A long time ago, I chanced upon a lady called Iyanla Vanzant. Iyanla is just one of those people who tag at my Christian soul. I started watching her You-Tube videos and watching her on the Oprah Winfrey show and I totally fell in love with her. Iyanla is also a New York Times bestselling author of a book “Peace from Broken Pieces” in which she talks about finding your way through the broken pieces and the pain to peace. At this point, I want to put a disclaimer; Iyanla is both a Christian and a Yoruba priestess so you need to exercise discernment when reading her Christian literature as her Yoruba influence is in some places, in sharp contrast with the word of God.
Back to the story, I never knew that I would have to look for peace from broken pieces. All I knew is that I served God and he would listen when I prayed and with a snap of a finger, he would make everything go away. He would instantly heal the sick, raise the dead, create wealth at my disposal etc.
At 12:54pm today, I got a text message that brought my whole world crumbling down. A man I loved and respected had passed on. He is the father of my 2 daughters. Well, they are my nieces but they have always been my babies since they were born.
This message found me lining up at the college cafeteria to get lunch. My body became numb and stiff. I could not move. I stayed put. The gentleman behind me just asked me if something was wrong with me and he was met with a flood of tears rolling down freely. I was able to walk out, aided by this gentleman, and sit on a bench at college. I allowed the tears to flow freely. I didn’t care about the person next to me. I did not stop for a second to think about being embarrassed. I cried. I cried. I cried. I needed to get rid of the heavy feeling in my chest. I needed to do something to relieve that pain. When I could not breathe, I hit my chest. I remember the gentleman, God bless his kind soul, pulling me into his chest and saying that it would be fine.
And I just cried. I cried some more. I wanted that pain to go away faster. But it did not. So I excused myself and walked into the restrooms. I leaned over the sink, threw up all my breakfast and cried again. I needed to cry out all my pain so that I would be able to walk out and return to preparing for my exams.
And then I remembered my babies who were now orphans. And that brought a new pain for itself. I cried some more. I then wiped my tears and walked back to the library. As I read the first two pages, tears just flowed into the book, scaring my neighbours who did not know why this black girl was crying in a foreign land. If only I cared about what they thought.
Finally I was able to pick up my broken pieces and walk out of the library back to my house. Immediately I got home, I turned on my laptop and played “Oli Katonda” a song by Justine Nabbosa.
Suddenly, the peace of the Lord filled the room. I hadn’t stopped crying then but now I was crying in worship. I was amazed at the fact that I could still sing that he is God even when he had seemingly left me on the roadside, when he had made my children orphans, when he had made my sister a widow, when he had not listened when we prayed, when he had watched me pray for years for healing and had not delivered it. Yet I was here lifting up my hands saying “You are God and you are good and you are worthy of praise.”
Why was I worshipping him? What was there to worship? Why should I even worship him? Where was he when my world fell apart? Where was he when I prayed and trusted? Where was he when I spent nights in overnight prayers praying for the same thing? Where was he when I paced around the house, in a foreign land, praying for a miracle? Where was he when his life slipped away? Where was he? What? Which? Where? What?
Honestly, I have no answer. The only peace from the pieces is God. And because of that, I give him glory. I can still worship him. I am not looking for any answers. I am only praising his name. I am only letting him have the glory that is his and his alone.
So today, I want to encourage someone reading this; there is peace in broken pieces when God is in them. He may not glue them right back immediately. But there is peace in your broken pieces. I write this, fresh from another bout of crying. And I will probably be crying for the next one year. But there is peace in broken pieces.