Do I fall sometimes?

When I found my way back to God last August, part of me assumed that meant the end of all wahalas. I thought, if anything dares to sniff around, I’ll just pray and it will vanish. That was the version of me who hadn’t yet taken time to read the Scriptures deeply, who hadn’t discovered what they truly say about trials, stumbling blocks, and the valleys we must sometimes walk through.

The last two weeks have been a roller coaster. My emotions were tossed in every direction, and when that fragile part of me is shaken, the rest of me malfunctions too. I found myself wrestling with something that had been gnawing at me for a while. And when I fight things, I usually make them worse. At times I lay matters before God; at other times I lean on my own limited reasoning, and that’s when I mess up. Still, I bent my knees. Prayer felt heavy on my lips, so heavy I could barely utter even the simplest words. Yet I cried out, asking God to intervene. His whisper was clear: the battle is not yours. Nuko ndarekura.

I had prayed, mais j’avais encore besoin de vider mon sac. My heart craved release. I needed a good cry, a shoulder to lean on, someone to sit with me while I talked and talked until everything was out. I’ve come to believe that God often shows up embodied in people, which is perhaps why He cares so much about relationships.

That morning, I dragged myself into the office and sank into my chair. Thankfully, my workload was light, because if it had required too much focus, nothing would have been accomplished. He had dropped me off, and I had been silent the whole ride, unusual for me, because I’m normally chatty. Quietly, I typed: I think I’m depressed. His reply came as a joke that I shouldn’t behave like his houseboy who waits until he leaves for work before listing everything that’s missing in the house. He said I should have spoken to him earlier. Well, first, I’m not a morning person. Second, j’avais ma tête ailleurs. Later that day, he showed up to pick me from work. My silence grew heavier on the ride back, but he had another plan. Instead of going home, we stopped at a café I’d been wanting to try for days, warm, cozy, inviting. “Tell me, “He said, “what’s troubling you?”

I wasn’t ready for that conversation, though my heart longed for it. Vulnerability felt like too much to carry that night. My eyes watered but he didn’t push; he simply let me unravel in my own rhythm. I began at the end, circled back to the beginning, wandered into the middle, and then stumbled again to the end, my thoughts tumbling out as disordered as they lived inside me. And There he was, listening, staring, and I kept throwing out whatever I had been holding in.

We spoke for hours. My mocha grew cold, reheated, and cold again. Then he took the floor, began to speak and word by word my heart grew light.

The café's design

I don’t have a wide circle of friends, but the few I have are gold. I honestly don’t know what my world would look like without them. This particular friend has carried my nonsense in all its shades: the light, the dark, and the in-betweens. I’m deeply grateful for you BH (for security purposes). I could call you my unpaid therapist, but truth is, bro you eat my money like you earned it, lol. Either way, thank you. I know you’ll read this without me even pointing you to it, hhhh.

So, I stopped fighting. And here I am, at peace. This friend gave me a task, something I’m now working on, well, trying, because it’s not the kind of thing you master overnight. It’s slow, deliberate work. One step at a time.

Piece by piece, I’m gathering myself. I had fallen so hard that every part of me crashed along with me. Now I’m reclaiming my spiritual self, which almost slipped into silence. I’m nourishing this body, this temple, after two weeks of neglect when my fridge was bare and I didn’t even care, because what was the point? I’m showing up for people again. I’m sleeping in peace. And yes, I’m happy. Truly happy.

Do I fall sometimes? I do; kandi ngwisha amazuru, lol. But I always find my footing again. And when I don’t, I have friends who reach out their hands 24/7.

It’s late as I write this. I should be in bed, but instead I’m sipping my Oolong tea from a mug nearly bigger than my head, my favorite ritual. And because I am Rwandan, this happiness comes with a certain luxury: working from home, for a week. IYKYK. The joy of sleeping without setting an alarm.

Sipping Oolong tea