Worship music has always been more than just a collection of songs to me; it has been my refuge, my place of healing, and my way of connecting with God in moments of deep grief and brokenness. I first encountered this power when I lost my mother in a tragic car accident at the age of 17. The pain was indescribable, and I had no idea how to process it. The overwhelming responsibility of taking care of my siblings and managing a household fell on me overnight. My father, also grieving, disappeared into his own sorrow after losing a political campaign a few days before my mother passed away. In the midst of all this, worship music became my lifeline.
I had a CD with over 150 worship songs from Paul Wilbur, Lenny LeBlanc, Michael W. Smith, Don Moen, Darlene Zschech, and the Maranatha Choir. These songs filled the house and wrapped around my heart in the moments when I felt most alone. Singing along to those powerful lyrics became my way of coping, my way of pouring out the sorrow that words couldn’t express. I would sing and cry out to God, finding comfort in the promise that “The LORD is close to the brokenhearted; He rescues those whose spirits are crushed” (Psalm 34:18, NLT). I needed Him close because my heart was shattered.
One of the most poignant memories I have is trying to use my faith to bring my mother back. I had a second CD with six sermons from Pastor Chris Oyakhilome that I listened to on repeat. He preached about faith, the kind that could move mountains, and I clung to that hope. In my 17-year-old mind, I believed that if I had enough faith, my mother would come back. So I prayed and believed with all my heart, waiting for the miracle. Even though that miracle didn’t come, the worship music continued to be my anchor, guiding me through the storm of emotions I felt after losing her.
There’s something about worship music that allows me to pour out my soul in ways I can’t otherwise express. The melodies and words open up a channel between me and God, allowing me to lay down my burdens. Over the years, this hasn’t changed. Even after going through painful separations and struggles in life, worship music still breaks me open in the best way possible.
I remember the first Sunday I returned to church after a particularly tough season in my life. I hadn’t attended for a while, and just being there during the worship session felt overwhelming. I stood, trying to sing, but I couldn’t get a word out. The music enveloped me, and I began to weep. It was like all the pain I had bottled up was released. In that moment, I felt God’s presence so deeply, reminding me of the verse, “The sacrifice you desire is a broken spirit. You will not reject a broken and repentant heart, O God” (Psalm 51:17, NLT). It’s in these moments of brokenness that I experience God’s healing the most.
One song in particular, “More than a Song” by Dunsin Oyekan, brings me to tears every time I hear it. It undoes me completely because it speaks directly to the place of vulnerability where worship becomes more than just singing; it becomes a deep connection with God. It takes me back to those early days of grieving my mother, where worship music was my only way of expressing the hurt and confusion I felt. Worship, for me, is not just about praising God for who He is but also about being honest with Him about where I am. It’s in these honest moments that I feel His healing the most.
Yesterday at church, our MOG sang “You Deserve the Glory and the Honour,” and that song broke me again. It transported me back to those times when worship was my only outlet for the pain I carried. The voice of the musician even reminded me of Paul Wilbur, one of the singers from that CD I clung to all those years ago. It’s amazing how God uses music to reach into the depths of our souls and bring healing, even after all these years.
Worship music continues to be my place of refuge, a sacred space where I can break down before God and allow Him to heal me. It has taught me that it’s okay to be broken before the Lord because He is close to the brokenhearted and rescues those who are crushed in spirit. Worship allows me to release my emotions, and in doing so, I find strength and peace in His presence.
For a long time, I didn’t realise how much I had closed myself off from physical affection, especially hugs. Growing up in an environment where physical touch was limited, and even frowned upon, left a lasting impression on me. In high school, hugging the opposite gender was considered a punishable offence, and for four years, I adhered to the rule that hugging boys was almost a sin. This rule became so ingrained in me that even after leaving high school, I found it difficult to break.
As a result, I avoided hugs from men, stretching out my hand for a handshake instead. It wasn’t something I thought about much; it had simply become a habit. But this habit revealed something deeper—after losing my mother at 17, I hadn’t allowed myself to receive love and nurture in a physical way. My mother was the last person I remember truly nurturing me, and after she was gone, I had to become the one who nurtured others. I had to take care of my siblings, handle responsibilities at home, and essentially grow up overnight. But in all of that, I didn’t realise how much I had neglected my own need for care and affection.
My therapist recently pointed out that I have a “love and nurture deficit,” and those words hit me hard. It made me realise that I’ve been giving out love and care to others for years but haven’t allowed myself to receive it. The loss of my mother, coupled with the culture I grew up in, left me with an emotional gap that I didn’t even know existed. I poured my emotions into worship, using it as a way to release my pain, but physical affection—like a hug—felt foreign and unnecessary.
That changed last Saturday at church (Nairobi Chapel). I arrived early and greeted a female facilitator with a hug, as usual. There were two male facilitators there too, and as I reached out my hand for a handshake, they “ambushed” me with a holy hug. One of them was a pastor, and for the first time, I didn’t resist. I let myself be hugged, and in that moment, something shifted. It was the first time I had been hugged by a man who wasn’t family, and instead of feeling uncomfortable, I felt nurtured.
It was a small gesture, but it revealed to me just how much I had been missing. There’s something about a hug that goes beyond words. It communicates warmth, care, and love in a way that nothing else can. The Bible says, “Let love be your highest goal!” (1 Corinthians 14:1, NLT). I realised that I had been so focused on giving love that I forgot to let myself receive it. Hugs, like worship, are a way of experiencing God’s love through others.
That moment at church made me reflect on how closed off I had become to receiving physical affection. I wasn’t just avoiding hugs from men; I was avoiding love. I was avoiding the very thing that could help heal the deep wounds of loss and grief that I still carry. The physical touch of a hug broke through the barriers I had unknowingly built around myself.
Now, I’m learning to embrace hugs as a form of love and nurture that I need. God uses people in our lives to express His love in different ways, and sometimes a simple hug can be a profound way to experience His care. Just as worship breaks me open emotionally, hugs are beginning to open me up to receiving the love and nurture that I’ve been starved of for so long.
Hugging is not just a casual gesture; it’s a way of being present with someone, of offering and receiving love in its purest form. It reminds me that I am not alone, that God’s love is tangible and can come through the arms of another person. Just as worship has been my emotional outlet, I am learning that hugs are God’s way of showing me that it’s okay to be held, to be cared for, and to be loved.
Will I continue to worship through music? Definitely. Music has been my lifeline and way of connecting with God for as long as I can remember. There’s something about pouring my heart out in worship that gives me peace and strength.
Will I start hugging men? I don’t think so. It feels very unnatural for me, and having gone nearly 20 years without doing it, I can’t imagine suddenly becoming comfortable with hugging a man. I’m not saying that I’ll never get to that place, but right now, I still prefer to reserve that kind of physical closeness exclusively for my future husband.
I understand that being hugged feels good and loving, and there’s something deeply comforting about it, but for me, it’s such a foreign concept that I can’t quite picture myself seeing a man and simply hugging him. It’s just not where I am right now, and that’s okay. We all have different boundaries and comfort levels, and mine happen to be shaped by my own experiences and journey.