Author: thenonlinearlife

This is a blog characterizing the life of a Nigerian-born, American-raised, college-educated, female, Christian who randomly decided to relocate to Texas and live out her single days there. If you like sarcasm, sincerity, solemness, or stories, welcome.

Tuesday

Tuesdays begin early. Alarm ringing at 5:30am, telling me I have 30 minutes more of rest before I need to get up. School begins in an hour and a half. You know 7:00am is real early to discuss when the union between soul and body. I love it. By the time, my mind arrives my body is prepared. Theology was meant for the beginning of the day. To ponder and discuss the divine as light breaks the chill autumn morn. It’s a transcendent three hours. Where the mystery somehow gets revealed but all the more becomes more enigmatic.

Transitioning to the tiniest of spiritual formation groups. Lead by a girl who is spiritually disfigured. Hands inverted inward, spine distorted twisting, limping hobbit-like with two women who find me “insightful”. Constantly wondering, finding truth in the quote, God draws straight with crooked lines.” So crooked, I don’t know if I could be considered a line anymore. I’m trying to align myself with the One who sees straight, but it is hard to straighten what is twisted without breaking it. Two white women and one black woman talked about race. It was good. It makes me grateful for grace.

Time between school and work is minimal. Scurrying, my drive is mindless. I just begin composing my mental to-do list, while chatting with a friend. Drafting up conversations I will have with my staff. Dreaming up ways to change the world. Damning myself for my weight. Dropping the responsibility of caring about it this week.

Tip-toeing into the office, hiding from those who want to talk or task me with what is not mine. The youth floor is so self-contained. I don’t even know what goes on beneath me. I’m more aware of matters taking place elsewhere in the facility. Texting my Chick-fil-A order to a friend who loves me beyond what I deserve. Receiving her love and general presence was a gift. Once she left, the afternoon soared. Until it pummelled into having to find a lost student. We found him.

Tears flowed this evening, unexpectedly. Trying to reach a beautiful adolescent mother, who needed encouragement. I was never told my heart would be taffy in the hands of adolescents with strong hands. She trembled in my arms, tears falling out her eyes, torn hearted. I held her as my own. She is my daughter, browned and slight with glimmering eyes.

Tired, I refuse to stay late. I walk to my room and author this to commemorate a Tuesday. Thankful that it happened.

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Thirty-One Days Ago

Thirty-one days ago, I postponed my 27th birthday. My existence was in too fragile of a space to generate emotions, positive or negative. I just needed to know that I could live. Much has happened in the past month. There have been days where anhedonia set in so deeply that even food was not captivating. I know I have lost weight in this season. I moved away from the home I have dwelt in for nearly 3 years. Tucking my minimal belongings in a 5×5 storage unit. Work and home have become synonymous. School resumed for me and my students at work. I cried really hard. I have felt nothing. I have been depressed. Thirty-one days ago, I thought my life was over. Postponing my birthday was my own feeble attempt at creating a timeline where problems are solved in the span of a sitcom.

I drove past the Caversham Estate last night. Someone else had moved in already. I wept. I knew the house would not remain abandoned. I just didn’t know life would resume so quickly. There were plants and a chair on the patio with my old bedroom lights aglow. Selfishly, I wanted to be the only one to move on. I didn’t really want the house to be repaired before I was. Why does restoration of a home only take a month? Why can’t my healing process move more quickly? Why has God chosen an agrarian pace for growth? Is my life pruning or punishment?

Thirty-one days ago, I postponed my 27th birthday. I celebrated with friends yesterday, who have slowed their pace to walk with me in mine. Life doesn’t move at sitcom paces. Life moves at the rate of life. Thirty-one days later, I am realizing that that’s perfectly okay.

God, You’re gracious

God, You’re good

Help me change my attitude

By Your Hands

I am fed

Remind me that You’re Home again

Amen

First Rain Since Harvey Left

It is the first rain since Harvey departed. In his wake, he left ruins that still remain unbuilt. As disastrous as the Houston landscape has been it was merely been a physical representation of the human heart. I have been gutted. Noahic flooding that seems like judgment, but actually is healing. Personally, I still don’t know what to make of a hurricane that felt like that of a Grecian epic. I don’t think it is mine to decipher. I am not the one who controls it.

God is the Author. He is quite the Author, but such an interesting Reader and Listener to the story as well. He placed Himself in it momentarily, but it has always been about Him. He is a mysterious Author. The best books are the one that leaves me wondering what the author was trying to tell me. He has left a Commentary who teaches, but even then, mystery. Divine and material mystery.

I have gone through the gamut of human emotions since Harvey.

Sorrow. Anger. Loneliness. Shame. Envy. Abandonment. Displacement. Fear.

Anger. Loneliness. Shame. Envy. Abandonment. Displacement. Fear.

Loneliness. Shame. Envy. Abandonment. Displacement. Fear.

Shame. Envy. Abandonment. Displacement. Fear.

Envy. Abandonment. Displacement. Fear.

Abandonment. Displacement. Fear.

Displacement. Fear.

Fear.

Those have been my most persistent friends in this season. They are terrible friends; they leech themselves onto me. As I turn to them, they turn on me. I don’t think they have all departed. I still think they linger, but in this moment, I have felt something I have not felt since the flood waters rose.

Hope.

It was by way of a woman I have always admired. How kind is God in the midst of ruins to sift through the rubble.

Good Father,

I am devastated, in both definitions of the word. I have looked inward for so long, that I have lost sight. Your truth is so simple. Your call is so clear. My cross is so much. Teach me to trust. Teach me to bear burdens better. Remind me that you are both the Builder and the Cornerstone. When I burrow into the complexities of the human ego, remind me of the simplicity of the Gospel.

The Good News is the hope for those who have fear.

The Good News is a refuge for those who are displaced.

The Good News is reclamation for those who feel abandoned.

The Good News is gratitude in a heart that envies what is not hers.

The Good News is penitence in the place of shame.

The Good News is the hope of companionship for those who are burdened with loneliness.

The Good News is understanding rather than anger.

The Good News is joy in the middle of sorrow.

I am not fully “telos-ed” by the Gospel today. I will not know if I will be tomorrow, but Mrs. Ellen, thank you for the reminder. I don’t know if you will ever read these words but bless you.

In Christ. By Way of the Spirit. Directed to the Father.

Amen

Hope.

Hope. Refuge.

Hope. Refuge. Reclamation.

Hope. Refuge. Reclamation. Gratitude.

Hope. Refuge. Reclamation. Gratitude. Forgiveness.

Hope. Refuge. Reclamation. Gratitude. Forgiveness. Penitence.

Hope. Refuge. Reclamation. Gratitude. Forgiveness. Penitence. Companionship.

Hope. Refuge. Reclamation. Gratitude. Forgiveness. Penitence. Companionship. Understanding.

Hope. Refuge. Reclamation. Gratitude. Forgiveness. Penitence. Companionship. Understanding. Joy

Frailty

Frailty is essential to humanity. In all our collective efforts to be strong and amass wealth, protection, and muscle mass, there are some things in which we cannot be protected from natural disaster, heartache, and a bullet through the skull. Frailty, not strength, is what heightens my senses and emotions to engage and experience all of life. It is with the frailty that I exist in this season. I welcome the #houstonstrong hashtag, but strength is only necessary for those who feel weak. I am weak. Boy, am I weak.

The past 23 days have brought change. None of it planned. None of it expected. None of it wanted. All of this change beating against the doors of my insecurity and fears. The change has reacquainted me with an adolescent version of myself filled with questions and wonder but disillusioned to the “answers” people give me. How does one define family? Where is home? Why am I still here? Fittingly enough, this semester I am taking an Anthropology and Hamartiology course, that may provide direction for answering these questions. God has always used my studies as a not so subtle way to provide direction. I’ll probably write about all of this in more depth later, but to explore the inner workings of my mind in isolation and then publish them on the internet seems foolish…ice cream is a much better idea.

I am adrift.

I don’t know what is to come.

I don’t know which way, I’m coming from.

God,

I wonder if humanity was always meant to be frail. Is frailty a product of a fallen world? Or is it just a natural element to being human? It might be the second. It makes us need one another, but it also proses potential for amassing weapons or isolating oneself. Lord, I am a confused little girl. God, be a lamp unto my feet.

Amen

hot mess in a floral dress

Dad,

It’s the end of the day and my eyes hurt. I cannot remove my tear-stained face from my work computer screen. Something feels safer in working than resting. Crashing at a million miles an hour seems better than at 10 miles per hour. Resting bring healing, but work and busyness seem like a familiar sedative. It’s productive avoidance. God, I don’t even know why I am crying. I don’t even know what I need. I’m an infant. Incoherent blubbers falling from trembling lips.

In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us through wordless groans.

Romans 8:26

I am speechless. I’m grateful You transcend language. Please be enough for a tear-stained adult infant who doesn’t know what’s wrong with her. Thanks for being a good Dad and letting me just a hot mess in a floral dress, that is the best I can do these days.

Father. Brother. Mothering Holy Spirit.

Amen

Change & Consistency

God,

Consistency and change are not opposite of each other but work together. If everything stayed the same life would get dull, but if change too frequently occurred life would be worrisome. Thank you for orienting the universe with both. The earth rotates on its axis for millennia at a time but brings about different days and different seasons with different temperatures. Humanities and kingdoms have risen and fell on the pale blue dot suspended in the sunbeam. There is no man in history studies, that has not walked on the same earth I have.

God, change and consistency are gifts. In this season of change, I have forged patterns of consistency. Perhaps that is your mercy. I felt both as I watched the sun rise beyond the chapel steeple. A change was inevitable. I live only blocks from the bayou. As I worked, I knew the waters would find residence in my home. How could a source of cleansing also be one of chaos?

God, You leave so many questions unanswered. Help me be okay with a lack of answers. Remind me that is doesn’t point to a God who is lacking answers. Be better than all the answers I think I need. Be the better question to ask. Be the change that brings about blossoms. Be the consistency that brings about stability. God be all that You say You are, just help me to believe it.

Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief.

Jesus made this conversation possible, by connecting us through the Holy Spirit to the Father.

Amen

Displacement

God,

In Harvey’s ending, many people, for the first time, considered what it means to be displaced. I did not. 2014 raced through my head. I saw the hand of believers move to serve me, yet I focused on the depression of that year. Remembering the August night spent in my car, terrified and alone. I dwelled on the isolation of that year. The many nights, I remained in my office hours past close simply to be alone. I concentrated on the loss of that year. Initially, it was a job, a home, and children, but by the end, it was a sense of identity, value, and self. When 2014 ended. I was broken.

When you are displaced you lose much more than a home. You lose a rhythm and a schedule. You lose your daily patterns and cadences with people. You lose your ability to control meals. You lose the ability to shut the door in people’s face. You lose control. The only thing I gained in 2014 was weight. 25 pounds exactly and I still haven’t even lost that three years later.

God, I am at a total loss. My heart lies somewhere in the debris of drywall and flooring. I don’t know if it is even worthy of repair. I do know You are the Original Creative. I know You take chaos and disorder and bring life, sustainable life. Take the chaos of a dismantled heart and bring about life and order. I know I have been distant from You. I have wandered from You, but I need You for You to find me. I am done being prodigal. Be my home.

In the Son. Through the Spirit. To the Father

Amen