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The Bigger Picture

The Bigger Picture – Chapt. 1

Welcome to this side of the State, y’all!

So… this is a story with an essential message for every Christian. Especially those who are worn out and ready to give up on the Lord’s work because there’s little to no support. I wrote this a couple of years ago, and I decided to redevelop it for the State. Enjoy!

Elizabeth Bossman walked out of the front door of Soaring Eagles Studios, the darkest of expressions on her face.

Where you would normally see a bright and infectious smile, there instead was formed a peeved look and an unhappy frown. Holding a notebook close to her chest, she marched over to her blue Toyota Avensis, tossing the notebook into the back of the car before getting in.

As she put on her seat belt, she looked at the radio, briefly pausing in contemplation, before shaking her head. This evening was supposed to be for her Christ For The Nations playlist, but with her current state of mind, music was not needed.

A vent was.

Starting up the engine, she moved out of the parking lot, inhaling and exhaling heavier than usual, in an attempt to still her beating heart, pounding out of fury.

“I’m tired. Just so flipping tired,” she muttered to herself as she turned in to the main road. “Tired of being ignored. Tired of being undermined. Tired of being made to feel like some second-rate vineyard worker. God, I’m sick of it!”

Stopping at the red light just a few metres away from the studio, she adjusted her mirror. As she caught a view of her notebook, she shook her head.

“Little support. Little appreciation. Little encouragement. It’s like they’re not even bothered about what I do. Like, I don’t even understand. Even Daddy and Maame. The ones who saw my gift from the beginning and got me to work on it and use it specifically for God’s glory, they virtually ignore me. I’m literally having to beg them to listen to my demos before I get any feedback! Ugh!”

As the traffic light switched to green, she raised her eyes to the heavens briefly before stepping down on the accelerator.

“Lord,” she sighed, “I know I do this for You, but it gets so hard sometimes, I get discouraged with all the lack of support I’m getting from those around me. All I seek is someone who really believes in me and shows their support as I do this. But there’s nobody. Nobody.

“I’m delighted to be singing for You, Lord, but it’s depressing when my own parents seem to be more concerned and supportive of my cousin, who’s doing it big.I don’t want to be jealous of him, because I know all that he’s been through, and he’s been in the music industry longer than I have. But he’s not been as helpful as I had hoped. He rarely helps me out. I’m struggling in this thing, and he almost never checks up on me. Sometimes kraaa, it feels like he doesn’t want me to reach the top. As if I’ll come and steal his shine or something. But I mean, that’s just ridiculous. That’s not what I’m in this thing for. Not at all.

Lord, You know I don’t need to hit the music charts as high as he is. I’m not looking to be an iTunes hit. I don’t need to have 5 million fans on my Facebook page, talking about how talented and anointed I am. I mean, those things might be nice, and if You were to grant them to me, I’d be delighted, but… that’s not what I want. I just want some support. That’s it.

“Coz honestly, I’m starting to get cynical. I’m really getting a little sour about all this. And I don’t want that to happen. I want to have a pure heart in what I do for You. Please, help me, Father. Everyone around me, from my own parents to my coaches, are way more concerned with Sonny than with me, and I just end up feeling like an unappreciated nothing. Please help. Please!”

These words poured forth from the lips of the twenty-four year old as she made her way back home, the cup of frustration having reached its brim. Whereas the Bossman household and staff of Soaring Eagles held her older cousin, Sonny Bossman in the highest esteem, his past two albums already causing a stir all over the African continent, Elizabeth was most often shoved aside. Sure, they did have time for her and showed some level of interest, but the delight at Sonny’s uber-successful venture into the gospel music venture led them to keep her in the cupboard under the stairs while they worked hard to maintain his success.

She had held back from speaking numerous times, constantly whispering to herself that this was nothing to get worked up about. But after spending nights penning down new songs for a future debut album, her patience had officially reached its breaking point when her father and the studio producer had pretty much shouted her down when she tried to speak to the latter about her work. The focus was on Sonny’s West African tour.

She was fed up. Totally fed up.

“Just a little support, Lord. That’s all I’m asking for. Someone to not pretend like I’m some annoying little mouse on the dining table,” she continued to spurt out as she moved along the highway, eager to get home, scream into her pillow and get lost in the playlist she should have been playing.

Stopping at another traffic light, she rolled down her window. The car that pulled up beside her had the radio volume up, and the song coming out the speakers was a familiar one.

My Comfort by Sonny. One of his numerous chart-topping singles.

She shut her eyes and let out a huge sigh. “There it is, Lord. Some tiny feeling of bitterness rising up. And I know it’s not right. Please, help me, Daddy Lord. I do not wanna have to walk around with this feeling in my heart. You’ve blessed him, and that’s totally fine by me. I mean, You choose who to shower Your special graces upon. But I’m not happy with how I’m treated. Please, Lord, show up for Your baby girl!”

A couple of seconds later, the traffic light turned green, and being the first in line, she immediately stepped on the accelerator and moved.

Of course, the expectation was that the cars coming in from the right would stop, as the traffic light they were at had stopped.

Unfortunately, whether it was due to faulty brakes, or a sheer streak of stupidity, one Honda Accord seemed not to get the memo, as the driver sped right past the red light, turning into the other side of the highway.

By the time Elizabeth saw the madness, it was far too late to quickly turn away from the oncoming path. Her eyes widened in terror as the Accord headed straight for the side of her car.

“JESUS, NOOOOOO!!!!” she screamed.

A second later, the Accord smashed right into the right side of her Avensis.

Terrible impact. An unpleasant scene no motorist would want to witness on a Thursday afternoon.

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