As I was scrolling through my Instagram today, I landed on something which may sound cliché but holds tons of weight on be.your.own.boss.babe it read; You can read all the books, You can watch all the webinars, You can take all the courses, You can listen to all the podcasts. But if you don’t take action, you’ll always be in the exact same place.
I hope this series is not just a bouquet of floral letters but a step towards unwrapping the greatness stored in each one of us!
Our Sixth guest is none other than a one, Patience Bergman, a wife to Eric, a very passionate plant momma and above all, a lover of Christ. You need to check out her blog at adaezeblog.com. Follow her Instagram @ bubblesnbananas.
Thank you for taking part on our series Madam, It is such a great honour to host you!
There was a time when anger consumed me, red coals of rage burnt at my soul leaving smoke and cinders of fury in my eyes, it was a heaviness that pursued me. I hated everything and nothing made sense; how could a God who loved me allow so much pain? My heart had been broken before but not in a manner like this; a blow this big knocked me right out of my skin. I lay motionless and let anger pull the strings as though I were a puppet at his show, mad at the fact that despite Him being El-Shaddai, death still caught my mum off guard, and we were left without a home; to figure life out on our own. I was enraged at the thought of being on the receiving end of everyone else’s pity; I did not want it. They could go die for all I cared. The hypocritical comments about God having a plan and counting it all joy vexed me the more. Do people even think through the things they say? How am I supposed to rejoice at the death of my mother and the loss of our house?
I wallowed in bitterness and scorn; made my bed with the demons that tormented me. Life left a rotten taste in my mouth, and I wanted to end it. To be rid of the cares of this world lay among the unfulfilled dreams of the dead, at least then maybe I would be closer to my mother. However, fear kept me from slitting my wrist; I could not sermon the courage to slice my veins open and watch life slowly slip from my body. Despite all my loud claims and rants about the nothingness of life, I was still a coward; death called my bluff. He saw right through my poker face and knew that I wasn’t ready to go yet.
So I remained bound to this hell, watching as everyone danced to the spinning motion of the world, but I would forever be stuck in time. Memories of laughter evaded me, and like a broken record, the worst of 2016 played on and on. But that is where He found me; laying in despair, he picked up broken pieces of my life and held them to the sun. Their reflection shown of redemption, painting pictures of the joy that was to come. He lifted me up and kissed me, poured the oil of gladness over me, then whispered: “I am not your tormentor but your beloved.” His words soothed the ache in my heart, weaving symphonies that cast darkness away. The orchestra played hymns, and I floated on each note, drifting into a place where the pain was beautiful, for He had tested me, and I came forth as gold. A halo of stars hung around my head, drapings of beauty and splendour adorned me. I was magnificent, a royal planting to show off His majesty. All this time, I thought euphoria could only be found in the absence of hardships, but He showed me that even without a glimmer of light, flowers can still bloom.