The One In Your Hands
God doesn’t always give new doors — sometimes He reminds you to use your hands.
The Search
I know you’re waiting for a second update on my Ghana trip, I was writing that and it would come in quick succession to this, but after the events of this week, if I don’t find an outlet for these thoughts, I might lose my mind.
This year has been many things, but top of the list has been the thirst for more.
I kept telling myself: rather than lie down thinking about why things feel stagnant, maybe I should try something different. Maybe this is a sign to dig deeper and bring out more.
Between my growing needs and my ever-increasing responsibilities, I needed to do something for more.
So here I am, just after my first trip to Ghana, thinking about what I could do differently. What other creative abilities do I have lying fallow?
I thought, galleries could do a lot with the kind of experience I have putting together intimate art events.
So I searched for art houses and applied.
One mail after another, one pitch after the next and the reality of my situation hit me.
“No, we aren’t looking at this right now.”
“We’ll get back to you.”
Or worse, “There’s nothing in his CV that indicates experience for this role.”
I acted like I didn’t care, but each one chipped away at my confidence.
I’ve never needed to prove myself to anyone, but I told myself, I’m gunning for something, so it doesn’t matter how things make me feel. I’ll see this through.
And the funny thing is, I knew I was good.
Or so I thought.
Or maybe I wasn’t.
Or maybe I was — but they didn’t think so.
Thoughts. Thoughts. Thoughts.
Eventually, I landed an appointment. I was happy.
It was at a new art space in Lagos, and it looked promising.
I prayed and thanked God, holding on to the testimonies I’d heard every Sunday in church.
Nervous but confident in myself, I went.
The Disappointment
First red flag, I got to the office and it was locked.
The number of the lady I was to meet with? Switched off. WhatsApp? Not online.
Haaa, my God.
That’s when the thought hit me first:
“If my business was doing well, shey I would not be here in the first place? God, instead of making me look for more, what of the one in my hand?”
I’d spent over 10k on Uber so I could arrive clear-headed, pitch rehearsed.
But now anxiety crept in, what if it was a hoax? What if this wasn’t as important to them as it was to me?
So there I was, on the road with my iPhone at 5%, sky-blue shirt tucked into my favorite navy blue pants, paired with my brown monk straps. I didn’t want to be late, so I’d forgotten my charger.
I walked the streets of Adeola Odeku, VI, looking for those guys who hawk chargers.
Then I went into a frenzy of trying to reach her via Instagram or normal call.
Thirty to forty-five minutes later, the lady’s message showed another tick. She was online.
She said her phone had died, and that the gallery wasn’t locked, everyone was just inside.
By now, I was already disgruntled.
But I left the restaurant I’d been waiting in and went back to the art house.
We talked briefly. I stuttered, half my words lost in mental exhaustion.
It ended with, “Send me your portfolio and a pitch for your plan for us.”
I remember getting into a bus, sleeping off, and almost missing my stop. I was drained.
I hesitated with the portfolio and pitch but eventually sent it in.
No response.
I thought, well, I tried.
A week later, a message:
“We’ve seen your mail and will get to you soon.”
Days turned to weeks, and then months.
I even went to camp, came out, and traveled to Ghana again.
I told myself, God knows what’s best for me.
The Lesson
12 November 2025.
I’m getting ready to go to my new normal, teaching at a school, since that’s where NYSC posted me.
I didn’t even have the energy to fight or influence it. In another letter, i will write about my experience so far, but feel free to ask me in the comments.
Then I got a message from the same gallery:
The owner would like to meet this evening to discuss a possible hiring for the role I’d applied for.
Hope welled again in my heart. Finally, a chance.
I texted my boys: “Please pray for me.”
I didn’t want to call my mom yet — let it end in good news first. She’s waiting for me to say, ‘Send account details; let me pay for his school fees.’
I didn’t have much money left, but I managed to raise some for Uber again.
I got there, met the owner and maybe it was how he spoke, or maybe my tendency to see everything too positively but the night ended with:
“See me in my office tomorrow at 2 p.m. and we’ll go over this.”
Pheww. Another meeting.
Apparently, he never even saw my pitch.
But oh well I’m learning the ropes of corporate life, even within art.
So I went again.
If you follow the timestamps, you’d know it’s today, the same day you’re reading this letter.
I got there early, just to get a feel of the space before my meeting.
But again, just at the entrance, it seemed my appointment wasn’t acknowledged.
The owner, who had asked me to come, wasn’t available.
It turns out I was brought in for a formal interview one I hadn’t prepared for.
I played it cool and told myself, at the end of the day, all things work for my good.
And that’s when this phrase came to me again — “the one in your hands.”
I wrote in my notes, something I now sincerely believe:
The work you are doing with your hands is the most important one. It may take a while, but nothing beats being able to have full control of your time and creative input. I know it’s not easy to bet on yourself and stay true to your dreams — especially when sustainability is a fight — but as vehemently as you can, invest in your gifts. They will make a way for you.
Maybe for me, this is a call to throw passion and belief back into the things that have held me till now.
A brief moment of lack doesn’t mean what I’ve built isn’t capable of sustaining me.
So I say to myself, I am not without hope.
I am valuable.
And if they don’t see it, it doesn’t take away from who I am or what I’ve built so far.
Travelling to Ghana again reminded me that my work will be here for a long time.
And I’ll always believe that hard, diligent, consistent work will be rewarded.
The interview happened and again, like before, I was told they’ll reach back after reviewing it.
The difference this time is that I no longer hold hope in the wrong places, and as i sat in the bus back home writing this letter, these scriptures kept coming to mind
The Scriptures
Philippians 4:19
“And my God will supply all your needs according to his riches in glory in Christ Jesus.”Jeremiah 29:11
“For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, saith the Lord, thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you an expected end.”Psalm 23
“The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures:
He leadeth me beside the still waters.”
This is more than a story about job hunting.
It’s about faith, humility, and rediscovering that what you already carry is enough.
Now, I turn the question to you: What is the “one in your hands” that you’ve been neglecting while searching for a different answer?
Dearest Storyteller,
As much as I would really like to jump in and tell you how much of a fine writer you are, I'll breathe first.
Let's start like this.
What's your name? The next time I write to you, I'd like to start with your name.
I have a lot of questions for you. I hope they don't swarm you up like helpless little bees. Though we might be hopeful for a jar of honey.
But.
How did you know? How did you know I needed to hear this? To look at my hands. To stop running. To pause and see what treasures my hands harbor.
I haven't looked properly yet. But I stopped running when I read through your art, which has now become my needed answer. I read and marveled at how mindful of me God is. By the time I got to the scriptures, I knew. And on cue, I peered into my hands and saw. A glimpse of what I must stop doing. I must stop running. I must stay and start with what is in my hands.
Thank you. For writing such masterpiece. Thank you for letting us experience life with you. Thank you for writing inspite of all that was going on.
Your art is beautiful.
You write differently and beautifully.
From the one who is learning to stay,
Ifenkili.
*exhales deeply*
Your letter reminds me of when God asked Moses: What is in your hands? The rod in his hands turned out to be a very important instrument in his lifetime. He performed miracles in Egypt, parted the red sea, brought water from a rock and so on, all with the rod.
This is my cue to stop sleeping on what God has placed in my hands. Thank you so much for this.
I pray that your 'rod' will also pave ways for you even in places you never imagined.