Letters✉

I wrote this piece slightly over a year ago for my friend’s project. I read through it and thought someone might resonate with it as I did today. Perhaps you will be encouraged to write a letter as well;

Dear God,
You know how my mornings tend to be busy and rushed. How muddled and distracting I have let life become lately. Yet, in your mercy and kindness you still create meaningful moments for just you and I. Thank you for doing it once again. You swept me off my feet in a blink of an eye when you placed a song on my heart. My eyes brimmed up with tears as I played that tune which my fingers had stumbled upon. My soul danced with gladness as your peace flowed over me. You paused my entire being to simply acknowledge your presence.

Selah.

I thought I could replicate that guitar moment and perhaps publish a new melody for the radio waves to resound but I guess that is not about to happen. Over the last few days, I have struggled to add words to that rhythm but the puzzle pieces have hidden themselves. Kept away in the beauty of that moment we shared; I have come to understand.

Whether I get to also stumble upon those words or not, I pray you will continue to magnify yourself in secret moments I am yet to discover with you.
Yours,
Denise.

Mungu ni mwema🐝

When they first reached out to me to step into the role I am yet to mention, I didn’t hesitate to agree. Deep down, I knew it was my ticket to attending the Annual December ASCK Youth Camp. We hadn’t been part of a physical camp since 2019 because the COVID pandemic, as we all know, was accompanied by so many restrictions. So when I heard that camp was back on, my prayer request was to attend it.

The 2022 Ebola outbreak in Uganda also created a scare but God opened a door for many people and I to be back at Muduuma in our camping tents. The preparations started with a camp chairman who asked me to be incharge of the medical team. Why would I refuse? I have always wanted to give back to a community that has poured so much into my life. This was an opportunity to serve God and his people. However, it was not an easy task. A lot happened in the many months of preps and the 5 days of camp. 🤭I was able to bully some people into joining me in the hustle. Action packed hustle!

I would love to write out everything but allow me to just pick out one experience that stood out for me. Before I even thought of starting medical school, my uncle gave me a perculiar gift. A set of old surgical instruments. Just a few forceps, blades and scissors. Incidentally, the morning I was departing from camp, I found the set at the bottom of my suitcase. I didn’t know it had been there all along. I guess it had camouflaged with my jogging kit which I didn’t use. 😂The plans we make.

Even when I found the set of instruments, I still didn’t expect to use any of them. I left the set at the bottom, packed my clothes atop it and went on to enjoy my last day of camp. The craziest thing happened during breakfast time that very morning. A camper was stung by a bee inside her mouth while she was drinking her tea. Her friends quickly rushed her to me for medical attention and I could see the sting just right there digging into her hard palate behind her incisor teeth. My brain’s bulb lit up and that’s when I was reminded that God directs our paths. Had my uncle not given little 16 year old me a few forceps in a set, I wouldn’t have packed them. Had I not organised my suitcase as I packed to leave camp, I wouldn’t have come up with a quick solution. The relief our camper got after the sting was removed caused my soul to offer a loud Hallelujah.

‘Mungu ni mwena kila wakati‘- God is good all the time. This is what my friend told me at the start of camp. I told him I was worried because we hadn’t purchased all the drugs we intended to use but guess what? We didn’t even use half the drugs we bought even though the number of campers was doubled beyond our expectation.

In a nutshell, a stubborn bee. A relieved camper. A beautiful camp. A good God!

Healing wounds

Silence cuts deep.
I know that statement holds water because I have been on the receiving end of silent treatment.

I mess up alot using my words and at a certain crime scene, the person I hurt went quiet. I first responded with denial, ‘Surely I didn’t do anything wrong.’

Then I spiraled towards anger. ‘Why is he so upset? 😡 He is acting like as if he didn’t say something that hurt me last week. I am fed up with people that over react’.

A part of me screeched because the pain of the silence continued to sink in. The other part wished I hadn’t said what I had said. ‘If only I could go back to that day, I would not say those mean words,’ I bargained with the past.

And then I cried. I sobbed because the silence gave me nothing to lean on. My entire being crumbled down.

Overwhelmed by the ugliness of my sin, the shame of the awful mess I had created and the wound from the silencing knife, I accepted that ‘I was wrong’.

I watched God’s strong hand embrace my heartache and my tears. As he cleansed my wound, to him I turned and said, ‘Father, forgive me.’ With visible stitches, he encouraged me to break through the silence and walk a journey of repentance🌿

Random post👻

Hey there!

Just imagine for a second the possibility of not aging. The possibility of time standing still. The possibility of blinking yourself into next year.

Did the first sentence excite you because you would not have to grow wrinkles or deal with those hormonal pimples?

Did the next sentence make you imagine how much more you could have read if time had stood still for one hour just before your test today?

Did the last sentence scare you because you have so much planned for tomorrow?

Enough imagination! What are you doing now? In the last hour, what did you do that would earn you a ‘Well done my faithful servant’ from God? 🌿

Save the Ants🐜!

This post might get me trolled by the Animal Rights Activists but dear ARAs, first hear me out.

I don’t like watching ants get swept up by the kitchen towel that I use for cleaning up the sink after doing the dishes. So, I usually bang on the sink to send them a warning so that as a crowd, they clear away from the dot of gnut sauce. Some scurry back to a crack within the wall, others eventually head off to ant heaven. Others, if not a new crew come back to the same spot about 20 minutes later. So, I asked myself last night, ‘Do they ever learn? Like didn’t they just witness an Apocalypse? An antocalypse?’

A burnt child dreads fire, right? What about the burnt child’s sister? Do we always have to face doom to know which path we shouldn’t have taken? If I saw my big sister (my imaginary one, but really my mom) get scalded by a hot oven dish, I would reach for the oven glove first before helping her to remove the family treats from the oven, right?

So why then do we hear/read/tell other people’s stories of their mistakes and purposefully place our hands on the 200°C oven pan? Infact why do we realise our own addictions, knowing how harmful they have become but chose to tolerate the vice? Why do we come back to get swept away by the kitchen towel?

Perhaps we inwardly struggle like Paul For I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate(Romans 7:15). Perhaps we don’t hear the sounding alarm because our eyes are too fixed on the gnut dot. I don’t know your story but I pray for you, as I pray for me, that we will keep in step with the Spirit with eyes fixed on Him that heals and saves us.🐜

Count them all

I used to have a phobia for sharp knives because I would always end up cutting myself by mistake.🙈

1. I woke up quite early today morning majorly because it is I that had to prepare…

2. Breakfast which to me is the most important meal of the day. My prep involved picking an knife and I sure that every household must be having that go to knife when a neat job has to be done. I know our current…

3. sharpest knife because I labelled it by mistake.🙈 (I left it’s plastic handle on the rim of a hot saucepan. Don’t worry. I am training myself to make less mistakes in the kitchen.) That knife was the one I picked first and immediately the alarm system in my head went off . It took me like 40 seconds to decide if I should use it or its counterpart.

4. Because I had to peel the ginger that needs to be added to the boiling water for tea and chop up some fruits, I decided to use Mr.Sharp. Carefully.

5. Hooray! I didn’t cut myself. It took me longer to finish up but atleast my platelets did not have to gear up for action. We learnt about platelets this semester so forgive me for taking you back to that Science class that you didn’t enjoy much🤭.

6. It is not the only thing I picked up this sem. During one of our church fellowship meetings on campus, the person sharing asked if we believe in miracles. A few of us quickly agreed probably because Jesus made a blind man see or fed 5000 men with just 5 loaves and 2 fish. The ‘sharer’ made us realise how oblivious we were to the fact that our very presence in that meeting was a miracle itself!

So while I was peeling the ginger, a thought came to mind. “Count your miracles and even if you cut yourself today, consider the working platelets a miracle.” I thank God for each and every little miracle. I know I have to revise my own post to identify others that I might not have counted. I also acknowledge that it might be hard for us to count even one miracle especially when our day seems upside down but you might learn that it’s actually harder to count them all once you start.

🌿You have multiplied, O LORD my God, your wondrous deeds and your thoughts toward us; none can compare with you! I will proclaim and tell of them, yet they are more than can be told.

Psalm 40:5

This is the song ( https://youtu.be/Viiw6tGimHo ) that kept playing in head as I wrote this.

I encourage you to do some Gratitude Maths today. Plus, you’re definitely invited for breakfast but note that it’s served at 8am and you can’t sleep over.🤗😂

Peace🕊

Silence is the sound of peace. True or false?

Today morning, the antenna of our radio was not in the mood of working. All we kept hearing were muffled noises unless someone stood just next to tip of the antenna. Because no one is paid to just stand still for an hour or so, I switched off the noisy box.

Then there was silence.

Only for about a micro second, the atmosphere was silent. The birds’ songs broke through immediately. The clock that had been tick-tocking could then be heard. Children within the neighborhood going to fetch water passed by and I could here them singing a song that I have never heard before. It wasn’t ‘Pilili palala’. They chorused a different song as they beat their ‘bidomola‘ and then I smiled. Silence can’t be the sound of peace, or is it?

Alot has happened in our country and yet 2021 has just begun. Just yesterday, the heavy rain caused havoc and jam here in Kampala. Elsewhere, business owners watched their noisy machines like refrigerators shut down. Generators were turned on but not for long. Zero silence vs. Absolute silence and seemingly no peace in the two scenarios.

Is silence the sound of peace?

The word peace appears close to 380 times in the Bible. It is opposed with the word ‘war’ like in Ecclesiastes 3:8. It is related with healing and joy. It goes alongside grace and mercy. The Psalmist in chapter 34 vs.14 urges us to seek peace and pursue it.

A completely silent area with no sound of gunshots means there’s peace, right? Does silent treatment bring peace between the parties involved?

I believe it can be nerve wrecking when you’re heading to work or school but you are also stuck in jam with cars hooting from all directions. If you lost your sense of hearing in that moment, would it be much more peaceful?

🙃Do we pursue silence or peace? Do they always come in one package?

Stuck🐾

Like chewed gum beneath the sole of an old shoe.

What a weird feeling. What a weird way to begin a well-thought-out and edited blog post! No fireworks. What a weird way to end the year! No bonfires. No whatever it is you usually do. No old car tyres burning in the village. No large gatherings. (Atleast that’s what was announced on the radio yesterday morning). Just like my country men, I definitely feel stuck.

Someone asked me to evaluate my year just the other week. In the process, I realised I really don’t like evaluation.

I could write a lot on how fantastic some things turned out and what I hope to change. I could and always have because I did not feel stuck then. Even if I did, I simply don’t remember. I know I wasn’t trying to push forward into a new year. I am usually preparing to be surrounded by a large crowd (more than 20 people atleast) so that it feels like I am not entering the new year alone. Like all those people are pulling me along. This year, even with family around and friends a call away, it just doesn’t look like opening the new year will be accompanied with the same old energy.

My new resolutions are usually fairly ready by now but this time round I feel quite disoriented. It is like I’m working on an endless jigsaw puzzle. A thousand half-ideas and thoughts hard to put on paper. A million feelings hard to decipher. Half said prayers. Me locked up in my own mind. ‘Well, get out of there,’ so you’d easily say. So I have told myself but it’s like nothing is shifting.

I am actually surprised that I was able to type all this out. I might probably reread this and also tell myself ,’Chic, you actually put an idea on paper’ but to be honest I currently feel stuck like chewed gum beneath an old shoe.

But we have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us. We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested in our bodies. (2Corinthians 4:7-10)

Stuck but not alone🌿

Inspired by a friend who posted a piece entitled, ‘Need of Grace’ http://hismarvelousworks.blogspot.com/2020/12/need-of-grace.html

The art of salting food

First of all, I want to thank my friend for forcing and patiently waiting for me to produce this post.😆 #YouKnowYourself.

It’s been a busy season for me ever since I last wrote something for my blog but thanks be to God, I am alive and still haven’t mastered the amount of salt that goes into food when cooking for a big number of people (that means I can ably write from a learner’s Point of View🌿). So, not to brag but I still get complaints about the saltiness of my sauces especially.

I come from a group of Ugandans that takes pride in preparing amazing thick pea sauce. I still don’t know if it’s our traditional staple food but I am certain that it’s something I have feasted on time and again from childhood. My mom has two styles of preparing it; with fresh peas or dried peas. I have managed to learn the ‘dried peas method’ but have successfully failed to present the perfectly salted version😂 (atleast for now).

The first time I prepared the peas, I forgot to add salt after frying the onions and tomatoes before adding the pre-boiled peas. It was truly horrible. The saying goes ‘A burnt child dreads fire’ and that child must approach the fire again in a wiser manner. I didn’t forget to add salt the next time but unfortunately, it was very little in everyone else’s opinion but me.🤔 I took a step back from preparing lunch and allowed myself to delight in my aunt’s ‘masterpiece’ two days later. The following week I tried to cook a sauce similar to hers but only a few members of the house approved. ‘Tasty but no salt,’ is what others said which really meant it was not tasty at all🤣.

Just this week, I put way too much salt in the french beans (according to my palate) but no one complained except my youngest sister. Looks like I still have a lot to learn for her sake but luckily I have discovered when frying eggs separately for each person, to ask how much salt they prefer. Turns out, everyone has their own different taste.

So how do I master ‘the art of salting food’ especially for a meal intedend to feed one group of people that don’t like the same thing? How do I deal with people’s opinions about my cooking, my blogging, my random art scribbles or anything I set my mind to do? Do I snap my fingers in their faces (especially if they have a seemingly negative opinion) and tell them to go prepare their own sauce? (🤭sometimes I am really tempted to do so).

What is the advantage of living in a social space where people can weigh in their suggestions and opinions? In as much as I don’t want to encourage cyber bullying or any form of aggressive judgement, it’s necessary that we, to whom the judgement is passed, learn to sort the truth from nonessential opinions. I value feedback even when it sends me to my room grumbling because deep down I know somehow-someday it will build me. My sauce may never taste perfectly salted for everyone😂 but if I can listen to the people I am cooking for and learn to value but filter their opinions, hopefully I can make a better version each time I cook.

Here’s some professional advice as well https://www.mexicanplease.com/art-seasoning-much-salt-use/

Dear reader, afraid of starting your own restaurant franchise or publishing your novel because you worry what others will think, that’s my seemingly crooked but salty advice.🧂

A Sunny day🌞

In my homeland, the rains usually come in September and last till November ( https://www.nkuringosafaris.com/climate-uganda/ ) . Since we are in October, it’s been long since I woke up to a day that doesn’t look gloomy. So I decided to cease the opportunity and write something that will throw us back to our days in Primary school.😁 You probably landed on this blog post in particular not because I sent you a link, so kajambo to whoever sent it to you and I am grateful to you that’s following. This is extremely random just like the weather today.

Birds chirping and chit chatting in mama’s tall palm trees
Towering over us as their gently dancing shadows are cast over the veranda
Where the family of sugar ants run around looking for some ka sugar
Sweeter than the bread crumbs stored before yesterday’s rain.

Maize seeds basking in the sweet sweet kasana
Hanging up there with the clouds in all it glory
As this week’s laundry gets its chance to dry up as well
Not forgetting grand papa’s gu thick sweater
Which will end up covering one of us dosing in the chair tonight.🤭

Hope set high that the rays won’t turn into drizzles
Which nevertheless won’t manage to dampen my joy
Not just because I stepped into sunlight this morning
But also due to this wonderful feeling I get knowing this is just a glimpse of the future ‘sunny day’💫

👣Oh when the saints go marching in, may we be among that number.

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