So my friend’s lifelong dream of travelling to the US was dashed last Thursday, not due to a Trump executive order, his story is more graphic. His whole office knew he was going for a visa interview. His wife was preparing a visa approved supper and intra-copular after-parry. He wore his favourite suit and had his ashrishrishri game on like no one’s business. In fact my friend’s ashrishri game is so tight I was sure the consular officer was going to confuse him for a childhood friend. But alas, that was not to be.
The impudent officer didn’t care who the heck my friend was or the non refundable dollars that was on the line here. He didn’t care that my friend with his vivid imagination had already arrived at JFK and was only waiting for his giant brown suitcase to show up on the carousel so he’d check out into the chilly New York morning. He didn’t care that this my friend already had a $200 winter jacket gift from his cousin in his baggage, waiting to be worn on arrival. He was too busy, he had a lot to do, he just wasn’t buying my friend’s story, so there and then nor he bounced the guy. Chaaiiiii, wharrashock! My friend -being accustomed to bribing Ghana police- wasn’t sure whether slipping a GHC 5 note to this guy would make a difference.
When he was handed back his passport, thanked for trying and urged to do so again later, he walked out of there with a classic silly face: the kind where the smile you’re trying to force on your face doesn’t feel like it belongs there and you’re trying too hard to keep it there and you’re not sure whether people see the fake smile or angst you’re trying to conceal. My friend sat in his car for half an hour, soaking in what had just happened to determine his next course of action. He decided that if he returned to the office moody, everyone would guess that he’d been bounced. He couldn’t take that, so when he got back, he was more jovial than ever, dancing foolishly to the music someone was playing in the office and just chatting everyone up like you know, we run this town!
The laughter I laughed that day almost lost me all the respect my office people have for me. I was in so many stitches, with my eyes so welled up in laughter tears that I had little consciousness of the loudness and ‘discordness’ of my laugh. He said “My guy, e be the $200 jacket e dey my room I dey think of o. Charle, e make waste! mtccheeww.” So i suggested “Then just remove everything for your freezer inside, wear the jacket and go sleep inside small, that way you use the jacket some.”
It was serious and funny all at once, but it just showed me how little time sometimes the people in authority or a certain position have when you need them the most. You get a nightmare, you pick your phone to call the ojashious pastor who’s number you got from a friend’s brother who’s in the choir of that church, and you’re offended he didn’t pick or return the call?
You queue up to talk to the man of God after church and wait half an hour for your turn and all you get is ‘God bless you my sister’ then he turns to the next person, leaving you to wonder where to pass with the hour-long problems you had to tell him about. You move from prophetic service to another, just longing for hands to be laid on you so that something you’re unsure of will break or come out of you, or die in a wicked aunt or some supernatural orchestration just so you can move to your next level and wear your own version of a $200 winter jacket. My sister, I came to tell you that the prophet is too busy o. He’s too busy for you.
He aint got time, what’s your name again? Please, he’s too busy. He’s like the consular officer my friend got. Which is not a bad thing. He’s just one man, look how many people go to him, what do you expect? But what I don’t get is why at all you feel it’s only by his hand that God can move for you. You yourself you don’t know who you are eh? You’ve used connection boys and middle men for driving licence and just about everything else so you feel you need same for God. You don’t need them ooo, you dont. You need a vibrant personal relationship with God, which is easier to get than the fair complexion or six-pack you’re working on so assiduously.
God has made it such that everyone can come boldly into His presence. You are just as welcome and loved as the archbishop is, it’s just a matter of audacity. You beg for your inheritance because you’re not sure it’s yours. You plead for things that only require you to possess in faith. The only difference between you and the prophet whose prayer you so long for is the amount of fuel in his ‘tank’.
Jentenzen Franklin’s podcast is one of my very favourite! In one of his recent ones, I love how he related spiritual authority to having a bank account. Everyone has one, but the amount you’re able to write on a cheque is dependent on how much you have in the account in the first place. The reason the pastor seems more powerful and anointed than you is because he has more in his checking account, more fuel in his tank. He can command things to lose their hold because he has the spiritual GHC 1000 needed for that, buy you dont even know if the amount in your account is GHC 50 or GHC 25, so where are you going to start the commanding from? Stacking up your bank account and filling up your tank is just a matter of spending more time with God, cultivating a deeper personal relationship with him and making yourself more available to him. It’s not a complex formula, it’s just that.
The challenge is in cultivating the discipline to build that relationship, but hardships in life have a way of drawing us closer to God. When we keep at it even when things get better, we gradually begin to notice an increase in our audacity, confidence, and ability to affect reality by our simple prayers. That fam, is how to wean yourself from the over dependence on pastors. I think the only person we should over depend on is the same person the pastors over depend on; God. If you know Him for yourself, like really know him, you’ll be shocked just how much easier life becomes when you don’t need a middle man or a ‘consular officer’ for every single ‘visa application’. We all, aaaaaalll have one highpriest; Jesus. God is not for the middle men business. Knock on His door, and enter boldly
Here’s a great idea about how to get started with this (My Sizzling Whatsapp Affair). And when you’ve stockpiled your account to a point, let me know so I can start pestering you to pray for me wae :-D. Lovely week fam.
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