Matthew 20:1-16 - the parable of the vineyard workers

A burning question on what side of the fence we belong to.


We all have received grace, some apparently more than others but nonetheless grace (unmerited favor) received at the direst of moments cannot be quantified as big or small. Case in point : if I was on the verge of jumping off the cliff to my death, and I get some form of intervention that gets me off that cliff before I clicked "THE END" of my story a second before the designated END, can I actually say I received any less grace than a cultist who has so much blood on his hands and whose success is based on blood money but who stumbled upon Christ in the most unlikely of circumstances - reading bed time stories to his grand daughter? In context, the obvious answer is NO!

But we don't always put things in context do we?

All the comparisons.
The dissatisfaction that is borne from these comparisons.
The jealousy and envy that is inevitable as a result.
The strife to be better, to do better because we are in competition with someone else (that doesn't matter) other than self.


Back to the matter at hand: the parable...

I understand both the anger of the workers that worked a full day for a full day's wage against the owner of the vineyard and the seeming unfairness of getting paid a full day's wage for working for only 1 hour! (Lazy me thinks, I'd like to be in that group!). A few things though help me to agree completely with the owner of the vineyard:

• There was a deal - you work, I pay you what you need to survive for the day (Give us this day our daily bread. A denarius was a day's wage - any less and the latecomers might not have been able to feed their families)

• It is the owner's prerogative to give what he wants and to whom he chooses - the owner went out searching and found all the workers. Easily, if he had taken a different route, the latecomers might have been found first.

• Having said the above, if I was among the first people to be called and a loved one was among the latecomers, would I still grumble if I knew his/her life depended on receiving the said wage?

• It would seem the fair thing for the owner of the vineyard to have done was pay according to how long people worked but is it God's business to give us more than we need or to give us all that we need? The discontentment on the part of the first workers stems from greed. They had what they bargained for when they were called upon to work - and at the time of 'employment' they thought it was a fair deal. So what changed?

• The vineyard owner is a business man - in the business of getting his vineyard to be productive. None of the workers empathized with his point of view namely that the earlier he got his vineyard into production, the earlier he gets to make money. If for instance it takes 1 man 10 days to work on the vineyard, if I was the owner I'd look for 9 more men to make the work completion date 1 day! One worker is as good as another in my business of owning a vineyard.

The above is a reminder to self:

• Compete only with yourself as this is the only meaningful competition - in the sense that you try to be better than the who you are today. Everyone receives the grace they need and from the outside, no matter how 'lucky' they seem, (if it helps) think that they have received the grace they need to make it through the day/life.

• The sense of entitlement we feel - whether as Christians or as whatever (insert title) is misplaced! Period. We are blessed because of His grace and should strive to be blessings.

• Grudgingly doing anything kinda nullifies it. Work is hard, life can be hard but it pays to go through life with a smile and a sense of privilege for even being here. 

• Anxiety for tomorrow can be veiled selfishness. Maybe the first workers were thinking "if there is only a few of us then we know we have a source of income for a while". At the detriment of 9 other workers having food on the table today? 

As always, many things are easier said than done - that doesn't mean we should stop saying even as we strive to keep doing. I'd like to hear from you what your thoughts are on this subject.

Too much care

Is there such a thing as caring too much?

I guess if the question isn't rhetorical, the answer is an obvious Yes! also because the opposite is true.

Little things that matter

I felt very pleased with the feedback received after I gave a presentation to undergraduate students of my alma mater. True, it would seem the presentation was a kind of alter ego campaign. That is not what I set out for it to be, but I guess I put in all the feel-good, positive side of my 'side of the story' into the presentation such that for someone who had no idea of the 'whole story' I may come off the hero. So, little wonder that I received pleasant feedback?

To think I almost passed up on the opportunity because I imagined I was running late!

I actually enjoyed giving the presentation and I felt 'good' after doing it and every other time I thought about it. Maybe,  just maybe I'd do it more often.

More importantly, I hope it had a positive impact on someone.

Things I learned from my Dad: Financial Responsibility

It is common knowledge that children learn, more from what they see people do than from what they are told to do. Having said that, my financial responsibility instruction did not come to me verbally, at least not as a formal verbal instruction.

I took for granted the modus operandi: As far back as when I was in primary school, my dad usually had a list of sorts detailing his expected expenses and income. It wasn't uncommon to run into these lists, say while sweeping the parlor. I guess this could especially be necessary for planning purposes for steady low-to-medium income earners. Having said that, I know many an income earner that fall within this category that don't plan for their expected income and as such make little or no deliberate provision for savings.

It was easily a topic for after meals discussion between mom and dad where we were welcome to listen and contribute on occasion. I can't help but wonder if my dad would have been so open about his finances if he was rolling in money. Don't get me wrong, both my parents were civil servants for the better part of their working lives and at the time they constituted part of Nigeria's middle classers. So as far as things went, they were doing well for themselves at the time - looking back I'd say they did well period.

My siblings and I were all sent away to boarding house for secondary school education - all of us got a taste of living off pocket money and provisions before we clocked thirteen. Going hand in hand with taking provisions to school was making lists - items needed and in what quantity. Of course some items always got dropped depending on the available income at the time but it never stopped anyone  of us from pushing their luck.

I vaguely remember having a piggy bank which we broke far too early. It's contents were usually monetary gifts from visitors and it was better to have it in the piggy bank than with mom (who could spend it without a second thought with the intention of 'replacing' it). We were expected to save from our pocket money, which was hardly ever enough in our opinions,  and to that end, my mom opened an account for each of us when I was a young teenager. I remember how excited I was when I received my booklet - how I made plans to save up money just because I had a savings account.

So growing up, I got into the habit of making lists and trying to ensure my pocket money/provisions lasted through the term. It's easy to see how I took that with me into University. I place 'saving' high on my list of things to keep doing and these days I try to make my savings work for me. All else I can hope for is that I can teach same to the young ones around me and my kids.

Things I learned from my Dad: Language is interesting

I didn't realize how fascinating language could be until I listened to my dad explain the meaning of words - things I had taken for granted as is. I didn't even realize how much I looked forward to learn new words and their meanings...until I did.

My first real English teacher was my dad - and my mom by association. At home, for reasons best known to my parents, we spoke English. My dad is very good with words - and not just using them in context, but explaining in some depth (that still awes me till today) their meanings. I took my classes for granted as they were not scheduled and usually informal, even sometimes inconvenient timings. But I remember having a feeling of relish for each new word I learned - from him or other media. I remember as a young teenager, keeping a journal of words and their meanings - my personal dictionary; subscribing to a mailing list (A Word A Day); reading books and stopping smack in the middle of a sentence, reaching for a dictionary to either confirm my suspicion or stand corrected on the meaning of the word. I didn't see it as a big deal, just a little girl trying her hands out on something that she felt compatible with.

Predictably, my best subject in school was language and I even chose french language over music during the final exams. My best teachers were my English teachers and I dare say both of them were similar in more ways than the subject they chose to teach - they were prim, proper and commanding respect from one and all. I liked English a lot as I understood the principles it worked on. Compared to mathematics, these principles seemed pretty straightforward and the most similarity I could was make out between both subjects was when I had to solve 'from first principles' (o how I loved to QED!).

I grew up in Lagos and around Yorubas. Like many Lagos-born-other-tribe-children, i learned Yoruba. First the basics and then a little more. I was particularly interested in knowing the meaning of words, as this meant my chances of correctly decoding a new word was higher but more importantly because I felt more intimate with the language and its people. My language was a different matter in a slightly different way: I took it for granted mostly that I would always understand as I was 'nwa afo' but to my shame, my dad never stops pulling out new and intimidating words from his vocabulary.

Maybe my interest in learning about words (which translated to my love on a play of words) lent me the guts to write (and hence my blogging, a weak attempt at writing a novel at 12, keeping countless diaries/journals), sometimes I think it is an illusion but yet still my love for these words and learning, have anything but diminished. So imagine why I will brag about things I learned from my dad when he still has more to teach me about language - english, igbo...- even now! He is a good teacher, and the one with the longest tenure in my life.

Hate in your heart

I have listened/read/observed many 'sermons' about hatred and anger.

The one that stands out the most in my memory is the one by TD Jakes "Let it go!"

Why the focus on hate?


The one thing I can count on for reassurance in this world filled with unending chaos and man's wickedness to man, is love - God's love - the fact that it is unconditional and all encompassing.

Furthermore, my ability to love someone (and be loved) and knowing how it feels to think about the person being happy, the good memories we made, the joy they bring and an anticipation of future memories we will create....


Coming from this background and knowing that the opposite of love is hate, is there a grey area that we can all safely agree on? Like/dislike is the word I am looking for here!

Back to the black and white.... if love generates such warmth, it is needless to say what hate does. As an averagely careful person (yeah, I am always personalizing my posts), I rarely use the word hate. Off the top of my head I can't even think of someone I will use the word 'intense dislike' to describe. There are many synonyms to hate, as there is to about anything which carries with it such finality:

• abhorrence
• detest
• disdain
• disgust
• odium
• aversion

and the list goes on and on and on...

I have used many of these words a lot more than i have used the word hate - more times than I care to admit. I notice that hate, impatience and anger form a tripod of sorts: each feeding the other and feeding off each other.

This feeling of hate (in any  of its variants) causes restlessness and ultimately ill health if harbored for long.

So how do you know you have hate in your heart? When the thought of seeing someone unnerves you in a bad way and the thoughts running around in your mind are harmful to them, when the news of someone's success fills you with the opposite of gladness, when you are rehearsing your reaction to someone in anticipation of meeting with them just so you don't overreact in a bad way (possibly because of past meetings), when you take another street or side street to avoid someone or fake a phone call just so you don't say hi. All these are pointers to the fact that you are uncomfortable with someone and would rather not have to deal with them - which is a human thing. But the extent and frequency with which we perform these and many more similar actions and to particular people, is a pointer to the increasing dislike which always tends to hatred. More importantly, the thoughts that run in our subconscious towards such people is more the distinguishing factor between mere anxiety and progressive hatred.

I did not intend to preach, just share. I wish I could say I am hate-free. Far from it. I am struggling but I realize the problem is half-solved: I have identified the problem and working on it. I think the best way to deal with hate is to nip it in the bud and determinedly not feed it. If you are at the early stages where you are not even sure what is going on, you should put it on a figurative shelf where it is not easily forgotten - to deal with when you are in a better place - and watch it until you are sure it was just a one off so it doesn't turn to a case of drinking poison and expecting that someone would die from it.

Selah

Father's day again

He may not be the best dad in the world
But he is the only one I know
And I think I got the best deal possible

He inspires by words and examples
He is generous soul, always sharing - always giving
He is prudent and unassuming
He is witty and wise

He loves the Lord and puts his money (time) where his mouth (heart) is
He is a protector, a provider and a nuturer
He challenges me to be better than I am
He encourages me in my endeavors
He shields me from the evils of this world as much as anyone can
He teaches me

Yet he lets me speak my mind and he listens without being dismissive
Still I am his little girl - the princess who should never forget that
He is my number 1 mentor
The one who I compare all the other men to
The one who I am proud to be called his daughter!

I pray...
For strength to your limbs
For continual wisdom
For renewal of your faith
For a long and happy life ahead
For smiles both in your heart and on your face
That you feel fulfilled in all your giving and receiving

Bless you dearest Daddy

From 2013 still

So I have missed out many opportunities to share.

About the airport in Walvis Bay versus the kota kinabalu airport; the review of ‘there was once a country’ and following through with the irony of colonization and immigration; about chimmamanda and her hairtitude and the disappointment on watching her interview on BBC; a review of americanah and how its story is that of many of us; on my extreme sensitivity on how people behave towards me, avoid me, ignore me, bully me and maybe the real whys behind it-maybe related to my hair ( I sang that song for a long time ‘I am not my hair’ so I know). Maybe an expose on what I really want to do – what my inner pilot says I shd do – d mistake I am going to make! Also on the opportunities I have misused.

On Americanah!

A very funny book. I found myself laughing carelessly or I should say unashamedly in public while reading this book. I remember 2 incidents: on the train and on the plane seating beside a snobbish portugese couple. Infact, the whole plane was an invasion of snubs. So maybe I laughed a lil too hard because the book I was enjoying was telling a funny story about them from OUR perspective. You know, I am kinda uneasy at CNA’s audacity only for me to realize that it is exactly the same audacity the Westerners have always had – a presumptuous superiority that enables them tell our story from their perspective. Again, like Prof Chinua insisted, there is nothing like the end of the story, you tell your own and let me tell my own. Hopefully in all of the tellings the whole picture will emerge or stand a lil bit closer to truth.  I think CNA has done something very profound by Americanah. Let’s let it out in the open – we can: speak English, have opinions and express ourselves. We have feelings and as recipients of condescension (some of it with good reason e.g. mediocrity of Nigerians) we can reciprocate or at least respond with same feelingness.

I am so excited today that I finally made good on my desire to go to the gym. This is probably the first time I am going to the gym this year - and to think it is almost half year.

First about today:

I will say today is one of the more productive days I have had in a long time (as far as I can remember). Productive, I said. Not pleasant or happy or fulfilling - just a feel-good-rewarding day. It started off as a day that would see me overwhelmed at work and that means it started off on a not-too-good note. Somehow, I determined that I would work to eliminate the workload and with it the attending stress/possibility of stress.

So I set about the many tasks of the day. I must confess I was miffed at the slow pace which I believe was self-inflicted, unjustifiable and a mockery to my diligence. I guess you can say I was justifiably upset. But achieving a set goal in the midst of setbacks is for sure a morale booster. See as I just de tick off on my to-do list.... At the end of the day I had to be careful not to do too much - I heard the mockery in the 'voice' of my appraisal "You have to work smart and not work hard".Anyways, at the end of the day I was raring to go and especially as I had set my mind to also go to the gym!

This brings me to the second thing. The Gym:

I only ever see the insides of a gym while I am at work. It is an acquired taste. One that I cannot seem to replicate when I get home, try as much as I want - and I have not really tried. The acquisition of the taste was borne out of two things: as a method of survival and as a 'forming activity something'. The survival bit, because the need to take fresh air and clear the head while at work becomes mandatory for continued sanity and marginally acceptable mannerisms. There are several activities that one can take part in to make time pass quicker. For a girl surrounded by hard-core men, I came to realize that I am NOT a tomboy. Football and video games don't interest me. And nope, I don't like playing foosball either-at least not with the seriousness I've seen it played. I don't mind watching sha.

Quote of the day: a bad workman...

They say a bad work man quarrels with his tools

and it seems that is what I am all about here but maybe I really have the wrongest part of this job. 

Maybe I should throw the towel in and go home to my babies. Huh?

It’s not me joor! Or maybe I should say it is not just me.