When I was a child I was both terrified and excited about Moses and the burning bush because I didn’t know if I would stay for a voice in a burning bush without the African in me cartwheeling outta there. I was in awe of Moses. Who isn’t? When I grew up, I thought God would never let anything bad happen to me as long as I fasted, did good and went to church. But Nah boo, it doesn’t work like that. Along the way, I lost my joy and church became a routine. I prayed because what else could I possibly do besides kneel and pray like what we ought to. I held onto all the words people said about me and let it consume me and play at night like a live band at a concert. When I looked (/look) in the mirror all I heard (/hear) is how physically repulsive or ugly I am, when I tried to have a conversation because I like help even when it’s not needed I hear I am a busybody or judge Judy. I was running on an empty 10km away from a petrol station. Save me I would cry! Rekindle my love for you God and give me joy. When my mama got hurt, I cried so hard (Hannah I get that prayer you prayed only Eli never came). I couldn’t handle her in pain and hurt. I couldn’t watch her sign out. Not now! Not ever! Everything in my life started going road *sigh*, nothing was working. I broke down today in a crowded place because it felt like I was carrying more than I could bear. I felt tired! I felt defeated! And I felt like I was on the road to Damascus. Save me, somebody, *cry out*. Open their eyes so they can see the wonder-working God do his thang. I don’t wanna baggage claim some of the things I carried to Damascus. Turn and take me to Caanan-this is a sinners plea. Tomorrow I am turning up for church – I don’t want to reach the Damascus of despair for I have something to thank God for. I have made a few overly salted cookie mistakes -said a few things I shouldn’t, didn’t share my Popticorn.