When I was a little girl, I had these hand-me-down shoes that I loved. I wore them everywhere. Anywhere, really. I don't think I cared whether they were appropriate for where I was going. If those were the shoes I wanted to wear, then those were the shoes I was wearing. And when they became too small, I still didn't want to let them go. I would squeeze my feet into them and somehow convince myself that they still fit. I imagine an adult looking at me and thinking, Child, these shoes are clearly too small. Please take them off. But I loved them. And I think about those shoes sometimes when I hear us talk about things like seasons, letting go, releasing, creating room, moving on. Usually, when we talk about letting go, there is something wrong with the thing we're letting go of. It has become toxic. It doesn't serve us anymore. It is holding us back. We have outgrown it. We need to make room for something better. And yes, sometimes that is exactly what letting go looks li...
There is a dangerous gospel being preached across Kenya — not always from pulpits, but from the streets, the offices, and the minds of many who consider themselves devout Christians. It is a gospel that says: if you are wealthy, God must be pleased with you. If you are poor, you must be doing something wrong. If you’re struggling, you must lack faith. And if you’re rich, it’s because God is smiling down on your choices. This is the unholy reward — the lie that material wealth is a measure of spiritual approval. It is a pandemic of belief. You hear it in testimonies that focus less on transformation of character and more on bank balances. You see it in social media posts that equate Range Rovers with righteousness. You encounter it in churches where the wealthy sit in the front and the poor are advised to “sow seeds” they cannot afford — just to get God’s attention. “Blessed” — but What Does That Mean? In Kenya today, the word “blessed” is often synonymous with “rich.” A new car? “I...