Come and carry your fan

I used to be that girl who’s never hot. Like literally, all day every day, December, February, May or August, Girl’s not hot. Girl’s never hot. Until I got pregnant. Then I understood the true meaning of heat and its many stages. From the type that will make you slightly uncomfortable to the type that will make you want to pull off your skin to the ultimate one that makes you feel like you swallowed a hot plate- heat is not merciful. That’s another reason why no one should aspire to go to hell.

So, in my constantly hot state, I was to spend some time with my parents. My mum, having walked the road before knew exactly how I felt and got a fan installed in my room, to complement the AC. Oh, the gloriousness of it- entering that constantly cool room after the insanely hot showers I always craved. That fan was perfect. And even when there was no power, it would work for hours, as if it understood my plight and was committed to keeping me cool.

Long after I had the baby and moved back home to my husband, we needed to replace the fan in our room. There was no thinking necessary, I knew what fan brand and type to buy. It had to be my faithful pregnancy fan. I had even recommended it to another family before, helped them order it and they were enjoying its cooling wonders. So, I didn’t hesitate to order my own from the same source.

Amazingly, my fan arrived and although it looked the same and seemed to work the same, its rechargeable function refused to work. Oh, this should be the part where I mention that when I could not wait for Mr A to find time to couple the fan for me, I did it myself. And I was super proud when it seemed to be working well, except for the charge function. So, I called the suppliers- come and pick your fan, it is not charging. They tried to pick it at least three times, but we could not agree on a convenient time for both parties. I concluded we would have to fix it ourselves.

One hot Saturday, Mr A finally got a chance to look at the fan. He wanted to check the battery, so we could know what type to buy. Amazing what he discovered, the battery had been fine all along, I had just not connected it well. We had endured weeks of heat, disturbed the fan suppliers and all just because I didn’t plug something in properly. If I had only waited for Mr A to couple the fan, or at least double check my super woman work, I could have speared us the whole experience. To think of all the blame I had erroneously piled on the fan and the supplier- when the fan had been perfect all along.

I just couldn’t help but establish a link, to all those times I had complained, lamented, endured things I had no business enduring all because I couldn’t wait a little for the one who knows all to guide me. It’s akin to wondering through VI looking for a street with a Yoruba name among the gazillion streets with cute Yoruba names when you could easily have checked the map on your phone. My mother always said time spent in prayer is never wasted. Historians speak of President Lincoln who prayed longer before starting the busiest days. 10 minutes can save the day. 20 minutes can make the difference. That one hour could be the saving grace. I must never be too busy to pray. It must never be too urgent for prayer.  At my smartest, my wisdom is like filthy rags before him. At my fastest, my day is still like a thousand years before him. He will always be faster, always be better, always be perfect. Very humbling, but very true.

Now I know, I shouldn’t be worried about how long I have to wait for Him to move or speak, I should rather be grateful that no matter how long it takes, He’s always more than worth the wait.


Photo by Jess Watters from Pexels

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