So this morning I woke up to a comment on my Facebook from a Zimbabwean man responding to my post I put up last night as I was meditating on the goodness of God. I am a woman hated by my so called birth mother, despised by my so called siblings, and come from a country that says because of that I am cursed, yet everyday I live in an overflow of blessings, my cup is literally running over, yet Zimbabweans see my blessings as curses because in their world good is called evil and evil is called good. So yes, I am forever testifying about Zimbabwe, I would be damned if I concealed my Zimbabwean testimony. God didn’t bring me this far out of the cursed land, so I put my light under the table, I will bring it out on the rooftop.
So this strange Zimbabwean man was basically telling me to “Stop mentioning Zimbabwe, and stop talking about my ex-husband”, and ended his condescending comment by asking a rhetorical question, “What are you trying to achieve, are you not happy in your relationship with your Lord husband?”
I was already sitting at my desk, in a very writing mood…my hands so itchy to just tell of the goodness of God upon my life, I am so in that season of standing on a rooftop to testify, so I was like nah, I won’t let this slide, this is actually very good content for me. Sometimes I smile when people give me things to talk about, because I do love to talk, and my talking comes in the form of writing…
Half the time when I look at the Facebook profiles of people who lurk on my page, writing insults, I am like, gosh, they are not even worthy to ever behold my face in real life, or to ever be in the same room as me, let alone untie my shoes. Honestly this strange looking Zimbabwean man, who dresses like this, has the audacity to ask me if I am not happy in my relationship with the King. Talk about an oxymoron.
Honestly, this Zimbabwean strange man wants me to stop talking about the Zimbabwean Fool, my ex-husband so that he will know that I’ve moved on in life and I am happy. Lol.
Honestly…anyway, let me focus here, focus Queen focus…
Back to my essay, do you Zimbabweans especially, know that in ancient times, Kings and Queens had official professional fools. Town or city idiots where normally given to Kings and Queens to amuse them when they were bored. In English royal history, many royal courts had professional royal fools who entertained the King and Queen.
So no, I will never stop bringing my ex-husband the fool in my royal courts to entertain the King and I. In-fact the fool already brings himself daily to my courts, posing even as a facebook ghost account called Ruvimbo Sanhu. He stalks me day and night, he has nothing to do in life than to follow me around, so he might as well entertain me.
I remember when I first met my Boaz, my redeemer, who redeemed me from the curse of the fool, and I started narrating to him my ordeal at the hands of the Zimbabwean fool and his family, and I would start tearing up each time I spoke about him, because the wounds were so raw…but then my Boaz would start laughing at the things I was telling him. It was too shocking to him, he could not help but laugh.
At first I found it so shocking that he found the whole thing hilarious, and I would ask him, “what’s funny?”And he would say, “You were married to a fool, baby. Can you not see that?”
Then as I would be speaking, so upset, narrating my ordeal to him, he would stop me and say, “Let me finish this one for you, so the fool actually went to Walter Masocha and said, ‘Daddy, my wife is from the devil, she doesn’t want to come to church’.” And he would be imitating my ex-husband, his mannerisms, gestures and everything.
And I will be like, “Oh my gosh, how did you know he did that, or even spoke like that?”
“I know how he works, he’s a fool sweetheart, very predictable fool.”
And I would start laughing so hard, because my Lord husband had a way of turning all the painful stories into rib cracking humour, pure gold humour where instead of telling my journey to him in pain, it became what made us laugh the most. Half the things I was telling my husband, he already knew the ending and he would finish my stories for me whilst I was on the floor, in tears of laughter.
I found my healing in actually speaking about my ex-husband to my husband, he is the fool in our courts who keeps us entertained all day. Laughter is indeed the best medicine, I never knew this to be true until I met my soulmate.The thing is, I will never ever stop talking about the Zimbabwean Fool. That’s my story, I love talking about him. In fact, what I write about on my blog here, is a small reflection of what happens in my house. In my house today, with my Lord husband, we talk about my ex-husband, the fool, almost everyday. The fool is the source of laughter and joy in our marriage. He is our comedy. We call him, “Nadine” for reasons I best not disclose, known only to him by the way, the fool reads this blog, and he will cringe because he knows why we call him Nadine, lol. And boy, 7 years later after my divorce, the fool still gives us enough content, fresh as well, to ever discuss him. If I am even having a bad day, the King will bring some “Nadinisms” to my face to make me laugh. My ex-husband was actually given to me as a gift by the Most High Yah, to bless my marriage with rib cracking laughter.
I am so blessed that God has given me my own ex-husband as our professional royal fool. Honestly, how can I not talk about a fool who dresses like this and behaves like this and calls this an “Engagement Photoshoot,” then sends me these pictures…
Even my teenage daughter, my first love, when she saw these pictures she came to me and said, “Mum, why has that man aged so badly like that, he looks over 50 mum, and he looks like a madman as well. Oh mum how on earth were you married to that?”
“I was under a spell my beloved, Zimbabwe had bewitched me and those people I used to call family, that’s the only logical explanation I have of me being with him. I was not in the right state of mind.” I always tell her. And we laugh, and laugh, and laugh.
As for the question, “Am I not happy in my marriage?” O Lord, I love any chance to show off what I actually have. I know most women on this earth do not have what I have. I have found my soulmate. What I have with the King is so deep, my teenage daughter always says to me, “I want to marry my best friend, like what you have with Nino.”
That pretty much sums up whether I’m happy or not. And I bless my daughter all the time, and tell her that God will give her a husband just like her Daddy, Nino. A man who will understand her, and finish her sentences for her. And explain for her what she’s trying to say, and make her laugh till she literally falls on the floor. In-fact I bless all my four daughters and yes, I pray that they all marry men exactly like my Lord husband, the King of the North.
O, I am so happy, that I’m actually restricted to tell it all, how the King makes me happy, how he attends to my every need, and I mean every single need. Even Hagar, a wife he had to put away because she was evil, actually said to me, “Mary-Tamar, this man worships the ground you walk on. He adores you.”
So what you see on my social media and what I write in my essays is just a glimpse, I can’t tell it all.
Besides laughing at the Zimbabwean fool, he makes me so happy. He tells me all the time that I’m beautiful. He’s ever so romantic, ever massaging me with all sorts of ointments. His hands are so strong, so mighty. His girds his arms with strength, when I am in his arms nothing else matters.
My beloved is mine and I am his, every day of his life he wants me. He legs are like marble pillars in a palace, when he walks around the Northern palace, I just look at him, especially his legs, and I become sick with love! I love good legs on a man. Then his voice, oh my, is the most sweetest gentle voice, so that when he sings, I melt with love for him. His mouth is ever so sweet, when he kisses me his soft lips sink into mine, and I taste the king’s undying love for me. The Most High has anointed him with the oil of gladness above all his companions, and I am his Prophetess and he is my King.
So when a sad Zimbabwean peasant mocks and asks me, “Are you not happy in your relationship?” I can not help but laugh…and find that as an excuse to write about it, I suppose…I will not be told by miserbable Zimbabweans who wishes me evil what the definition of happiness is, or how I have to prove it by not talking about the fool, or how I shouldn’t speak about Zimbabwe to prove I have moved on…
Which proves my point, they actually believe I am cursed, and to me the “Curse” is actually my happiness, and my happily ever after…
The Genesis Of The Revalation By
Mary-Tamar was Jean