Skip to main content

Have you given yourself permission?

 

Let’s start with some music first. Me playing my rendition of ‘Amazing Grace’ – that eternal melody.

Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound
That saved a wretch, like me
I was once lost, but now I am found
was blind but now I see.

What do you think of my rendition? Is it bad? Is it good? Is it average? Really, it does not matter what you think – for we all have our prejudices, our biases; and art, as is life, is subjective. What matters is that I’ve given myself permission to play the tune, then went ahead and played it.

Perhaps, by now, you could be building a million-dollar business, but you are waiting for external validation. You are waiting for another person or other persons to give you the go ahead. Know what my sister? Know what my brother? You are enough to give yourself permission. In fact, you are more than enough. For you are fearfully and wonderfully made. Yes, sister. Yes, brother. You are created in His likeness. You are a majestic being. His Glory and His Grace is in you.

So, go ahead, give yourself permission:

Permission to start that business
Permission to apply for that job
permission to seek (find) love
Permission to forgive yourself
Permission to let go
Permission to stop drinking, or procrastinating, or (doing) whatever is dragging you behind. Sister. Brother. Give yourself permission to be great. To fly close to the sun. To swim in the deep. Yes. To be great, seek His Favour, His Grace. And, give yourself permission to be. To do.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IYgv2XZsgys&t=76s 

(Meanwhile, get my short stories collection at: https://nuriakenya.com/product/a-funeral-dress-for-nyasuguta-by-mark-mwangi/)

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

#20BobSanaa

  With a heavy heart, having cried my heart out, I let go. Of these dear books with many a memory. This to support my book launches. Gladden, though, for they are on offer for as low as Kshs 20 – 20bob (exclusive of delivery costs): 1.        Betrayal in The City 320 2.        Paper Doll 320 3.        Royal Scandals 320 4.        Poems from East Africa 320 5.        Mimba Ingali Mimba 220 6.        Half a Day and Other Stories 120 7.        Kitumbua Kimeingia Mchanga 320 8.        Walenisi 420 9.        Horn of My Love 220 10.    Mayai Waziri wa Maradhi 120 11.    Brisinger 520 12.    Cabal 320 13.    The Patriot Game 320 14.    The Resurre...

Remembrances

Soft faces in tender places, I remember Shy lips and high hips, cold, the embers Soft skin and what could have been Echoes of stillness, in my labour, I have seen. Dotted noses and eyes brows, I have kissed In the throes of passion, questions missed Loved etched, sketched and drenched Here now I stand, on the world’s edge. It is a warm, fuzzy August night, as some books say. Mice scurry about, fat cats on their tails’ ends. I guess this is still so in one of your many books. Anyway, them books have squeezed me out of your heart and mind. Surely strange, but to love you in one still world is impossible when you live in so many. I am sure, too, that there is a pretty poem that says what’s in my heart about our situation. Adios. Feverish nights, grey nights, my dreams are possessed Yet, come morning, the old hauntings are to be dispensed The day is come, revealing the world as it is – boring I long for dusk, then I can pirate to adventure – roaring. It is a holiday. I am in ...

Gossip this morning

 I heard this morning, that… The price of unga, is about to go up I heard this morning, that the price of unga, is coming down I heard this morning, that the government, it has banned, unga Perhaps, the speaker meant, burnt Either way, our bellies, they burn Some, of hunger Others, belly full. I heard mid-morning, that, oil, is scarce Or, for cars, the speaker, he mumbled about. I heard mid-morning, that, he has passed us Or, the pastor, is us The messiah, he plays games. I heard in the afternoon, the government, is broke The weather, out of order The war, just In my afternoon, there was no peace. In the evening, I held counsel My ears, blocked with wax My eyes, blinded in tears My tongues, stilled in fury These things, they are not for me Screams of - baby Isak Shrieks of - Fatuma Howls of – Abdi Bombs, play toys Up above, silver streaks The rain, violent For a Utopia, the soldier man.