all diligence. 
I must itch this Itch with all the thoroughness it deserves. 
All encumberances out of the way, I settle down to itch the Itch. 

Oh No, wait. The door is open. 
I can't afford to have this Itching session interrupted. I need my privacy to do this right. I bolt out of bed and bolt the door. 

Finally the stage is set. 

As I begin, I carefully explore all the angles and poke into every crevice. 
Gently at first, I soothe, and then I get into the heat of the event. 

Awwwww, sooo satisfying. 

Before I get carried away, let me let you in and give you a brief 
background to this Itch. 

I woke up this morning with this Itch. 

It's been coming and going for the past 72 hours and i kept ignoring it. 

However, it came out in full force today. Indignant, I guess at being so contemptuously ignored and it's demands outrightly denied. 

Hmmm, this Itch. 

That restless feeling that makes me know there are feelings waiting to be "speakings", thoughts churning to be aired, lines roiling to be penned. 
This Itch that tells me: 
"Put it down". 
"Shout it loud". 
"Make it known". 

It assures... 
There are patterns to be analysed, emotions to be dissected, feelings to be discussed. 

It makes me know that impressions would soon turn into expressions. 

It is that concentration of grammar that makes my throat tight and my fingers fluid. It makes my head float in the skies with my feet firmly planted on terra-firma. 

This itch makes me, even if just for a fraction of a nano-second, a part of the select group of humans who have a way with words; those mortals 
who imitate immortality by employing verbs and nouns and adjectives, who with proverbs and oxymorons and metaphors, and all other such parts and figures of speech create a world of their choosing and discretion. 

Magicians who, regardless of the limitations of organised language, weave the fleeting strands of imagination into a colourful tapestry of "reality". Masterfully dissipating one affection while whipping into frenzy, a passion for another. 
Sonorously orchestrating what would have been the discordant clangs of our individual experiences into a harmonious tune of our common humanity. 

I have spoken. 
I have written. 
I have thought. 
I have crafted. 
And. 
I have created. 

Semantics, concord, lexis and structure aside, The Itch seems to have subsided. 

Whether I made sense or not would most likely be the source of another itch. 

For now, I simply roll over on my stomach and savour the bliss of an Itch-free moment... 

Reminiscing... Ruminating.  As I put pen to paper. I reason.  Since I had to go through the experiences, I might as well remember. Not in bitterness, not for sorrow. But to learn. And to teach.