WordToday

1818 hrs: I got home in a rush. I was determined to make the most of the evening. It had been nearly two weeks since my last run. I couldn’t miss this one again. Casting off my work clothes, I hurriedly donned my running gear. In no time I was off to a brisk start, anxious to finish before darkness set in.  It had rained all week except the previous night. That was a good sign. The trails would neither be muddy nor dusty—a perfect evening for jogging.  The shorter, less adventurous routes would do for the day.   Make level paths for your feet and take only ways that are firm. (Prov.4:26) 2km:  My legs signaled their first complaint. I was feeling heavier than usual. My breathing was getting more and more labored. I hadn't gained weight. I don’t gain weight. Or had I? "Must be the two inert weeks" I mumbled under my breath. As I turned a corner, a bodaboda (motorbike taxi) guy came into view. He waved vigorously and shouted, "mkimbizi!" (runner!). I was n

Similarly, if anyone competes as an athlete, he does not receive the victor's crown unless he competes according to the rules. (2Tim.2:5) It was meant to be the mother of all trail runs. I was going to test my resilience in the Adidas Berlin virtual run. I don't want to call it 'physical resilience' . I have discovered that running, especially on fourty year-old legs, is more than just a physical experience. My friend Wachira, who runs in all sorts of places, with all manner of running groups and to all sorts of distances once told me, "Man, it’s all in the mind" . I admire his grit. Since that time, I have pondered this important issue. Of course, it only comes up when I'm at the tired end of my tether-plodding up a trail and regretting why I got myself there in the first place! Say, friend, is it truly a matter of training the mind to ignore the aches and pains of tired limbs? Or is it a matter of 'ugali' powering the legs through the turns

After many days of lethargy, self-excuses, and downright bad behaviour , I returned to the road. Ok, it wasn't a road in the real sense of the word but rather a series of grassy paths and dusty trails peppered with rocky inclines.  I like the challenge of off-road running 🏃‍♂️ . It makes me feel like Rambo. Do you know Rambo? Of course, you don't, you millennial.  Well, Rambo was our action-hero. A grotesquely muscular man with dark, curly hair. His hair though, was a little too long for a man. Anyway, he would stalk, strategize, and then blast his enemies into oblivion with huge guns. Later in life, I realized that he was probably a product of American propaganda against their perceived geopolitical threats, mostly the Russians. Rambo was always sweating, and I noted with a certain level of satisfaction that I too was sweating. There was no jungle that Rambo couldn't conquer and running in the less-trodden paths makes me feel like Rambo.  I like to run in familiar pla

It was meant to be a time of quiet reflection. I was standing alone at the edge of a large field. Straddling my bicycle contemplatively, I savoured the delicious beauty of the setting sun. I thanked God that no matter where I had lived, He had always found me such places. Places where I could see the sunset, alone. There was no wind. The clouds hang low. Above them was a vast, clear expanse. Bathed in the dying embers the clouds bore the moment with elegant grace. They sailed aloft ever so gently. S himmering in amber, orange and a touch of grey, t hey looked like they could fall. Of course, they were not going to fall. Some unseen power seemed to be holding them in place. Was it God or physics? Surely it had to be God. How could such art be the work of blind nature? So beautiful. God had to be an artist! 7.10 p.m. The emerging stars eased me out of my reverie. Wife had said not to ride in the dark. I was in familiar territory so I was confident that I could find my way home. However,

Yesterday was the day of love and the build-up to it had quite a bit of chatter on, "What is your love language?"  I hear for some its good vibes, for others its gifts and I once had colleague- young lady who used to say, "Just buy me alcohol". I have been trying to pin down mine for ages to no avail. The things I enjoy most are those that my wife expressly forbids like eating matumbo or omena in a dirty kibanda, cycling & getting lost in the wilds, motorbike to Dar Es Salaam or Zambia (Ok this last one I am yet to realize). But I guess these do not fall in the known categories.  Unlike me, my wife has had very specific love languages, but they keep shifting over the years. The constant challenge I have is figuring out whether the era of flowers has ended, and we have entered the era of, “Today, will you go for an evening walk?" . For the unacquainted, this is woman-speak for, " I am giving you an opportunity to earn some bonga-points today. Show me h

Author Matshona Dhliwayo says, "Excellence in obscurity is better than mediocrity in the spotlight." The sight of a drunk man eating githeri (boiled maize & beans mixture) from a plastic bag in public should ordinarily elicit feelings of pity at best or disgust at worst. During the 2017 general election a man eating githeri in the queues shot to national fame. This was after another man, (probably in jest) took his sorry picture and posted it to social media. How a whole nation became fixated on a man eating githeri still beats me to this day. But it didn't end there. The image went on to catch the attention of the highest office in the land. And so ‘Githeri-man’ as he came to be known, was not only given land by the state, but was also awarded a HSC (Head of State Commendation) for well, eating githeri in public? Now we have a government official, a chief to be exact, who was caught on video dancing  to some vulgar song in a Nairobi club. This would probably have pas

For bedtime stories we walk our children through the bible-chapter by chapter until a book is done and then someone suggests the next book. They are pre-teens now and have had opportunity to go through the Bible quite a few times but there are book collections that never cease to fascinate them. One of them is the Samuel-Chronicles series. The evening readings don't always go the same way. Some days find me reading to a drowsy lot fighting monumental battles with sleep. Other days are relatively lively, and I find myself being bombarded with hard-to-answer questions from all corners of the room. On such days I can hardly get a word edgewise as I'm frequently interrupted with rambling and at times, irreverent commentaries. Some time ago we got to II Kings and boy, wasn't it a difficult run? My daughter, usually struggling with sleep at that hour, was unusually hyper. At every sentence she peppered me with rapid fire questions. My son, ever the contemplator par excellence