I left the love of my life because I thought I could do better. Now I’m childless and alone at 42 By KAREN CROSS

I saw this story on dailymail and thought it was a good read with a timeless lesson for all women out there, both the married and the unmarried. It is the story of a woman who left a secured relationship because she thought she needed more than what she was getting.
Pls read and enjoy.

Laughing and dancing with my fiance at our engagement party, I thought I might actually burst with happiness.

Surrounded by our family and friends, I looked at Matthew and felt certain I had met the man I was going to spend the rest of my life with.

Quite simply, he was my soulmate.

We were desperately in love and had our future life together mapped out.

First we  would save to buy our own home, then would come a romantic wedding ceremony and children would follow.

 So why, 20 years later, do I find myself  single, childless and tormented by the fact that I have thrown away the only true chance of happiness I ever had?

Eight years after that wonderful engagement party in 1989, I walked away from dear, devoted, loyal Matthew, convinced that somewhere out there, a better, more exciting, more fulfilling life awaited me.
Only there wasn’t.

Now I am 42 and have all the trappings of success – a high-flying career, financial security and a home in the heart of London’s trendy Notting Hill. But I don’t have the one thing I crave more than anything: a loving husband and family.

‘My father warned me not to throw this love away. But I was sure I’d find Mr Perfect around the corner’
You see, I never did find another man who offered everything Matthew did, who understood me and loved me like he did. Someone who was my best friend as well as my lover.

Today, seeing friends with their children around them tortures me, as I know I am unlikely ever to have a family of my own. I think about the times Matthew and I talked about having children, even discussing the names we would choose. I cannot believe I turned my back on so much happiness.
Instead, here I am back on the singles market, looking for the very thing I discarded with barely a backward glance all those years ago.

I know I can’t have Matthew back, and it hurts when I hear snippets of information about his life and how content he is. Fifteen years after I ended our relationship, he is happily married.

At this time of year, so many people will be assessing their lives and relationships, wondering if the grass is greener on the other side. Many will mistake contentment for boredom, forgetting to cherish the good things they have. I would urge those who are considering walking away from such riches to think again.

How different things would be for me now if only I’d listened to Matthew when he pleaded with me not to leave him in 1997, tears pouring down his face. I was crying too, and it tortured me to watch the heart of the man I loved breaking in front of me. But I was resolute.

‘One day I might look back and realise  I’ve made the biggest mistake of my life,’ I told him as we clung to each other desperately. How prophetic those words have proven to be.

‘I will always be here for you,’ Matthew promised. And I, arrogantly, thought that somehow I could put him on ice and return to him.

Matthew and I met when we attended the same comprehensive school in Essex. We started dating just before Christmas 1987 when I was 17 and studying for my A-levels. By that time he had left school and was working as a motorcycle courier.

We got on like a house on fire, and our  families each supported the relationship. Before long, we had fallen in love. Matthew was romantic but incredibly practical, something that would later come to annoy me. His gifts to me that Christmas were a leather jacket – and a pair of thermal leggings.

Two weeks later, when we’d been seeing each other for less than a month, he proposed. We were in my little Mini Clubman when he shouted at me to stop the car. Scared something was wrong, I braked in the middle of traffic and we both jumped out.

Then, oblivious to the other drivers beeping their horns, he got down on one knee in the middle of the road. ‘I love you, Karen Cross,’ he said. ‘Promise you’ll marry me one day.’ I laughed and said yes, thrilled that he felt the same way that I did.

In the summer of 1989, while out for a romantic meal, Matthew proposed properly with a diamond solitaire ring. Two months later, we held our engagement party for 40 friends and family at the little house we were renting at the time.

The following year, we bought a tiny starter home in Grays, Essex, which we moved into with furniture we had begged, borrowed and stolen. We giggled with delight at the thought of this grown-up new life.
I was in my first junior role at a women’s magazine and Matthew worked fitting tyres and exhausts, so our combined salaries of around £15,000 a year meant we struggled to make the mortgage payments. But we didn’t care, telling ourselves that it wouldn’t be long before we were earning more and able to afford weekly treats and a bigger home where we could bring up the babies we had planned.

But then, the housing market crashed and we were plunged into negative equity.

Struggling should have brought us closer together, and at first it did. But as time went on, and my magazine career – and salary – advanced, I started to resent Matthew as he drifted from one dead-end job to another.

I still loved him, but I began to feel embarrassed by his blue-collar jobs, annoyed that, despite his intelligence, he didn’t have a career. Then he bought a lurid blue and pink VW  Beetle.

Why couldn’t he drive a normal car? Things that now seem incredibly insignificant began to niggle.

I began to wish he was more sophisticated and earned more. I felt envious of friends with better-off partners, who were able to support them as they started their families.

I stopped seeing Matthew as my equal. I stopped seeing all the qualities that had made me fall in love with him – his fierce intelligence, our shared sense of humour, his determination not to follow the crowd. Instead, I saw someone who was holding me back.

‘I hated the fact Matthew was suddenly putting another woman before me. How dare she come between us! Over the next few weeks, I’m ashamed to say I vented my spleen at both of them in a series of heated phone calls’
I encouraged him to find a career and was thrilled when he was accepted to join the police in 1995. It should have heralded a new chapter in our lives, but it only hastened the end. We went from spending every evening and weekend together, to hardly seeing one another. Matthew was doing round-the-clock shifts, while I worked long hours on the launch of a new magazine.

Our sex life had dwindled and nights out together were rare. I stopped appreciating little things he did, like leaving romantic notes on the pillow or scouring secondhand bookshops for novels he knew I’d love. He was my best friend, yet I took him totally for granted.

After festering for weeks about his shortcomings, I told Matthew I was leaving. We spent hours talking and crying as he tried to convince me to stay, but I was adamant.

My parents were horrified that I was walking away from a man they felt was right for me. My father’s words to me that day continue to haunt me. ‘Karen, think carefully about what you’re doing. There’s a lot to be said for someone who truly loves you.’

‘It’s been 11 years since Matthew and I last spoke, I have to accept that door has closed’ (posed by model)

But, I refused to listen, convinced there would be another, better Mr Right waiting around the corner.

I moved into a rented flat a few miles away in Hornchurch, Essex, and embraced single life with a vengeance. By now I was an editor on a national magazine. Life was one long round of premieres and dinner or drinks parties.

Matthew and I remained close, even telling each other about new relationships. But though I’d dumped him, I never felt the women he met were good enough. I can see now I was acting out of jealousy. I clearly wanted to keep him for myself.

Our closeness was, however, called to a halt in 2000 when he met his first serious girlfriend after me, Sara.

One night shortly after his 34th birthday, I phoned to ask his advice about something.

Matthew was unusually abrupt and asked me not to call him again. ‘Please don’t send me birthday or Christmas cards any more either. Sara opened your card last week and was really upset. I have to put her feelings first.’

I hated the fact Matthew was suddenly putting another woman before me. How dare she come between us! Over the next few weeks, I’m ashamed to say I vented my spleen at both of them in a series of heated phone calls.

I was completely irrational. I didn’t want Matthew back, but felt upstaged by Sara. 

Unsurprisingly, after one particularly nasty argument, Matthew put the phone down and refused to take any more of my calls. I didn’t realise it at the time, but I would never speak to him again.

Shortly afterwards, I met Richard. It was a whirlwind romance, and within a year we were engaged and buying an idyllic farmhouse in the Norfolk countryside while I continued my journalistic career, commuting to London.

He was a successful singer and, as we toured the country, I thought I had finally found the excitement and love that I craved.

But Matthew was never far from my thoughts, and Richard complained that I often brought him into conversations, even comparing them both.

They were so different. Although outwardly romantic, Richard was repeatedly unfaithful, and I never felt secure enough to start a family with him. Eventually, after three-and-a-half years together, he walked out, having admitted his latest paramour was pregnant by him.

My life fell apart. Over the next year, I struggled to pull myself back together and did a lot of soul-searching. I finally understood what my father had meant. I realised Matthew was the only person who had loved and understood me.

When I heard through a mutual friend that he had split up with Sara, I wrote to him, apologising and asking for forgiveness – and a second chance. It was six years since we had last spoken, but naively I thought he would want to hear from me.

What I didn’t know was that Sara was still living at the house and it was she who opened my very personal letter. It included my phone number, and she left me several angry, hurtful. voicemails.

Yet again, I had inadvertently caused problems in Matthew’s life, so it was unsurprising I never heard from him, despite writing several times over the next few months. In the end, I left it at birthday and Christmas cards, thinking he’d find a way to get in touch if he ever changed his mind.

Then, I heard a couple of years ago Matthew had married his new partner, Nicola. For a few moments I couldn’t breathe, then the tears came.

Matthew and Nicola still live in Essex and, as far as I know, don’t yet have children. That’s the next milestone I truly dread.

It’s been 11 years since Matthew and I last spoke, and I have to accept that door has closed.

Perhaps he has found what  he is looking for and I am a distant memory.

I have had one other  significant relationship since Richard – with Rob – but that recently ended after four years. Rob reminded me a lot of Matthew. He was decent and honourable, the life and soul of the party but with a kind and sensitive side.

But we were each too jaded by previous heartbreak to make it work. And while I wanted children, he had a grown-up son and didn’t want to start over again.
So once again I am on my own, my mind full of ‘if-onlys’. If only I’d stayed with Matthew, we’d almost certainly be married with children.

Or, maybe Matthew wasn’t the right man. I will never know  the answer, but my decision to leave him has definitely cost me the chance of ever becoming a mother.

Now I can only look back and admonish my selfish, younger self. When I visit friends and family back in our home town, I can’t help but hope I’ll bump into  Matthew.

I’d like to think I’d say sorry. That I will always be there for him. But I wouldn’t be surprised if he turned his back on me and kept walking.

To those out there thinking of walking away from humdrum relationships, I would say don’t mistake contentment for unhappiness, as I did. It could be a choice you’ll regret for the rest of your life.

Karen stopped appreciating little things he did, like leaving romantic notes on the pillow

Karen stopped appreciating little things he did, like leaving romantic notes on the pillow

Africa: where black is not really beautiful

South Africa is marketed to the world as Mandela’s rainbow nation, where everyone is proud of their race and heritage. But for some black South Africans there is such a thing as being too black.

A recent study by the University of Cape Town suggests that one woman in three in South Africa bleaches her skin. The reasons for this are as varied as the cultures in this country but most people say they use skin-lighteners because they want “white skin”.

Local musician Nomasonto “Mshoza” Mnisi, now several shades lighter, says her new skin makes her feel more beautiful and confident.

She has been widely criticised in the local media and social networking sites for her appearance but the 30-year-old says skin-bleaching is a personal choice, no different from breast implants or a having nose job.

“I’ve been black and dark-skinned for many years, I wanted to see the other side. I wanted to see what it would be like to be white and I’m happy,” she says candidly.

Over the past couple of years Ms Mnisi has had several treatments. Each session can cost around 5,000 rand (£360; $590), she tells the BBC.

Unlike many in the country, she uses high-end products which are believed to be safer than the creams sold on the black market but they are by no means risk-free, doctors say.

Costly beauty

Ms Mnisi says she does not understand the criticism about her new appearance.

“Yes, part of it is a self-esteem issue and I have addressed that and I am happy now. I’m not white inside, I’m not really fluent in English, I have black kids. I’m a township girl, I’ve just changed the way I look on the outside,” she says.

The dangers associated with the use of some of these creams include blood cancers such as leukaemia and cancers of the liver and kidneys, as well as a severe skin condition called ochronosis, a form of hyper-pigmentation which causes the skin to turn a dark purple shade, according to senior researcher at the University of Cape Town, Dr Lester Davids.

“Very few people in South Africa and Africa know the concentration of the toxic compounds that are contained in the products on the black market and that is concerning. We need to do more to educate people about these dangerous products,” says Dr Davids.

He says over the past six years there has been a significant increase in the number of skin lighteners flooding local markets, some of them legal and some illegal. This is what prompted their research.

Local dermatologists say they are seeing more and more patients whose skin has been damaged by years of bleaching – most of the time irreversibly.

“I’m getting patients from all over Africa needing help with treating their ochronosis. There is very little we can do to reverse the damage and yet people are still in denial about the side-effects of these products,” says Dr Noora Moti-Joosub.

In many parts of Africa and Asia, lighter-skinned woman are considered more beautiful, are believed to be more successful and more likely to find marriage.

The origin of this belief in Africa is not clear, but researchers have linked it to Africa’s colonial history where white skin was the epitome of beauty.

Some have also suggested that people from “brown nations” around the world tended to look down upon dark-skinned people.

‘I don’t like black skin’

The World Health Organization has reported that Nigerians are the highest users of such products: 77% of Nigerian women use the products on a regular basis. They are followed by Togo with 59%; South Africa with 35%; and Mali at 25%.
Studies have found that men are also beginning to bleach their skin
South Africa banned products containing more than 2% of hydroquinone – the most common active ingredient in in the 1980s. But it is easy to see creams and lotions containing the chemical on the stalls here. Some creams contain harmful steroids and others mercury.

While skin-lightening creams have been used by some South Africans for many years, they have become more common recently with the influx of people from countries such as Nigeria and Democratic Republic of Congo, where they are even more widespread.

In a bustling African market in the centre of Yeoville in Johannesburg, it is skin lighteners galore.

Walking through this community is like walking through a mini-Africa: you can find someone from any part of the continent here.

I notice that many of the women have uncharacteristically light skin faces while the rest of their bodies are darker.

Some even have scabby burns on their cheeks from the harmful chemicals used to strip the skin of pigmentation.

They don’t want to speak openly about why they bleach their skin, or even have their pictures taken.

Psychologists say there are also underlying reasons why people bleach their skin – but low self-esteem and, to some degree self-hate, are a common thread.

But skin-lightening is not just a fascination and obsession of women. Congolese hair stylist Jackson Marcelle says he has been using special injections to bleach his skin for the past 10 years. Each injection lasts for six months.

“I pray every day and I ask God, ‘God why did you make me black?’ I don’t like being black. I don’t like black skin,” he tells me.

Skin lightening creams are popular in many parts of Africa
Mr Marcelle – known in this busy community as Africa’s Michael Jackson – says his mother used to apply creams on him when he was young in order to make him appear “less black”.

“I like white people. Black people are seen as dangerous; that’s why I don’t like being black. People treat me better now because I look like I’m white,” he adds.

Entrenched in the minds of many Africans from a young age is the adage “if it’s white, it’s all right”, a belief that has chipped away at the self-esteem of millions.

Until this changes, no amount of official bans or public information campaigns will stop people risking serious damage to their health in the pursuit of what they think is beauty.

Culled from BBC News

The important things in life

A philosophy professor stood before his class with some items on the table in front of him. When the class began, wordlessly he picked up a very large and empty mayonnaise jar and proceeded to fill it with rocks, about 2 inches in diameter.

He then asked the students if the jar was full. They agreed that it was.

So the professor then picked up a box of pebbles and poured them into the jar. He shook the jar lightly. The pebbles, of course, rolled into the open areas between the rocks.

He then asked the students again if the jar was full. They agreed it was.

The professor picked up a box of sand and poured it into the jar. Of course, the sand filled up everything else.
He then asked once more if the jar was full. The students responded with a unanimous “Yes.”

“Now,” said the professor, “I want you to recognize that this jar represents your life. The rocks are the important things – your family, your partner, your health, your children – things that if everything else was lost and only they remained, your life would still be full.

The pebbles are the other things that matter – like your job, your house, your car.

The sand is everything else. The small stuff.”

“If you put the sand into the jar first,” he continued “there is no room for the pebbles or the rocks. The same goes for your life.

If you spend all your time and energy on the small stuff, you will never have room for the things that are important to you. Pay attention to the things that are critical to your happiness. Play with your children. Take your partner out dancing. There will always be time to go to work, clean the house, give a dinner party and fix the disposal.

Take care of the rocks first – the things that really matter. Set your priorities. The rest is just sand.”

Standing in line by John Igbinovia

At some point, we all will find ourselves in that place. Time, as we know it, will not really be what concerns us as we wait for our turn. All men will come to that place.

Your number might 38,925 or it might just be 23….but no matter how long it takes, it will be your turn. It will not matter who “pastored” you, or even who fathered you. It will just be about you.

Then your number – or your name will be called….or you will simply know it is your turn, like the myriad of souls around you. The crowd will part to let you go through – or maybe you will step out from the line and make your way to the front. However the case may be, you will eventually come to that place…all men will come to that place.

The judge will look down at you; no man will ever be as great or tall or all encompassing as He is. He will look into your face and you will gaze into GLORY – and at that point, you will know that the Judge knows it all. The things you have never said to anyone, the reasons behind the reasons you give for the actions you take, the evil behind the good that has been done or the good in what was termed to be evil…. He who has seen and knows it all will look into your total nakedness as you stand before him….and you will know that He knows it all.

Maybe HE will ask “why”, though you both will already know why. Maybe HE will listen to you stutter through your explanations. Perhaps, you will try to rationalise why someone else was the reason why certain actions were taken, why you allowed certain failings, maybe attempt to explain, based on “emperical proof” and “firm facts”, why hormones or the dictates of societal “norms” were the reasons for your embrace of evil. Perhaps, infidelity was “unavoidable”, pulling down another to climb was mere “competition”, not following purpose was de-emphasised by “more pressing” needs, and yet, whatever means of communication may be employed on that day as you attempt to explain, you will know that He knows it all.

You will also know that the decision made about you on that “day” will be final with no grey areas – and will be totally irreversible – and  ALL men will come that place.

And when it’s all being said and done, when your life is the movie to be watched by saints, angels and the I AM, may the outcome not be “Depart from me”, because, when it’s all being said and done, ONLY the outcome of that moment will determine if your WHOLE life was meaningful…after all.

Christmeditations.blogspot.com

What do you really want?

Have you ever noticed an internal conflict in your own thought process about what you want out of life? Sometimes, these can be pretty simple conflicts: some part of you wants ice cream and another part wants to lose weight.
When you ask people what they want, you get varying answers.
For the most part, people tend to list all kinds of things they want. Cars, houses, money, and toys of all sorts frequently come to mind for most individuals. All pretty understandable, really.
If you dig into the what-do-you-want question with a bit more resolve, you might find yourself coming up with some large buckets of life in which you would like to experience greater satisfaction or fulfillment. Typical categories include health, wealth, career, family, relationship, personal or spiritual growth, fun, adventure and the like. As you think about what you want in your life, consider these three questions:
Why do you want those things?
What do you hope will be true if you have the [job, money, house, relationship, etc.]?
What experience are you looking for if you only had the right [car, house, money, etc.]
Most people say they want more money. When asked why they want more money, or what more money would do for them, they usually say something about buying things — the house, car, travel, etc. If that’s true for you, my suggestion is that you think a bit more deeply on what you hope to experience, not just on what you hope to buy: “What positive experience or experiences would you associate with having more money?”
From here, the answers might become more interesting. If you had more money, what would you imagine experiencing? Greater freedom? Security? Peace of mind? Sense of power or success?
If you are after the experience of being secure, free and at peace, is there any amount of money (or house, or car, or perfect relationship) that will produce those experiences? Think on that one for a moment: do you know anyone of little money who seems content? Do you know anyone with tons of cash who never seems at peace, secure or happy? Of course, there are people with money and peace, just as there are people who lack both money and contentment.
The point is that there is no equation here. No amount of money produces security, or peace or fulfillment.
How do you produce what you truly want? The obvious starting point is to clarify what it is that you want in the first place. As has been written many times over, there’s an old cliché that applies every time: if you don’t know where you are going, any road will do.
So, play with this a little. If what you want is freedom, peace of mind, security, a sense of fullness or completion, and you have freedom, peace of mind, security, and a sense of fullness or completion in your life, would it matter how much money you have?
Wait a minute. Is this a trick question?
Well, yes and no. What I have found is that the more I focus on the positive experiences I want out of life, not only do I tend to produce those more frequently, but also the easier it is to produce more of the material “things” in life as well. Strangely, focusing on money hasn’t made anyone more secure or free, yet focusing on producing freedom and security has made it easier to create material success to go along with those inner qualities of success.
So, now what happens when you come to one of those forks in the road?
If your focus on what you want is more on physical possessions, then at least you have some guidance about how to choose: which fork is more likely to lead to the job, house, car, or money? However, if what you truly want is found more in the quality of experience than the quantity of possessions, then you need to make certain that you are thinking about the experiences you seek and not just the possessions you could accumulate.
Have you ever really, really wanted something, focused hard on getting it, wound up getting it and then wondered why you ever wanted it in the first place? If so, my suggestion would be to consider what matters most to you. After all, can you ever get enough of what you don’t really want?
So here we are at the fork again. How should I choose? How about choosing toward the experiences you seek? Which fork is more likely to lead to freedom, security, fun or whatever experiences you truly are seeking?
The choice is yours to make.

‘Things Fall Apart’ author Chinua Achebe dies

(CNN) – Nigerian author Chinua Achebe, acclaimed in part for his groundbreaking 1958 novel “Things Fall Apart,” has died, his British publisher, Penguin Books, said Friday.

He was 82.

An author of more than 20 books, his honors included the 2007 Man Booker International Prize for Fiction.

He was also accorded his country’s highest award for intellectual achievement, the Nigerian National Merit Award.

Achebe is a major part of African literature, and is popular all over the continent for his novels, especially “Anthills of the Savannah,” which was itself shortlisted for the Booker Prize in 1987, and “Things Fall Apart.”

The latter was required reading in countless high schools and colleges in the continent, and has been translated into dozens of languages.

Set in precolonial Nigeria, “Things Fall Apart” portrays the story of a farmer, Okonkwo, who struggles to preserve his customs despite pressure from British colonizers. The story resonated in post-independent Africa, and the character became a household name in the continent.

Achebe’s stories included proverbs and tackled complex issues of African identity, nationalism and decolonization, adding to his books’ popularity.

He once wrote an essay criticizing Joseph Conrad, author of “Heart of Darkness,” as a racist for his depiction of Africans as savages. Conrad’s popularity took a hit after the accusation — a testament to Achebe’s credibility.

He also criticized corruption and poor governance in Africa, and had been known to reject accolades by the Nigerian government to protest political problems.

Penguin Books’ Twitter feed said: “Chinua Achebe: a brilliant writer, and a giant of African literature. Nelson Mandela said he ‘brought Africa to the rest of the world’. RIP.”

Nigerian President Goodluck Jonathan issued a statement paying tribute to Achebe as “Nigeria’s globally acclaimed writer, scholar, tutor, cultural icon, nationalist and artist of the very first rank.”

While Achebe will be greatly missed, Jonathan said, he will live on in the minds of present and future generations through his great works.

He added that Achebe’s “frank, truthful and fearless interventions in national affairs will be greatly missed at home … because while others may have disagreed with his views, most Nigerians never doubted his immense patriotism and sincere commitment to the building of a greater, more united and prosperous nation that all Africans and the entire black race could be proud of.”

Biafran War

Born in Nigeria in 1930, Achebe was raised in the large village of Ogidi, one of the first centers of Anglican missionary work in Eastern Nigeria, according to a biography posted by Penguin.

He was an early graduate of the respected University of Ibadan, established in Nigeria before the end of British colonial rule in 1960.

He worked in radio but in 1966 left his post during the national upheaval that led to the bloody Biafran War, in which Nigeria’s southeastern provinces attempted to secede.

Achebe joined the Biafran Ministry of Information and represented Biafra on diplomatic and fund-raising missions before the civil war came to an end after two and a half years.

He subsequently took up university posts in Nigeria and overseas, including teaching at Bard College in New York and Brown University in Rhode Island, where he was professor of Africana Studies.
Achebe’s 2012 memoir, “There Was a Country: A Personal History of Biafra,” draws on his recollections of that painful period in Nigeria’s past.

In an interview for the Paris Review of Books in 1994, Achebe spoke of how his early love of stories led him to realize that they reflected only the point of view of the white man. That spurred him to write himself.

“There is that great proverb — that until the lions have their own historians, the history of the hunt will always glorify the hunter. … Once I realized that, I had to be a writer. I had to be that historian,” he said.

“It’s not one man’s job. It’s not one person’s job. But it is something we have to do, so that the story of the hunt will also reflect the agony, the travail — the bravery, even, of the lions.”

WARNING ON HAIR: INDIAN HAIR CAN COME WITH SOME SPIRITS… BEWARE!!!

WARNING ON HAIR:                   
My dear. Let me give you a background b4 I tell u my story:

My sister inlaw came to pray with me last two years. She said she was experiencing ill luck during the week. So many nasty things happening to her.I prayed wit her and the Spirit led me to ask her wat hair she had on, she said indian. I was led to tell her to remove it and not give out but pray and burn it. She obeyed and things went back to normal. Sometime after that, I and my hubby were watching TV and saw a documentary about how ladies in India sacrifice their hair to the gods if they havE nothing else (material/worthy) to sacrifice.

MY STORY:
My husband likes human hair. So even though I like my full dreadlocks kind of hairstyles, I give him wat he likes most times. I have done brazilian and Peruvian so thought to try smtin different and more natural… Indian. Last weekend I ordered for it and made it. Prayed on it and believed it was fine. Yesterday night, I had the strangest of dreams. I saw that I made a hair that allowed me to pack it thus project my face and make it look slimmer. All of a sudden, I got into a scam wit 3 pple and began to chase me all over the place to kill me. I got off from them narrowly then got into a market. There, a mad man began to chase me.
I escaped him narrowly then 2 rapist-thugs came after me. All the while, I felt I was carrying someone else’s face. I ran into a house with pple praying. The lady in charge there looked at me and showed me a picture of my self with my regular synthetic dread-like hair and said “but that is ur regular look, why are u carrying someone else’s face?” Then from no where another lovely lady came from outside, drew me to the corner and began to ask me about my look. She said “you are having problems with your hair right?” While she was talking, I noticed something in her mouth; a bow of cowries and the face of a Benin god, I looked closer and asked her wat it was and why she had it. She said her man likes her because of that decor in her mouth —cowries and the face of a god like a shrine in one’s mouth? and that she is comfortable. She also said that it’s beautiful
I woke up and prayed. I immediately understood what the message was but didn’t want to let go of my cute human hair that cost so much. I decided to ask my husband cos he interpretes dreams accurately. He immediately told me to remove the hair. At the same time, the Spirit told me to cut it off and not remove it gracefully cos it tried to bring me shame and pain. Cut it off, anoint my head, anoint and pray on the hair to refute all ill then not to only throw it away or give it out but BURN IT. I obeyed.

I have decided to only carry my natural hair or synthetic hair. This is bcos the Bible says; “The hair is the woman’s crowning glory”. Carrying another’s is like carrying the other person’s spirit. The worst is even Indian. Nothing wrong with Indians; They are beautiful and we loooove them especially in Films but those hairs sold are sacrifices to gods. Thus, they are cursed. There are loads of other human-looking hair made with synthetic in the market if you want that look or if you insist on wearing real human hair, try those from other Countries but pray on them and be ready to bear any consequence.

Felt to share. Love Rachel. God bless you all

http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Q53lgC9d6JQ/UUMvWwz9hHI/AAAAAAAABIQ/8gIUGU9alok/s1600/indian.jpg