Bible – Lele Muthali

Reckoning

30.7.25

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What does it mean
to obey a God who calls for ruin?

What kind of justice
leaves no room for mercy?

What kind of love
levels walls and wombs alike?

Who is this Judge
so patient, so perfect,
so exacting?
Who balances the scale
with both blessing and blood?

Do I trust a God
who sees beyond sides?
Who destroys to rebuild?
Who acts not for our comfort,
but for His order?

Joshua 5:13-14

¹³Now when Joshua was near Jericho, he looked up and saw a man standing in front of him with a drawn sword in his hand. Joshua went up to him and asked, “Are you for us or for our enemies?”

¹⁴“Neither,” he replied, “but as commander of the army of the Lord I have now come.”

-Lele

Walls Fall Like Rain

30.7.25

I built Jericho.
A proud city at the edge of a promise –
the last thing between exile and exhale.

I built because I learned that love can vanish mid-embrace.

That tenderness is weakness,

And that the Sacred draws

Both seekers and destroyers.

I built walls of flesh and pulses.

I built walls of mercenary silence.

I lit torches along the parapets.

I filled the moat with past versions of myself.

I did not know then

That Jericho must fall, as the Sun must rise.

And when Time comes, even silence shakes the ground.

And Jericho falls.

The echo of her collapse is a Psalm.

I walk now through the ruins
of an erstwhile prison and protection.

Praying for the wisdom of a prostitute,
who surrendered the fortress when the promise was near

And let the walls fall like the rain falls.

-Lele

What a Fall

The fall. A narrative as old as time, woven into the very fabric of creation.

Genesis 3 tells of a paradise shattered, of innocence lost, and of an intimacy with God interrupted by a single choice. “What is this you have done?” the Lord asks, His voice heavy with the weight of love betrayed. And in that moment, humanity’s relationship with God—and with one another—was forever changed.

I find myself reflecting on the fall, not in Eden, but in my own life. A public union of hearts and lives, shared and celebrated, has ended. The first partner I ever called home is now no longer mine. The mighty have fallen, the poets say. Though I am no king, my heart feels the weight of that phrase. How fragile the human spirit is, how vulnerable we are when we give ourselves to another, laying bare our hopes and fears, trusting they will be held with care.

In the aftermath, I have asked myself: Was it love that failed, or was it simply us? Is love eternal, as scripture teaches, or is it fractured by the very human vessels that attempt to carry it? Perhaps it is both. Perhaps love remains pure, even as we stumble under its weight.

“To love at all is to be vulnerable,” C.S. Lewis once wrote. “Love anything, and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken.” To love is to risk the fall, to step into the unknown with faith that the one you hold close will not let go. Yet, sometimes, they do. Or perhaps it is we who loosen our grip, weary from the journey, distracted by our own frailty.

The fall reminds me of surrender—not just to love, but to God, who is love itself. What does it mean to surrender when the heart is broken? It means to offer up the pieces, trusting that the hands that shaped the heavens can also reshape the human heart. It means to acknowledge that the fall is not the end of the story. Eden was lost, but grace abounds. The mighty fall, but the humble are lifted.

In this moment, I see the nature of man: fragile, flawed, often blind to the divine within one another. I see the nature of relationships: mirrors that reflect not only beauty but also brokenness. And I see the nature of love: a call to transcend the fall, to forgive as we are forgiven, to endure as God endures.

Perhaps this is the beginning of a new story—not one of perfect love but of perfecting love. For even in the fall, there is grace. And grace, I am learning, is where healing begins.

-Lele M

You belong to God

Dear Younger Self,

I pray this letter finds you when you need it. I understand the burden you carry, so I’ll begin by assuring you of a truth which I hope will penetrate your pain, depression, and anxiety: The loving God who created you is still in charge.

This truth, indeed the truth of all truths, goes back to Genesis 1:1 “In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth.” This verse is more than just the opening line of the Bible; it’s a foundational truth that will shape your understanding of God and the world around you. In only 10 words, the verse offers you the following encouragement:

Before anything else existed, God was there, initiating everything you know and see.

The Hebrew name used here, “Elohim,” reveals God’s nature as the powerful Creator. Remember, this Creator is not just powerful but also loving and intimately involved in every detail of His creation.

The phrase “the heavens and the earth” encompasses all of creation, from the vast expanse of the cosmos to the smallest intricacies of life. Everything finds its origin in God’s loving hand.

Now, why is any of this important to you? Acknowledging God as Creator forms the bedrock of your existence, and developing faith. It’s more than a theological concept; it’s a truth that will ground you in times of uncertainty and inspire awe in moments of wonder.

As you grow, remember that understanding God as “Alpha and Omega” shapes your worldview. It defines your identity and purpose. It keeps you humble by reminding you of your place in His economy.

Depend on God. Trust in His wisdom and guidance. The same God who spoke the universe into existence is the One who cares for you deeply. Let this truth anchor your prayers, your decisions, and your relationships.

I’ve created a YouTube video to explore the practical application of this teaching. In sum, pray fervently and seek God’s presence in every aspect of your life. Let His creative power and purpose infuse your thoughts and actions. Your faith journey begins here, with the profound truth of Genesis 1:1.

– Lele M

In the Middle of the Garden

The story of ‘The Fall’ has always captivated me.

I have been contemplating Genesis 3:3 recently. Particularly, I’ve been reflecting on the prominent position of the tree of the forbidden fruit – the middle of the garden. In my view, the position it enjoyed suggests that Adam and Eve would have likely encountered this tree regularly, daily even.

This led me to consider the thing in my life which may be the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. The thing in my life which enjoys a prime position. The thing that tests me on my belief in God’s word and tempts me to lean on my own understanding? The thing which challenges my obedience and dependence on God? It would be my need to feel in control of my life.

I’ve been strong-willed for as long as I can remember. More than that, I have had experiences throughout my life which exposed me to the discomfort of vulnerability. The latter, I believe, most of us have in common. For me the result was an increased sensitivity to power relations and control, particularly in social settings and personal relationships.

In my life, disobedience to God often masquerades as perfectionism which comes from a belief in one’s ability to control outcomes. This moment is a case in point. I’m struggling to write because I continue to allow my perfectionism to immobilize me. I am passionate, thoughtful, creative, brimming with ideas and eager to shoot them out into the abyss. I’m also consumed by questions about the details – how, where, when, and what to present. Surprisingly, I don’t often consider the ‘why’. I shudder to think that may simply be because I am yet to establish my ‘why’. Though in all candor, I cannot dismiss the idea. What is my why?

Well, it’s complicated. I want to say that everything I do, I do for the glory of God. That is certainly my ongoing, foundational aspiration. But why am I at my desk on a weekday evening, unable to drum up the momentum to write a coherent piece while also feeling like what lies beyond this simple blog post could change my life completely? I’m having to fight my need to know the details. I’m having to trust that the words will come. I am having to trust God’s providence – his sovereignty. I’m learning that our obedience to God’s instruction is borne out of our faith in him.

Although in the past I craved the feeling of control, even its mere semblance. I had not appreciated the value of self-control. The notion of self-control is interesting because, as I see it, its the only control we can truly exercise. The only thing one can really control is oneself. It requires that you be able and willing to relinquish the illusion of control over those things which are beyond the scope of your control – beyond yourself. It is a practice of inner restraint and self-discipline.

I am constantly being reminded of how small I am in the greater scheme of time and space. It would be masochistic to expect of myself that I have control over the result and impact of a blog post, let alone the details of the course of my life. The cool thing about self-control is that, whether we know it or not, every moment is a test of self-control and, therefore an opportunity to exercise the muscle. Particularly, self-control is concerned with whether you can delay and moderate gratification. It influences your response to your daily alarms, your relationship with food, and how much you say about your weekend when your colleague asks on Monday morning. More than being the greatest expression of control, self-control is a fruit of the spirit.

I am doing this because it’s what I have to do. I know that because writing is what ignites my proverbial fire, but also what provokes my intimate fears and insecurities. This has made me all the more enamored by the oversufficiency of God’s grace. The challenge to wear my heart on my sleeve has revealed to me that I didn’t have a sleeve on which to wear my heart before I committed my life to God.

Walking with God has taught me that peace and self-control are closely related. I would not prefer to have the final say over everything I care about. Realistically, that’s simply too much pressure. I would rather concern myself with well, myself. I prefer to busy myself with maturing in my understanding, expression, and presentation of who I am and my contribution to the world. Perhaps that’s my ‘why’. I care about understanding my behaviour, along with the attitudes and beliefs by which it is informed.

– Lele M