Confessions of a Ghanaian Girl

Today, I found her seated on the floor, wetness on her face.

I am surprised she even let me see her in that way. It’s not like her.

Though I often hear her through my walls sobbing at night, every morning she walks out of her room, eyes dry as the Savannah.

Of course, it is only because I run into her room without knocking!

I had found some good news, or so I thought. Some good news to share with her. Unlike her, I shared too much.

She had learned to share as little as possible. She is always doing well. I could not fault her.

The closed doors had been many, too many. The conversations that ended with promises but only became extended conversations with others she had never given permission for.

For now, she had learned it was only God whose care was assured.

Why bother? she would mutter. They can’t help me anyway.

So she kept it all stored up inside and prayed as hard and cried as hard as she could on those hard floors.

Childhood had taught her to tell her silly stories to herself only. Now she wondered who would listen? Even to the serious ones?

They call her strong because those burdens are not shared. None willing to, not even me.

She turns her face away from me.

When she turns back, her face is dry, and her eyes tell me to pretend I walked into a darkened room.

Even good news needs good timing, so I decide to keep it stored inside too.

So I leave, closing the door.

She doesn’t call me back or come after me.

That’s good.

Otherwise, she would find me behind her door, hoping to hear what she so hides away from the world and only tells God.

Sometimes, the hardest thing to thank God for is what you survived.

Someone deceived you.
Something was taken from you.
And for a while, you may grieve not only the loss, but the person you were before it happened.

So when people say, “Just move on,”
you smile, because they make moving on sound so simple.

It isn’t.

But then you look at your life.

And you realise,
they took something, but they did not take everything.

God kept you.

And sometimes, that is enough reason to whisper:

Thank You, Lord.

Take the lesson.
Leave the weight.
Carry the wisdom.

And when your heart is ready,
move on.

Imagine inviting three friends over for dinner. When they arrive you inform them you will be preparing Ghana Jollof for dinner. All three show excitement at your chosen meal. Especially as they have never eaten it but heard a lot about it. So you start off by explaining and showing them the typical Jollof ingredients. However, as soon as you start, one guest starts to argue about how fresh tomatoes should not be added in a rice meal. They ask very politely if it’s possible to omit it from the meal. Though you explain that Jollof needs the tomatoes to be Jollof, they do not appreciate your opinion. And so you give in to their request and omit the tomatoes to please your guest. Later another guest starts a conversation about how garlic and ginger are rather toxic when cooked. They claim research shows garlic and ginger are never meant to be cooked or added in meals but only eaten raw. The other guests agree with them, so you take the ginger and the garlic too out.
Soon, the stew is ready and it’s time to add the rice. You wash the rice and proceed to add it when the third guest screams!
“No, what are you doing??”
You explain you are adding the rice to the stew as typical of Jollof.
They claim rice should never be cooked in that manner.
But then you ask what they thought Jollof was?
They explain they never knew rice was cooked in the stew and they think that it’s disgusting to cook rice that way.
So you listen to them too and set the rice aside and cook it separately.
In the end, what is served, though your guests seem to delight in it, is not Jollof. It is a rice dish for sure, eaten to satisfy hunger, but definitely not Jollof.

I once had a conversation with an acquaintance about Christianity. In their opinion, there were certain aspects of the nature of God and Christian beliefs they could never accept like the concept of hell.
Later as I reflected over that conversation, I thought if Christianity has core principles and you decide to choose and pick what fits your personal feelings and beliefs then in the end, what you practice is not Christianity but a modified version or maybe a different religion. I was reminded that it’s the same as when you set out to prepare a meal according to a recipe. If you take certain key elements of the recipe out or modify it so that the core technique of the meal is not executed then the meal that turns out in the end is not what was defined in the recipe. It is your own version of that meal.

For the past month in church, we’ve been studying the image of God, and it has been a profound reminder of how skewed my own image of Him used to be.

Growing up, I learned about God primarily through the adults around me and through lessons in children’s ministry. It wasn’t until I took the time to read the entire Bible on my own and learn directly from the Holy Spirit that my perception fundamentally changed.

The Lie I Believed

My childhood impression of God was a lie. I mistakenly believed He was a God whose sole delight was in punishing human beings. I thought He was a divine scorekeeper who wrote a strict set of rules, checking them off, and punishing us immediately when we failed.

I thought He only loved me when I was doing His will—a will that felt impossible to accomplish. The enemy’s lie was simple: God delights in drowning us in standards and commandments He knows we will never achieve. This false image kept me from pursuing a genuine, true relationship with Him.

The Personal Impact

This skewed view of God greatly affected my image of myself.

If I think my Creator doesn’t love me and just looks for opportunities to punish me, how can I see myself as a King’s daughter? How can I see myself as a loved and cherished daughter if all I see is a God who hovers over me and sets unachievable standards? My image of my Creator, Father, and King has everything to do with the way I see myself.

The Truth I Found

Perhaps you also struggle with some wrong impressions of God—afraid to let Him in, thinking He will ruin your life or keep you from the “good” things of life. These are all lies.

I can testify: God desperately loves us and is merciful. Unlike the rigid, fear-based picture taught in an old children’s song (“if you sin, he will see it and write it and not bless you”), I have seen God in countless expressions. My lifetime will not permit me to know Him in all His expressions.

But if there is one image I can leave with you, it is this: God desperately loves and is merciful.