27/05/2025
One afternoon, as I was driving home, my phone rang. It was my 7-year-old daughter, her voice trembling on the other end of the line.
“Mum, I’m sorry... I didn’t mean it. It was an accident.”
In that moment, my heart sank. I kept my voice steady and told her,
“I’m driving, sweetheart. I’ll be home soon. We’ll talk then.”
But inside, a wave of emotions began to rise. Let me take you back to what led to that call.
If you’ve ever been part of a chama, you’ll understand the excitement when it’s finally your turn to receive the contributions. It’s like a personal jackpot, especially during tough economic times like the COVID-19 season. That was me—beaming with anticipation. I had planned every shilling of that money, dreaming of how I’d uplift my home and bring in some much-needed joy.
When the MPESA message came through, I was over the moon. It wasn’t millions, but it was enough to make a meaningful difference.
But as life would have it, joy sometimes walks hand-in-hand with disappointment.
A few days later, I came home to find our television our faithful screen dead. My 2-year-old, in a burst of toddler rage, had decided it was the perfect target for his tantrum. Surprisingly, I wasn’t too shaken. The TV had seen better days, and we had already talked about eventually replacing it. So, I took a deep breath and used my chama money to buy a new one. It felt like a well-deserved upgrade.
The new TV was installed just a day before that phone call.
Yes, one day. That’s all it took for it to break—again.
Only this time, it wasn’t my toddler. It was my daughter. While playing with a ball in the house, it slipped from her hands, bounced... and hit the brand-new screen.
She knew what had happened. We had all agreed, as a family, that the new TV was off-limits. So there she was, peeking anxiously through the living room window, watching for my car, bracing herself for what might come next.
When I walked through the door, she was sitting still on the couch, remorse painted all over her small face. I said nothing. I simply walked past her and into my room. Moments later, there was a gentle knock on the door. She came in, voice low, heart heavy, and confessed everything.
And I told her, simply and gently:
“It’s okay. We’ll figure it out.”
That moment broke something open in me, not in anger, but in understanding.
I saw a reflection of our relationship with God. Just like my daughter stood there, unsure if I’d forgive her again, we often stand before God, as ashamed, fearful, and full of regret. Yet He meets us with grace, not wrath.
1 John 1:9 reminds us:
“If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness.”
Some wounds in life cut deep betrayals, disappointments, failures. Forgiveness doesn’t always come easily. Sometimes we plead with God, wondering why healing feels so far away. But when we reach the end of ourselves, when we feel like we can’t take another step, God reminds us:
He loves us. He forgives us. He restores us.
Even the ones who hurt us are still loved by Him. That’s the hard truth, but also the beautiful one.
Psalm 103:13 says:
“As a father has compassion on his children, so the Lord has compassion on those who fear Him.”
As I look back today, I see God’s fingerprints all over my journey, through every broken screen, every shattered plan, every difficult season. His grace has carried me.
And in the words of 1 Corinthians 13, I now understand love a little better:
“Love is patient, love is kind… It keeps no record of wrongs… It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.”
I’ve lived that love. And for that, I am forever grateful.
