Choices At The Point Of Change

The temperature in Geneva reached a high of over 40 degrees this week. The highest temperature recorded since 2003. The unbearable furnace-like heat reminded me of my days in Tamale, Ghana and Cairo, Egypt. It was during my sojourn in these places that I experienced such high temperatures. We talked much about those times during the past week.

I paused and pondered.

So much change has taken place in my life since I left Tamale in 2003 and Cairo in 2007.

Change I did not expect
Change I did not engineer
Change I did endure

Change came. It altered the course of my life. It took me to a different altitude.

Since we took off from Geneva, I watched the altitude rising on the monitor, waiting to see when the plane would get to its cruising altitude. It did. 35 minutes into the flight over Luxembourg at 12,195 meters (40,000 feet).

If we hit a storm, the pilot will have to make a choice of possible actions, which may alter the flight path. And we may not arrive at our planned destination, at least not at the scheduled time.

I love flying. That was one of the things I enjoyed working with UNICEF for 15 years—I did a lot of traveling. I love visiting new places. I loved the thrill. I loved adventure.

Change came. It took that from me for a season. But God is turning it around for my good and in my favor.

At the beginning of 2015, I set my watchword for the year—be consistent, complete and stay focussed. Six months gone already, we are in the second half of the year. It is time to take stock and do a midterm review. There's no better place for me to do that than at this altitude—12,000meters above sea level floating on soft white clouds. That's where I am writing this post on my way to Lagos via Amsterdam.

As I pondered on the first half of 2015, I was overwhelmed by how much God has used the change that altered the course of my life to impact lives. It is simply beyond words. This has been a very busy year but who would have thought two years ago that it will turn out this way. I had several opportunities to share my story. The story of God's grace that sustained me through the storm.

Grace kept through the stormy change. Grace is giving purpose to the change. I could not give up on hope during the storm because I have experienced God as a faithful and loving Father. In the face of unexpected change, I learnt that the choices I make will determine whether or not I will fulfil God's purpose for me in the situation and beyond.

I chose never to give up on hope, come what may.

Change is a constant. It is inevitable. It is unavoidable. It is will come to each of us at one point in time or the other and in one form or the other. Some change is for good. Some, not so good.

What do we do when change comes on us unannounced?

The choices you make when you are faced with change will determine your destination—where you end up.

The month of June was profound in many ways. I spent three weeks with my Sista and fellow dream-chaser, Bidemi Mark-Mordi. We encouraged and built each other up as iron sharpens iron. More importantly, from London to Zurich to Geneva, we saw God moving beyond our wildest imagination during the Sistapower Gathering and Women Conferences we attended. He used the stories He has written of our lives to inspire and encourage women from diverse backgrounds to be who God created and called them to be, irrespective of the change that has visited their lives.

We saw God using a willing vessel in London. We saw the dividend of time invested in prayers in Zurich. We saw how God burdened our hearts with the revelation to bring about redemption and heal the broken in Geneva. And plenty tears did flow.

I had many lightbulb moments during the Geneva meeting. God confirmed again that He is too wonderful for comprehension. If you ever think you know God's word so much that you can take it for granted, you need a rethink. The stories of the change that came upon the two Tamars in the Bible came alive for me in a brand new way as Bidemi Mark-Mordi expounded "The Tales Of Two Tamars."

Change came upon these women in the Bible.
It was unexpected.
They did not ask for it.
They did nothing to bring it on themselves.
In fact, they did not deserve it.
Yet change came. And it was cruel.

The two women were broken by those who should have done right by them. They were broken in pieces inside. They suffered the pain they did not solicit.

Does that sound familiar to you?

One was condemned to the broken life of childless widowhood in her father's house. The other was condemned to the broken life of a shamed, defiled and undefended woman.

But that was as far as the similarities went.
Their responses to the change were different.
The choices they made in the face of unspeakable change were different.
The outcome was also different.

What was the difference?

One Tamar stayed in the place of brokenness—the place where she was broken by man, life, and circumstances. She remained desolate in her brother's house for the rest of her life (2Samuel 13).

The other Tamar opted to get up from the place she was broken by three different men. She seized the opportunity and did something about her brokenness. She turned it around. She became the mother of Perez, the great great grandfather of Boaz. Boaz was the grandfather of David (Genesis 38, Ruth 4:16-22).

Life can be unfair. Bringing cruel, painful and often irreparable change. But at what point do you get up and step on the pain? At what point do you jump on the springboard of change and let it catapult you to your next level.

When life visits us and change come upon us, we need to know what does not change; God does not change. His undying love for you does not change. His plan and purpose for your life does not change. Let me assure you that God is working through the change to bring His purpose for your life into full manifestation.

1. What would you do you do when no one can put you together?
Quite honestly no one can put you together when you have been broken. But if you draw strength from above and look up to God, He can put the smithereens back together again.

2. What would you allow to break you that you will refuse to stand again?

When Bidemi asked these two questions, I understood again that God has given us the will to choose. He also made His grace abundantly available if we choose to get up from the places where we have been broken.

My dear friends, what would you do?

Would you choose to stand firm in faith and hope, come what may?
Would you choose not to give up on hope?
The choices you make in the face of change can make or mar your destiny.

You need that the remedy for the bitter pools in your life has been prepared in advance before you get to Marah (Exodus 15: 22-26).

The change your life experiences bring can become assets for your ministry or launching pad to fulfilling purpose. Yes, your pain, your physical/emotional trauma, etc., are assets that can allow you to reach other people who may be going through the similar experience.

I would never have appreciated the depth of pain that goes with losing a child if I have never felt it.
I would never have understood the agony and anxiety of waiting for a child if I didn't suffer a waiting, howbeit short.
I would definitely not have known the challenges, distress and frustrations of living with chronic, long-term diseases but for the twenty years I spent in the valley of affliction.
I would not have given an amputee more than a cursory look until I experienced first-hand the challenges of being an amputee. Now I understand how handicap unfriendly many of our facilities. Many times, I go into the shops, I can't find a place to sit, rest and take the weight off my limbs.

My painful changes and life experiences are taking me to a higher altitude in my walk with God, and in fulfilling God's kingdom agenda.

Yours can too!

What are your painful change experiences? How can it help you become a solution to those around you? Ponder on these questions and do feel free to share. Let's encourage one another.

Once Upon A Time Of Feet And Painted Toenails_Part 2

This is the concluding part of Once Upon A Time Of Feet And Painted Toenails.

“You have a right to be angry.”

“With whom?” I queried in my heart, staring blankly over the shoulders of the Psychiatrist and her assistant standing by my bedside.

The doctors have done the audit. Nobody could explain what went wrong. There was no negligence reported or indicated. So who was I supposed to be angry with? God? I mused, still not saying a word.

“It is important to express your emotions. You can grieve about this. Talk to us.”

“I don’t have anything to say.” I looked straight at her and smiled. “I have asked all the questions I can ask the doctors about this.”

“What is the point of talking with you? What can you do for me? What comfort can you offer me?”

“I'm Ok. I am taking one day at a time.” I told her. They went on about my need to talk. They thought I was in denial. I even found out that they put me on a low dose of anti-depressant. They thought because I wasn’t talking to them I was depressed and not dealing with the issue. They asked the nurse who had known me the longest during my ten years of frequent sojourn on that ward to come and talk to me.

She tried. And I could see that she was visibly upset that I was not opening up to her. So I said to her, “J'ai décidé depuis longtemps que je ne jamais renouncer l’espoir. Mon espoir est à mon Dieu.” I made up my mind a long time ago that I will never give up on hope, and I was not going to start now. It was on that note that she left me alone.

I repeated the same to the Psychiatrist when she came back to see me, and begged her to stop the medication. I told her I did not need it. Hope is my anti-depressant. This was strictly between me and God. The doctors can’t answer the questions running all over my head. But God surely understands where I am coming from when I cry out to Him in the dead of the night when there was not one near to hear my cry.

I finally got myself to hold my stumps. I cradled them in my hands. I looked at what is left of my legs. Tears laced my eyes. I blinked them away. I will not cry, I told myself. Nothing prepares you for this. Not once in my almost 47 years before that day, did I ever imagine I could be at this phase of life as an amputee. It is at such times that you know you have to make an active and deliberate decision to tap into the grace of God that is readily available and sufficient sustain you.

Graham Kendrick's song, To You, O Lord I lift up my soul, from Psalm 25 floated back into my spirit. The lyrics ministered to me. 

No one whose hope is You will ever be put to shame.

That’s why my eyes are on You O Lord

Surround me, defend me

O how I need You

To You O Lord I lift up my soul

My hope is in God. I cannot be put to shame because God will defend me and surround me with His love and mercy. I will not be ashamed of my body. If I am not ashamed of me, then nobody can make me feel ashamed of my body. I will not play the victim. I will not, by the grace of God, be a subject of pity. If I keep my head and my spirit high, no one will be able to pity me or my situation.

The psychotherapist working with amputees came and sat with me several afternoons. She had tried to talk to me before the amputation. I was not ready to listen to what she had to say. And I refused to read the information materials. She was resilient. She did not push me to talk. She just wanted me to know that I have to deal with the change in my body image.

Let me note here, if you are ever with someone who has lost a limb, please don’t ever tell the person that there are many people living with missing limbs and doing great. “Why do I have to be one of them?” was my reaction. That is not what an amputee wants to hear, certainly not in the beginning when the person has to adjust emotionally to a body with conspicuously missing parts.

This lady waited until I was ready to talk about the change in my body. Then she supported me and my family to get all the information we needed to cope with our new definition of normal. Then, they arranged for us to watch a video of people living with amputation. We watched it as a family there in the hospital. We were able to ask more questions. It helped us a family to do this together.

But none of these prepared me for the day, I was going to have my first fitting with the prosthetic limbs. I sat on my wheelchair in the open waiting room. It was summer. Every single lady who walked past me on the corridor was wearing dainty slippers showing off their beautifully manicured toenails. It felt like an orchestrated parade to taunt me. I felt as if the enemy was flashing in my face what I had lost and would not be able to do again. Pain and grief welled up from within me. My slippers at home flashed before my sight.

Tears laced my eyes again. I blinked them off. I will not cry here. No, I will not!

A few days earlier, I had struggled with my emotions as the physiotherapist told me that my new feet were to be customized to a fixed angle which will allow me to wear only shoes only 2-3cm high. They strongly recommended sneakers for security as it would clad the entire foot and help me to maintain my balance.

“What? Only one type of shoes every day?” I screamed at them. “That is not possible. I can’t wear sneakers seven days of the week!” They explained to me why I needed to wear shoes with sturdy and broad heels.

“It is for your safety. You have to maintain your balance. You must not fall.”

I am a Yoruba woman. Who wears sneakers with wrappers and long skirts? What was I going to do with all my shoes? I simply refused to accept sneakers as an option. They refused to accept my low-heeled pumps because they were not completely covered, and my feet could slip out of them. Finally, they agreed to the pair of shoes I used on field trips and visits to communities when I was working with UNICEF. They were completely covered with a zipper but 4cm high. They customized my feet for this shoes. This was my only pair of shoes for months. Much later, we went to shops with measuring tape until my husband found me broad-heeled shoes with the same height and a bit dressier.

I shared in Make The Next Move Forward  what it was like the first day I tried on my prosthetic limbs.

I knew I had to let go of my shoes. It would be a torture to keep them. Why keep them and moan over them if they can be a blessing to others? So when I got back home from the hospital, I brought all my shoes out. I had a farewell party with them. I gave thanks to God for the joy of having them and asked God to make them a blessing to all those who would wear them for me. We bagged the shoes, many of them with their bags, and with joy and peace in my heart, I released them to go to my friends. I pleaded with a number of them to wear them for me. But I could not let go of my oldest pair of shoes—my first set of purple shoes. That remains a memento of the days of passion for shoes.

I went in search of photographs of my legs, only to find that most of the time, my legs were covered in long skirts, trousers and wrappers. Those in which I was wearing short skirts were not showing my legs or painted toenails. Who goes out of their way to take photographs of their legs and painted toenails? Then, I found the photograph taken at my first son’s high school graduation. It turned out to be the best picture of my old legs. It was a gift from God. He knew I needed to see those legs again in their former glory. The last time I saw them as such was when I stood up and changed into the theatre gown before my lungs transplantation. It was also the last time I stood on them.

I perused every detail of my legs. But rather than be sorrowful, my heart lifted with joy. I bless God for every single step I took with those legs. I blessed Him for all the opportunities He gave me to go places with them. I thank God for the time I had with them. They have fulfilled their assignment and have gone home ahead of me. The season of painted toenails and dainty slippers was over. It was great fun while it lasted. Like a dear sister wrote to me, there await me a glorious pair of legs when I get to heaven.

For the rest of my stay here on earth, God has provided me with the Feet of Grace that will take me to places beyond my imagination and to where my natural feet could not have taken me, just as He promised. He has given me the tools I need to fulfil my assignment and the purpose for which He called me. So I wear my Feet of Grace with grace and head lifted high to the glory of God.

Feet of Grace 2015 Charity Walk_Hit The Street For Their Feet:

Join me / Support me to walk 5km to raise funds for amputees that they may walk again.

Once Upon A Time Of Feet and Painted Toenails

"Give me a glass of water, please," I said to my first son with eyes fixed on the screen of the laptop and fingers relentless on the keyboard. I heard him shift his 80kg, 1.70m frame up from the carpet he laid on behind me.

"Who took my slippers?" he demanded.

I paused for a brief moment and thought about his question. “Oh, I think your uncle took them when he went down to the cave a few minutes ago," I answered as I recalled his uncle looking for a pair of slippers to put on earlier. It is very cold in the cave, and he did not want to go down wearing just his socks.

Eyes still fixed on the screen and without turning in his direction I added, "You can take my slippers." There was no movement or response from him. I turned around and saw a weird look on his face, he was staring at the spot on the floor near me. Then, I looked down to the floor. That was when it hit me. There were no slippers on the floor by me. There were no feet either. I didn't have my Feet of Grace (prosthetic limbs) on. My stumps were resting on a stool under the table.

We exchanged a look that spoke louder than words. For a brief moment, I forgot that I am an amputee. I don’t have my feet anymore. And I can't wear my slippers too.

For many years, I took great care of my feet and toenails. I had feet spa and pedicure regularly before I came to live in Switzerland. Then I realized that it was wisdom for me to do my pedicure myself at home. It was too expensive to go to the salon to do it. I shared many happy moments with my sons; they both struggled to help me to remove my nail polish and to put a fresh one. Each son worked on a foot. The fastest always wanted to move to his brother's side, which, of course, always result in an argument. They did that without any complaint until they became teenagers, and I could not get them to help me clean and polish my toenails anymore!

I loved jogging and walking. With those feet, I covered many kilometres. I even did some competitive running and swimming in the university when I represented my hall of residence during the inter-hall games. Each time I went for walks with my husband, he always had to slow me down because I was a very fast walker, always taking long strides.

Another favourite hobby of mine was shoes collection. I like my shoes, with their coordinating bags. I liked them with high heels, at least 6cm high. I didn't like flat heeled shoes because I felt I walk like a duck in them. I like to walk with long strides with my back straight and to hold my head high. I learnt to place a heavy book on my head when I was a teenager to ensure that I walk without slouching. And I liked dainty slippers that showed off my toenails.

“How many shoes can one woman wear?” asked my husband in utter amazement many times. My ready-made response was that they were of different colours and styles. I have a couple of Sistas who beat me hands down when it comes to shoes collection.  “Imelda Marcus’ junior sister” as we nicknamed her, used to be my shoe-exchange partner. Then I met the mother of all shoes’ collectors, the height of her shoes and the way she moves in them dropped my jaws. I remember gleefully telling my husband that he should be happy I was not as bad as my two friends.

I had just polished my toenails during the week leading up to April 13^th, 2013 when the hospital called me in for the lungs transplant surgery. I did not have time to remove the nail polish before going into the hospital, just did the fingernails. When I woke up from induced coma over four weeks later, it was the unusually brilliant polished toenails that caught my attention. I realized later that my usually subtle colour stood out because my feet had gone very dark as a result of the necrosis.

I learnt later that the doctors had told my husband that my feet were not likely to recover and to protect the precious gift of life God gave me, they would need to amputate my feet. He told me that he refused to accept their verdict. He went back home, brought all my shoes into the middle of the bedroom and began to pray that the owner of the shoes would have the opportunity to wear them again. That was before God gave us the word of assurance that He would give me the Feet of Grace that would take to places beyond my imagination and where my natural feet cannot take me.

For many days after the amputation, I refused to look at the stumps. Each time the nurses changed the dressing, they asked me if I wanted to look at them, and I answered with an emphatic "No!" turning my face away. The wounds healed with such amazing rapidity that I could not help but notice the joy with which the nurses announced it to each other.

Finally, I looked. First at the space where the rest of my leg and feet should have been. Then I looked at the stumps. The nurse examining them looked up at me, “they are healing so well” she said. “It is remarkable.” The skin was dry and peeling off in big chunks. It required that we applied a special lotion every night before putting a light bandage on them. First, my husband offered to do it. Then my sons took turns every night to apply the lotion and bandage the stumps before leaving the hospital for home. They did not show any awkwardness touching the stumps neither were they ashamed. It was a huge deposit on my self-esteem account.

And that was the beginning of the path to my emotional recovery. It was rough but I am still standing, kept by the grace of God and the support of my husband and sons. Watch out for the concluding part of this story in the next post.

Feet of Grace 2015 Charity Walk_Hit The Street For Their Feet:

 Be a part of making the dreams of these amputees come true. Walk with me or support my 5km Charity Walk to raise 15,000 Swiss Francs. This will be used to procure prosthetic limbs for Chidi and Olivet and wheelchairs for those still waiting. Read more about this on my last blog: Feet Of Grace In Motion

Date:  Saturday, April 25^th, 2015 D.V.

Let a message in the comment box below for more information. Together we can help these amputees regain their autonomy and get on with their lives.

May the Lord richly reward your generosity.