Uncommon Path Network

Dear Path Finder,

I pray that you find your purposeful path, walk audaciously in it, and inspire others to find theirs too.

Staying in the city full-time has to be one of my least favourite things to do. Ndikhumbula eKhaya kakhulu (I miss home deeply). From as early as twelve years old, I have never stayed at home full-time. I often wonder what it would have been like if I had a choice, if I could decide whether I wanted to go to boarding school or remain at home. But how does one truly choose between attending a good school and staying close enough not to miss everything that comes with being home?

During the period when my dad was extremely unwell, I wished I had stayed longer with him. I wished we had shared more in-person conversations about life. Yet, how practical would it have been to study at UJ while staying in Lusikisiki full-time? It was impossible, even as my heart longed otherwise.

When I started working, I asked myself different questions. Should I not have gone home more frequently then? But driving fourteen hours to Lusikisiki has never been ideal, and flying often means landing in a city that is still four hours away from home. Even when the desire is strong, the logistics remain heavy.

When my dad passed away in September last year, I made a vow to go home more often. I wanted to spend time with my mom, my siblings, and my seven nieces and nephews, two of whom I practically mother. It sounded perfect in theory.

But then reality set in.

I am now fully immersed in business, building a consulting practice from the ground up as a one-person operation. I am also an in-person master’s student in a different province, running Bethel House Foundation at full capacity, honouring speaking engagements across different towns and cities, and slowly finding my voice again through vocal and written content. At the same time, I look at my passport and remember the mandate for Africa. Somewhere in the middle of all this, I am also trying to maintain relationships, care for my body, keep up with daily walks, adjust my diet, and remain present.

At that point, I have to ask myself honestly, what am I not doing?

All of this sounds legitimate, and all of it requires undivided attention. Yet here is the truth I have had to confront, some things are pursued at the cost of others.

In this season, my relationships have paid the greatest cost. I have lost close friends. Some have chosen to ghost me altogether. An older version of myself would have sat on ten-hour calls, trying desperately to explain myself and salvage what was slipping away.

Someone once remarked, “You’ve changed. You no longer show up the same, and you act as though you’re too busy to show up at all.” And the truth is, they were right. I have changed. Anyone would change in a season like this, a season where there is no guaranteed salary at the end of the month, no predictable weekends of rest, and an undeniable urgency from God to become.

This season offers me none of the comforts I once knew.

My posture often feels like a battlefield. I move from “God has me,” to “What if clients do not come?” From “He is my ultimate provider,” to “What if I heard Him wrong?” From “He has called me to this,” to “Who do you think you are?” And then back again to, “I will trust in You.”

This tension brings me to the heart of this newsletter.

While I face legitimate challenges, I must still bear the cost of the losses that come with this season. I do not expect anyone to fully understand why I respond to messages weeks later, or sometimes not at all, because, more often than not, my phone is simply off. No one is obligated to understand that.

As someone who values relationships deeply, I feel that I have failed on many fronts. My apologies to friends feel like a broken telephone, spoken repeatedly, yet rarely received the way I hope. I do not expect everyone to understand, and I do not expect everyone to stay. At times, I, too, want to run away from who I am becoming. They deserve better.

This is not a call for pity. It is a liberating call for anyone who condemns themselves for struggling to manage a demanding season well. You are not alone. It will hurt, and there will be cost. Still, I believe it will be worth it.

I have never lived this life before, and therefore I do not have a blueprint for how to live it perfectly. Neither do you. To those who are also recipients of such seasons, nothing could have fully prepared us for what we are carrying. Sometimes we do not know how to ask for help, simply because we do not know what kind of help we need. We wish we could communicate better and show up more fully, even when we cannot.

Perhaps our portion in these seasons is to be poured into, even when we cannot pour back.

Shalom,
Oyena

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