Christ’s Ambassador

“I tell you the truth, unless you turn from your sins and become like little children, you will never get into the Kingdom of Heaven” Mt 18:3

Very early in my life, at age 8 God began to help me trim down all attachments so that I may learn to look on to Jesus, the author and finisher of my salvation. He started with family attachments. My father decided to send me to live with one of his friends, a school teacher, so that through him, I may exert myself to have good education. His friend, then a bachelor, taught in a primary school at Inisa, a town up to 2 hours drive from my native Gbongan, Osun State of Nigeria. I wasn’t the only child of my father raised in this way, earlier on my older brother Soji had been attached to another family friend and uncle. Then we have sister Bimpe, Deniyi and I in my set and Fiola after us.

My trauma started barely an hour after we arrived Inisa. I dozed off on a chair because of tiredness after the journey and within seconds, I was back at home-my sweet home- playing ball with Deniyi. We were happy. My father was playing his talking drum as he usually did in the sunset, and mother was cooking the ewedu soup that would escort amala down the bowel. Other people went about their normal household chores. I scored a goal and was celebrating when mama’s voice rang out “Children, come and take your food” And suddenly I was shaken back to reality. Gone was the familiar home environment, the melodious talking drum faded to the back of my mind. The joyful shriek of “gooaal!” faded and more annoying, the sweet aroma of ewedu soup disappeared. All were replaced with the eerie quietness of the room at Inisa that was going to be my home for the next two years or so. Uncle Segun, my guardian, patted me again, “Delani, take your food”. The tides of emotion hit me and my face dissolved into tears. I began to experience home-sickness for the first time in my life. I sobbed quietly as I pushed the food around the plate. I was even afraid of this “strange elder” who was to be my guardian. I grew to like him for his kindness later but it wasn’t so at the beginning for I had never been close to him before then.

We occupied a room and palour in a large tenement house. I found everything strange most especially the accents of the people. They found mine strange and funny too and annoyingly, they often came to converse with me just to hear my accents and laugh Within 2 days, I had chosen a place in the house-an unusual one for that- where I could cry in solitary and think of home. I chose the toilet because I could stay there for as long as I wanted without disturbance. After about two weeks, school started and I was registered in primary three. But a shock awaited me there also, it was an Islamic mission school, run by the Ansar-U-Deen. That was why the school was called AUD Primary School. Everything was strange. The morning and closing devotions and even the prayers before the mid-day meal were chanted in Arabic language. I had to learn this fast because the Malim who taught Arabic was a tough man. One girl called Eniola, and I were the only pupils in the whole school who were Christians. Eniola also was a ward of one of the teachers. All these heightened the intensity of my home-sickness. I missed St Paul’s Primary School where I did the first two years. I missed the children section of St Paul’s church.

I learnt to save up 4pence by skipping mid-day meals two times in a fortnight so that I could get stamp for my letters. So I was able to write a letter home every two weeks and since I was afraid to write to my father and told him I wanted to come back home, I sent my letters to a cousin who lived in our house., and those were the good days of the snail-mail in Nigeria. Through him I was able to keep abreast of all that was happening at home. I was informed the time my father bought a Honda90 motorcycle and stopped ridding the good old Raleigh bicycle. I knew the time Kemi was born. I cried when I was told Yemi crawled to where baba had parked the Honda after a ride and the little child touched the exhaust pipe. I guessed he saw his image in the shining surface and was attracted. I knew when Jola was born also and many other tid-bits of information as could be exchanged by two children. After two years my guardian was posted to another school at Ikire in Osun State, now a Christian mission school, where we spent another two years. At the end of every school session, I was taken back home for the holidays and returned promptly a week before school re-opened. This was the trend for those four years  before I had to go to secondary school.

It was during this time I started writing to request for tracts from missions like the Voice of  Prophecy and Every Home Crusade who had centres in Nigeria. I did not know how I ever got the inspiration to write but I remember seeing the invitation at the back of a tract I found. I only wrote to them as a hobby to keep busy. But through their supplies God nurtured me with his word. I got Yoruba translations of the gospels but my favourite was the book of Mark. While I awaited replies of my letters from home, I love to read the gospel of Mark.

It is not really easy for me now to capture in detail all I experienced that time, but here are a few things I gained from that experience: A larger percentage of the resilience I have now against life’s hard knocks were developed that time. Just as God kept watch and proved himself mighty on behalf of Joseph, so God worked in my life. I was being prepared to be able to live anywhere and under any condition and that has helped me greatly in my adult life. While I am not saying now that I have seen the worst of hardship, I have learnt to rely on the grace of God which is never lacking no matter what may betide me. As a child, albeit unaware of it, I experienced the work of the Holy Spirit in healing my soul’s trauma and guiding me to all truths human couldn’t teach me then. (John 14:16,17) He actually lived in me, healed my pains, consoled me, taught me and he gave me the understanding of what I read there even as I lived in an Islamic dominant society. God cares very much for children and I can testify to that.

As Christians today living in this strange land (the world) do you long for home? Are you missing your heavenly home so much as to go to a solitary place to cry? Blessed are those who mourn for they shall be comforted (Mt 5:4) Amidst the hurly-burly of daily life, do you have a special place where you go to meet the Lord – even if it’s the toilet in your office? Do you stay attentive to hear the Lord’s invitation as he whispers “Come to a solitary place and rest awhile”? How often do you communicate with your heavenly home? (1Thess 5:17) Do you consciously save up energy and time so as to be with Lord in the wee hours of the night? Aren’t we always too busy to keep abreast of what the Lord is doing in the world and in the lives of others around us?

When I think back and reflect on the life of this 8-year old me, I give glory to God and I pray for an extra measure of grace to regain that first love Rev2:4. Many of us have forgotten how misty our life here on earth is and we have forged undue attachment to wealth, power, influence, position, career, family and other comforts. We need to start longing for our heavenly home, for this is the last hour. Lk 18:29,30, Lk 21:34) It is high time we started singing the Lord’s song and stop joining in the lullabies of this strange land, lest our right hands loose their skills on the harp and our tongues stick to the roof of our mouths.Ps 137:4-6. Heaven is home. Do you feel home-sick? What is the intensity of your home-sickness?