On Wednesday this week, a colleague passed by my desk looking exceptionally cheerful. I jokingly asked him whether he already had the ‘splash’ for the week. He is an editor, and is in charge of one of the weekly publications.
He laughed, then informed me that on the contrary, he had no anchor story for that week, and had no idea what it would be. Those who work, or have worked in the newsroom, are familiar with the pressure that accompanies content production.
The pressure never ceases because you are as good as your last story. Every day, (or every week for this colleague) you are expected to come up with that one story that will get everyone talking. There is never respite.
After his admission, and with the unrelentless demanding nature of this job in mind, I asked him what he was so happy about then. I expected the joke to keep going, but he told me, tone serious: “The fact that I can get in here and escape the hot sun out there is enough to make me cheerful.” The “hot sun” he was talking about was both literal and figurative.
Literal in the sense that at the time, it was blazing hot outside yet there were jobless Kenyans out there in the streets, or Kenyans forced to eke out a living in the strength-sapping sun.
Figurative in the sense that despite the constant pressure associated with his job, it was a dignified job that had enabled him to offer his family a comfortable life. “It is important to remember to be grateful for what we have, even during those times when things are not going our way,” he added.
I paused. At that point, had it been possible to kick myself, I would have done it right there and then.
You see, just that morning, I had forgotten to be grateful for an answered prayer. For a couple of days, I had been trying to get something done, something that had been giving me sleepless nights. I would fall asleep, only to wake up an hour-or-so later feeling anxious, afraid of what might happen if I failed to resolve the matter.
After numerous phone calls, many unanswered, as well as ignored emails, that Wednesday around midday, I decided that only a face-to-face meeting would get me the answers I was looking for. I hailed a cab to get me there faster, a ride that would cost me 900 shillings, one way.
Along the way, I rehearsed what I was going to say, how I was going to put my case across so that my request would go through. Just a few minutes before getting to my destination, however, the message I had been hoping for, for days, came through.
The matter had been resolved. Rather than feeling relieved, happy or grateful, the first thought that came to mind was that my money had gone to waste, that I would pay for a trip that had been unnecessary. Irritated, I asked the cab driver to turn and head back to town, since what I wanted to do had been settled.
Recalling this incident filled me with great embarrassment, especially when I remembered that just that morning, I had prayed and asked God to resolve that issue for me.
My prayer had been answered, but because that answer had come with an inconvenience, it had failed to register that what I had fervently prayed for had actually come to pass.
How fickle our memories can be! And how blind we can be when our answered prayers fail to come wrapped in a pretty, glittery box. Since today is a Sunday, when many of you go to church, allow me to preach a little, though I must confess that I overheard this somewhere: “Your life right now is someone’s answered prayer.” My interpretation of this is that there is someone, somewhere right now, rejoicing over the very circumstances you are mourning about right now. Happy Sunday.
