Posts in Spirituality

Is God Male or Female?

Life Random Spirituality 7 Comments

Let’s talk about God. Hollup! Do not turn your back on me. Don’t worry; I’m not here to impose my beliefs on you or pass judgment. I just want to know what goes on in your head when you think ‘God.’

Do you believe there’s a supernatural force that controls all things? Do you believe there’s a God? Who is God to you? I’ll start.

I do believe in God. Growing up, in Sunday school, I was taught that God made me in His image and likeness. I remember wondering and asking, “If God made me in His image and likeness, why do you address him as “he”? How could we all be made in the image and likeness of God and yet look so different?” It didn’t really make sense to me. And I never got any satisfactory response from the elders.

In fact, I had a lot of questions that never got answers. Like where did this almighty God come from, and who made or gave birth to him? If he created the world, then where exactly was he before creation?

Trying to get answers to these questions felt like getting lost in a maze. Even now, my head got cloudy asking those questions. So, I decided to leave it all as a mystery.

I think the mystery of God is what makes him intriguing. I wanted God to be a “woman” cos why not? I was a girl, to become a woman. I was made in his image, meaning he’s supposed to look just like me. So yes, I thought it was unfair that this almighty was assigned ‘he.’ Anyway, I got used to it. I eventually got to love the idea of God being male.

Image from Unsplash


Why the change of heart? My mum used to say God is the father of the fatherless and the mother of the motherless, especially in her prayers. Being a fatherless child who lost her dad at six, I loved to hear that I could have a father in God. He stopped being the almighty to me. I started seeing him as my father instead. And I interact with him like I do with my mum.

I don’t see this God who is my father, but how I talk to him and make requests can be funny. I talk to him like he’s just somewhere around. I even make the faces I make when talking to my mum. I laugh when I have flashbacks. But I don’t tell him I’ll beat him, playfully, like I tell my mum cos I’d have to see him first. I can wake up in the morning, and my prayer on most days, before I get out of bed or while getting my day started, would be like this (in a mumble or silently):

“God/Almighty father/Daddy, thank you for this beautiful morning. Take care of today and continue to be a good and loving father.”

There are days I feel disappointed in him because he would fail his baby girl, despite knowing how important granting a particular wish was. Like when did I stop being your baby girl that you wouldn’t grant me this important wish when it is within your power? At times like this, my prayers can be hilarious. I really have a heart-to-heart talk with him and let him know I’m not happy with his action or inaction. I don’t talk to him like some distant person.

“See, God, I’ve come again o, since you refused to add the sense for Mathematics when you were making me, I must not fail this course o. You’ve seen all of my efforts, and the thing still does not want to enter. You better not disappoint me; just let me have a 40E. I don’t even want a ‘C.’ A ‘D’ or an ‘E’ is okay, just make sure it is not an F. And if you wish, you can give me an ‘A.’ I don’t know how that would happen; just do your thing and don’t let me fail,” is the kind of prayer I say when I’m pissed at God for my inability to excel at math without struggling.

Then when I feel remorseful, I’ll say something like, “Okay, God, I’m sorry for talking to you like that. I just really need to pass, and since I’ve done my best without making much progress, I’m leaving the rest to you. Don’t be angry; I’m no more mad at you too.” Lol!

As I write, I’m laughing like an idiot, remembering some daughter-father moments with God.
On some days, when I’m in awe of his goodness, I start to laugh, sing his praises, and sway to no rhythm in my excitement. Other times, I just shout, “Daddy! I love you! Thank you!” grinning from ear to ear.

There are times I cry out my eyes to him and let him know of all my worries. Just the way I call my mum at the slightest discomfort, for assurance, and to hear her call me her baby ( though now, I only call her when it’s a major, major problem).

Asking for help is always a struggle for me, unless I’m asking from my mom or God. Yes, that’s how I love this guy called God. He gives me butterflies in my belly, and I love him so so much—I’m not even going to lie, I love my mum more—and my love for him makes me not do certain things.

It doesn’t matter who or what the world says God is. I think he can be whoever you want him to be (just like I’ve assigned him male and made him my dad). Now, it’s your turn. Who is God to you? Before you answer that, do you believe there’s a God?

Reincarnation— A Myth or Reality?

Life Nature Random Spirituality 19 Comments

I’m sort of restless again, tonight. It happens to be one of those nights when I can’t stop thinking of certain things. Reincarnation is what is on my mind now. This isn’t a first, and I’m very certain it won’t be the last.

I was having a bath when the thought of the Oba of Bini and the Ooni of Ife attacked me. For reasons unknown to me, I’ve always been attracted to their respective palaces, though I’ve never been privileged to visit any. I’m almost convinced I have some kind of connection to the two royal homes. It feels like I have history with them. And it could just be my love for their rich history that is giving me ideas.

My train of thought took me from trying to understand my obsession with the Bini and Ife palace, to reincarnation.

I very much believe in reincarnation, though my religion and faith doesn’t believe there’s such a thing as that. I guess it’s cos it contradicts the “theory” of judgement, heaven, and hell. As a result, I don’t get to really talk about it. Though the topic interests me very much, I try not to dwell much on it, whenever it sneaks into my head, cos who will I have the conversation with?

I believe life is a cycle, that we die and return through a different body, without having to await judgment. Now, I’m not limiting reincarnation to Iyabode and Babatunde/Babajide. This includes people who die and are reborn into families that were kind to them in their previous life. It includes people who are reborn into any body of their choice, without necessarily having history in their past life with their new family.

While there may be no physical resemblance to our last being, there is usually a resemblance of character, I believe. In some cases, some return as what they couldn’t be in their previous life but swore to be in their next —when they were in their previous life (I hope this isn’t confusing). Our lifestyle in the past and the things we swore to be, influences how we act and what we become in our present life. While these aren’t facts but my assumptions based on stories and observations, I believe them to be true.

For instance, I think I was betrayed in my last life by someone or people very close to me, people I trusted, most likely through food poisoning. This is because of how distrustful I’ve always been of almost everyone but my mom—News flash: I’m more relaxed now. Hurray!— I’m talking of before I had enough sense to start making decisions. As a very little child, I only ate my mother’s food, I never accepted food from any other person, whether packaged or cooked, whether from family or friend. I only agreed to eat or drink, after my mother assures me it’s safe, by tasting it first, in my presence. I remember cos I, surprisingly, still have some memories of those times, and cos my mom told and still tells me of how some, accused her of instructing me to not accept food from them, and how she’d ask them how a baby like me would understand that even if she gave such instruction.

I feel whatever happened in my past life has influenced how much I expect from people. I don’t, and have never expected a lot from people, so that when they disappoint me, I won’t be caught off guard and be destabilized. No matter how much I trust a person, I always leave a very tiny room for disappointment.

Again, this is just me dropping one of the many things that fill my head. No research done, just me pouring my thoughts on you. And I’d like for you to flood me with your thoughts, in return, like I’m your Lekki.

What do you think of reincarnation? A myth or a reality? Please, drop your thoughts in the comment section.

Religion Is Sexist?

Life Random Spirituality 8 Comments

I met her when I was 12, we fell in love almost immediately. We had a deep connection and shared a mutual knowledge of this connection without really speaking about it. It was a mother-daughter love, a love so deep, my life was turned around, I became a better person. I really wanted to make her happy, so I became more obedient and less rebellious, started to do my house chores at the right time, I got closer to God. Call it the power of love. Even my mother used it to “blackmail” me.

At 13, I was very sure I was going into the religious life. I wanted to be just like her, and maybe someday, meet a young girl and transform her for better. I wanted to be like her, with hopes that I’ll be able to pour out all my love to children and teenagers, since I won’t have mine to channel them to. I had hopes that I’d smile at children, and they’d see God smiling at them. I made a strong resolve, to be a reverend sister, or nothing. I considered being a Dr. Rev. Sr too. I thought I could study medicine and use my knowledge and experience to help people as a reverend sister.

Guess who was having none of that— my dear mother! I was one very strong willed girl. We argued, we fought, we talked, yet, I was hell bent on going to a convent after secondary school. After several intense arguments, I said, If God willed, I’ll be professed, and if not, I’ll be sent back home, while she insisted God was never going to will it.

According to my non-Catholic mum, sisters take an oath of poverty and everlasting suffering. She went further to say she’d have left me to be a priest if I was male cos she’d be rest assured that I’d have parishioners to take care of me, and to be the family I wouldn’t have. Please, take note that this was just a myopic view, based on the impressions she saw. She saw sisters as sufferheads, and she wasn’t going to suffer for me, sweat blood and water, only for me to end up a “suffer head,” have a romance with poverty and still not give her grand children on top that.

Prior to her statement, and meeting Sister Immaculata, I always fancied being a priest, dressed in my perfectly pressed robe, on the altar, offering gifts to the Lord; chanting and singing prayers; breaking bread and repeating the words said at the last supper; spreading out my arms gingerly as I invoke blessings on my congregation; sprinkling the Holy water, with a proud tilt of my head as I look at my congregation and a warm smile on my purified face; walking, like Jesus walked on the troubled sea like it was nothing, during recession, and placing my hands on little and blameless children who’d see me as Jesus or an angel in flesh and blood, as they hug me. So, when my mother made the statement about priests having more privileges like being able to own a car, and having parishioners to cater for them, I became angry and thought life was unfair to women. But I didn’t really mind at that point, I just wanted to live and share in the life of sister Immaculata.

Now 14, with sister Immaculata taken far away from me, to a foreign country, I was left with only memories of her, which are some of my most cherished memories, by the way. I still wanted to go into the religious life. At this age, I was fortunate to have known some smart philosophers with whom I had enlightening conversations and arguments.

One of such, was about I how thought religion was sexist. I gave several reasons and instances. Mind you, by religion, I wasn’t referring to just Christianity or the church, though I later narrowed down my argument to the Catholic church. If you’re thinking one of my arguments was of women not being allowed to be priests, you’re right! That was my major argument.

While still into the argument, my adult friend asked if I was a feminist cos I behaved like one, from his observations of our past and current conversations. I didn’t give a definite answer, my response was “I guess I am,” cos I wasn’t sure of who a feminist was but I just knew it had something to do with females and supporting females and for reasons I don’t know, I didn’t ask for the meaning. That was unsual, not asking a question when I do not know. I guess I was more interested in continuing our argument, than finding out the meaning of feminist, since I was pretty sure my assumption wasn’t far from the actual meaning.

The first thing I did after that conversation/argument, was pick up my dictionary. I looked up the word “feminist” and smiled with satisfaction at the definition and said to myself, I am a feminist, I believe women and men should be given equal opportunities to be whatever they want, cos no gender is greater or lesser then the other, no gender is inferior or superior to the other. It was from that day I wore my feminist badge in my heart, little did I know that it was an actual movement and a very big deal, and that years later, people would redefine it to suit their agenda and make me ask myself if I still want to wear the badge. I guess it’s a till death do us part thing.

If you started out, reading this piece, hoping to find a totally different content, sorry to disappoint you. I didn’t write to give one thousand and five reasons why I think religion is sexist or not, I wrote to share my story and to know your thoughts on religion and sexism.

Don’t hesitate to give your two cents in the comment section, please.