When Lightning Strikes Home: A Man’s Journey Through Storms, Scars and Strength

What do you do as a man when lightning strikes twice—and keeps on striking?

Do you pray for the storm to end, ask God to reverse events, or just curse Him and die? I think that’s what happened to Job. He received a series of terrible news, one after another. It’s also what happens to many men. When lightning strikes at a distance, it’s a wow moment. "Did you see that?" "That was huge!" People smile, point, and marvel.

But when it strikes home—and all you’ve been building goes up in flames—that’s when you desperately hope to find someone who’s gone through the same storm and learn how they stood again.

Unfortunately, most men coil back. We try to run the course solo and the world allows it.

I relate deeply with Job.

This being Mens Mental Health Month, I’ve been reflecting on my life—as a child, a boy, a man, and a minister. It's been fun, tough, and threaded with every shade of emotion.

As the lastborn, I received the end and last bit of everything—from clothes to shoes, even advice. Only recently did I realize that my guardians never taught me much. After teaching my older siblings, they locked it in as done and dusted. Nobody taught me basics like cleaning, dusting, or shamba work. They assumed it would trickle down from sibling to sibling. It didn’t. At least not much.

I became a student of observation, not instruction. This shaped how I relate with tutors and mentors. I’m the “arrogant” student who wants to see, not just hear. Words don’t work for me— action does. But the world doesn’t always bend to our learning style. And that has worked more against me than for me.

At 9 years old, just before turning 10, my Dad—an accountant and a Pastor—took an earlier flight to heaven. He left behind a boy among boys, yet to be mentored. We're four brothers and the eldest was just 14 then.

Because of his priestly role, we lived like Christians, even though we weren’t. We knew the Bible cover to cover. We were trivia champs. We spoke fluent Christianese, but not born-again. But after Dad died, I realized I had no relationship with God. Church stopped being fun. Church activities became tiring.

Until August 1997, when I asked God to be my Father. Because I needed one. It wasn't even about my sin nature, but seeking to be seen by a man.

What about other male relatives? 

Most of my uncles were either dead, drunk, or distant. None were intentional about filling the gap my father left. Some even took advantage of his passing—grabbing houses and land. My mum’s side? Just one uncle. I’ve only met him thrice: once after he came from prison, once at a party for Grandma, and once when I went to find out where he lived.

I’ve since learned this truth: Boys need men to become men—not just women. The opposite is true concerning girls becoming women.

The irony is that women were more present. My Aunt Daphine (who recently rested🥺), and other maternal aunts were always welcoming. Our world as boys was shaped by women.

From them, I learned how to keep a home—but not build one.

From them, I learned how to clean—but not how to clear a path or trim a hedge.

From them, I learned how to cook—but not how to slaughter a chicken or goat.

They seem like small things, but in hindsight, they were big. They shaped me in ways I didn’t know.

Then came high school, college, and "life" as we say it.

Psychologically and unconsciously, I began my journey to “manhood.” Step 1: Get a house. Step 2: Get married. Step 3: Stand atop the hill of success. Simple, right?

Wrong.

I was right about the steps—but wrong about the stairs. You don’t climb without building the staircase first.

I got a house with a friend. He later married and left. I couldn’t afford rent alone. So I got another roommate. Then I lost my job and had to depend on him. That was a low season—but my friend, who remains my friend, never exposed me. Then he started planning to marry—and I knew my goose was cooked again.

So, Step 2: Get married.

What an idiot I was!🤦

I landed a job, did a wedding, and managed rent. But I was still a homekeeper, not a homebuilder.

We got pregnant. Complications arose. We lost the child. Then we lost the marriage.

I’ve written before about the loss of the child and the marriage. But the core issue? The boy was not yet a man. He hadn't learned how to listen or slow down. He lacked mentorship and thus failed in leadership.

I was doing okay in ministry—but failing as a man.

That was frustrating. How do you win in one hand and lose in the other?😭 This is a reality I never deemed possible.

As a minister, it was hard to talk about it. Who would I tell? Who could handle my war and struggle? Could I tell someone I’d thought of walking out? Could I admit I’d wanted to disappear like Enoch and just not come back?

Where was Dad? My uncles? My brothers? Everyone was either gone, absent, or battling their own demons— drugs, damsels, and denial.

The boy needed men. But he didn’t look like a boy anymore. He had a beard. He was a pastor. A missioner. People looked to him for answers.

But inside, the boy was wandering, wounded, and weary.

Still, giving up is not an option. I'm glad I didn't give up.

Others are looking up to you—spiritually, emotionally, financially, even sexually. So what do you do?

You put on a brave face;

You stay broke—but don’t let them know.

You lose a child—and go back to work.

You lose a marriage—and keep it secret.

You hide—but in plain sight.

That was the mistake. Today, I breathe. It's Mens Mental Health Month and I invite you to check on the men around you.

After two years of finding, fighting, and faithing it, I’m in a better place. I embraced men, mentorship and manhood.

I’m peeling back layers (kk) and letting the light in. I’m stepping out of hiding—and hopefully helping others do the same.

I’m embracing the lessons, the layers, and the ladders I must climb. I’m choosing to learn and love well. I’m choosing God as Father, male friends as brothers, and the fight as one we do TOGETHER.

I choose to be a man who is vulnerable and mentally healthy.

I choose life.

I choose liberty.

I choose love.

With tears in my eyes, I write this.

Yesterday, I spoke with a friend and we agreed to pray for one thing: Strength.

Join us, as we pray for men to be strong.❤️