I was fourteen the first time I got in real trouble at school. I had come forty-seventh in a year of ninety-eight students. Far, far, worse to my father’s way of reasoning was my teacher’s pithy comment scribbled in a careless scrawl across the back of my result sheet, “Wendy is an average student.” Ms. O just carelessly dropped that line in her tiny, cramped hand as though she couldn’t even be truly bothered to impress the parents of this under-achiever. I won’t lie, I was relieved; when I first got my report card while standing outside the Admin Block waiting for the “Port-Harcourt Bus” to ferry its truckload of eager teenagers far away from the Abuja boarding school to the manic joys of my home in Port Harcourt, my heart pounded. I knew I hadn’t done so well that term; I had been distracted by the wonders of senior secondary school. I suspect a young man, a choreographed dance and some new friends were involved. So when I opened my report and spotted the emboldened ‘47’, I was relieved. At least, I thought, I wasn’t lower than 50. In the farther reaches of my soul, I knew though that daddy might be livid…but I had an 11 hour trip to prepare an explanation.

The day he asked for my report card, I knew I was in trouble. You see that term, I had also gotten into trouble for being rude to the principal…of course daddy didn’t know that my class teacher was an outpatient at Yaba Left; a better candidate for Lagos’ premier psychiatric home I am still yet to find. I knew daddy wouldn’t buy my story that the crazy woman just didn’t like me. Like any reasonable adult, he might wonder who would like a poorly performing, rude student whose foolish choices reflected badly on her class teacher. He wouldn’t blame her, he would fault me I knew. Victim mentality aside, I had had a poor term caused by my own silliness and inside my heart I knew this. At 14, I honestly felt like my whole life was falling apart.

That morning of the report card submission at home, my father quietly read my report…then looked up at me sadly and said what I wasn’t expecting. I thought he would rave at the number 47 shamelessly winking at me from the page in his hands. Instead he stood up from his seat, walked to me and pressed the report card close to my eyes.

“She called you average. She said you are an average student…” The inflection in his voice made it sound like a question. It made him sound confused, sound disbelieving. Surprised.
Wendy: *Looking quizzical* “Daddy, it’s because I AM an average student.”
Daddy: *Puzzled looks, asks quietly* “Why Aren’t You Angry?”
Those words made me very uncomfortable. He was looking at me so intently and with such a depth of sadness that I actually felt hollow.
Wendy: “Daddy, I am sorry.”

I just didn’t know what else to say. He knew I hadn’t understood the impact of what was happening still. Don’t judge me, I was a teenager, full of angst and the delusional self-assurance of puberty. My daddy was angry on my behalf, angry that I had somehow accepted a tag that didn’t accurately depict my capacity. And I didn’t understand the impact of my acceptance. My dad was actually pained that I didn’t understand that no one should name you, that no one can name you unless you accept the name you’ve been given. I didn’t get that at all. All I knew was that I had disappointed my father and worse, saddened him not by being average but by underperforming and basking in my underperformance. It slowly dawned on me that to accept being called average was far worse than to actually be average. And perhaps deeper down, I knew I wasn’t an average student, that I hadn’t done nearly enough, that I ought to hold myself to a higher standard.

I was punished. No summer holiday for me. And Anita, bless her heart, Anita who has always excelled in school (her Harvard degree was no real surprise when it came), was forced to remain in Nigeria with me while the other three kids frolicked about the London streets for the long summer holidays. Anita and I were put to work; Anita in dad’s office, me in mum’s. “Wake up early, go out and earn a living…since you clearly take life for granted, fooling about in school with our hard-earned money”, was clearly my parent’s mindset. My dad was mad at me all holiday, he probably forgave me soon after but I felt like he was mad at me. My guilt locked me up, I missed our usual long, lazy discussions early in the morning when we’d be the only two souls stirring in a quiet house, gossiping quietly in his study. That hurt probably more than any shouting would have. Before I returned to school, both parents separately spoke to me. My mum was a light; I don’t even remember her exact words but I do remember feeling so encouraged after we spoke. She wanted me to understand how much my performance in school work and in attitude had hurt her and my dad yet was quick to reassure me that in life, the real measure of champions is the ability to bounce back. My dad’s talk I remember was about perception; how good intentions and bad actions will lead to poor perception. I’m pleased to say that the next term when I returned to school, I came 9th out of 98 and I didn’t go on detention once!

The entire experience was a defining one, a real Damascene experience.

This morning I listened to my iPhone shuffle itself to the song, ‘Thy Will be Done’, the Deborah Cox version taken from the soundtrack of the movie Kingdom Come, and everything I’ve written above flooded back. While working I in my mum’s office that ‘punishing summer’ her sales manager was a beautiful lady called Faith. She had a tape (yes, a tape…I’m that old) with the soundtrack for Kingdom Come. From the first time I heard the first song play, I felt like someone had belched my feelings unto a page and added music to it; just raw and real. The album houses a collection of songs of regret, repentance and redemption. Looking back it is so comical that at 14 I really felt like my life was over! Lol. Oh the all-consuming indulgence of youth! The unifying traits in all those songs were redemption and renewal, second chances and new dances. I really felt like I had an experience, an encounter with God; I felt so hollow and little and I really needed Him to help me redeem myself. In that time, I felt He really understood me and more importantly, was rooting for me to win, like if I was ready, He was willing.

Earlier today Anita and I were talking about a mutual friend who has sort of drifted from the standard Christian faith and I told Anita, “It’s not very easy to be Christian and to STAY Christian especially if you haven’t experienced God in a real way and for yourself.”I like one thing Job says, “From six disasters He will rescue you; even in the seventh, He will keep you from evil.” (Job 5:11…or 11:5?) Whenever I come to a roadblock in life I think about the “6 times” He has saved me and then I’m confident, I think “I’ll be fine on the seventh!”

When I think of how many crevices God has somehow reached through and pulled me out of, I get it. I get Him.

And I’m not shifting from here. *Touches wood*.

‘Thy Will be Done’ –Deborah Cox

I can’t lie and say I
Always understand why
The rain falls on me
And I have to admit, I feel my faith is gone
It’s easy to believe when sorrow never comes your way
And when I try to pray, it seems the words they come out wrong

*Bridge*
So everything that matters to me
I give it all to you
Cuz I’m tired of the way the crying feels
And just to let you know I have been hurt so many times
So I pray to God that this time loves for real
Hmmm…

Chorus
So even though I can’t see what tomorrow may bring
I believe in you cuz you believe you believe in me
And even when the night makes the light hard to see
Thy kingdom come, thy will be done

I can’t lie and say I
Always smile but I try
The tears sometimes they come
And nothing people say can ease the pain
Oh but when I close my eyes I see you reaching out for me
You tell me that this test I’m in, it won’t last always

Chorus
So even though I can’t see what tomorrow may bring
I believe in you cuz you believe you believe in me
And even when the night makes the light hard to see
Thy kingdom come, thy will be done

And though the seasons may change
Still your love it remains
When this world soon shall pass
We’ll be together at lllaaaaaaaaaaaaasssstttttt…….

Chorus (w/ adlibs)
Even though I can’t see…..
(what tomorrow may bring……i believe)
I believe in you cuz…..
(oohh cuz you believe in me…yea ohh)
And even when the night makes….
(the light so hard to see ohhho)
Thy kingdom come (oohh yea), Thy will be done
(oh yea…thy kingdom come or thy will be done)