RUNNING WITH HORSES: MY TESTIMONY AND JOURNEY
Testimony: From Fainting to Flying with God
Praise the Lord! Whenever I find myself lost or overwhelmed, I’ve made it a habit to run to church. That day was no different. I had just come out of a job interview that felt like a divine appointment. Everything had aligned, and I walked away convinced it was mine. In fact, in that same service, when our pastor asked those believing God for a job to stand, I did—joyfully. I believed the job was already done, and I was just standing up as a formality. Little did I know, I was asking God for something far greater.
Days passed with no feedback. Confusion and disappointment tried to settle in. But as I sat in church that Sunday, the Word came directly to me: “If you faint in the day of adversity, your strength is small” (Proverbs 24:10). Then the Lord led me to Jeremiah 12:5—“If you have raced with men on foot and they have worn you out, how can you compete with horses?” It hit me: I had been fainting. God was preparing me for something greater, but I was disqualifying myself out of fear.
I visited my pastor and shared how I’d noticed a pattern—doors opened, but I stepped back, even turning down a branch manager position once simply because I couldn’t picture myself in that role. My pastor looked me in the eye and said, “Don’t go back home. I’ve been there. It becomes a trap. It’s better to live on the edge with God than in comfort without Him.”
Later, his wife told me she had been praying for my breakthrough. Then I heard a sermon by Pastor Ashley Wooldridge that confirmed everything—he said, “You may need to change your environment. You may need to leave some people behind.”
Just when I resolved to trust God, my sister Aggie called. She told me the SACCO—yes, the one I turned down—had met again and decided I was the most suitable person for the branch manager position. And to top it off, the SACCO is led by one of my favorite pastors—someone I had always prayed to meet.
I may not have felt qualified, but I told God, “I’m willing.” I’ve stopped rehearsing failure and started replacing my thoughts with God’s truth. I’m no longer running from horses—I’m running with them. All glory to Jesus!
Running with Horses: When God Pushes You Beyond Your Limits
There’s a moment in every believer’s journey where faith is no longer a song or a Sunday shout—but a step, a stretch, a sacrifice. For me, that moment came disguised as a job interview. What I thought was the doorway to breakthrough turned out to be heaven’s setup for something far bigger.
After a promising job interview where everything seemed perfect, I left feeling confident. In church the following Sunday, the pastor asked those believing God for job opportunities to stand. I did so joyfully, believing it was just a formality—my “Amen” to what God had already done. But little did I know, I wasn’t just standing for that role—I was asking God for the capacity to step into a destiny that would stretch my faith like never before.
Days passed, then weeks. The silence was deafening. No response from the interviewers. That confidence began to erode into confusion. I had felt so aligned—so certain. My heart began to sink.
But I’ve learned something: when you don’t know what’s next, step into the sanctuary. That Sunday, I walked into church carrying unanswered questions, and heaven responded. The Word was sharp: “If you faint in the day of adversity, your strength is small.” (Proverbs 24:10). Then came the knockout: “If you have run with footmen and they have wearied you, how will you contend with horses?” (Jeremiah 12:5).
It wasn’t just a rebuke—it was a revelation. I had been praying for opportunities but fainting when they required faith. God was saying, “You are not small. You are in training. I am preparing you to run with horses!”
What I thought was a delay was divine preparation.
I began to see the pattern. God would open doors, but I would retreat. I once turned down a Branch Manager role at a SACCO where my own father had served as chairman. Not because of pay. Not because of distance. But because I couldn’t see myself doing it. I felt too small, too unsure. I was rehearsing failure in my mind—and calling it wisdom.
In frustration, I went to see my pastor. I poured out everything. He listened and then dropped this line like thunder: “Don’t go back home. I’ve been there. It becomes a trap. Better to live on the edge with God than in comfort without Him.”
That was my turning point.
Later, his wife shared something that brought me to tears—she had been interceding for me, praying for my breakthrough and boldness. God had positioned people to hold my arms up even when I didn’t know it.
Then I listened to Pastor Ashley Wooldridge’s message. He said, “You may have to change your environment. You may have to leave certain people behind.” Every word echoed what God was already speaking to me.
Then came the phone call—from my sister Aggie, who has always been a doorway of opportunity in our family. She said the SACCO I had turned down had held a board meeting—and chose me. They said I was the most suitable candidate. And to crown it all, that SACCO is now led by one of my favorite pastors—someone I used to say, “One day I’d love to meet.”
God didn’t just answer my prayer. He revealed my purpose.
In that moment, I said, “Lord, I may not feel qualified, but I am willing.” And when you are willing, God makes you able.
Since then, I’ve learned that repentance is more than weeping—it’s replacing my thoughts with God’s thoughts. I’m done disqualifying myself. I’m done running from destiny. I’m done living small when I serve a big God.
This is what it means to live on the edge with Christ. It means choosing purpose over comfort. Faith over fear. Obedience over opinion.
But before I arrived at that turning point, I went through a season that I now call “the testing room of Mombasa.”
At one point, I had it all—a supportive husband, a high-paying job, my children in the best schools in Mombasa, and three house helpers. Life was full. But then everything changed. I lost my husband. I lost my job. I lost the comfort. Suddenly, I was a widow with no income, doing all the house chores myself, often with no food to eat, and watching my children being sent home for lack of school fees.
It was in this humbling season that I began building from scratch—not just my life but my soul. I created software to help manage my household finances because I needed structure and discipline. Through that, God began teaching me about stewardship, gratitude, and financial wisdom.
I learned the value of accountability. The more honest I became with myself and God, the more I grew. I began developing deep friendships—not surface ones, but bonds forged through shared faith and pain. I cultivated a deeper dependency on God—not just for provision, but for direction. My relationship with my children became a treasure; we weren’t just surviving together—we were learning, worshipping, and growing together.
I began to discern the voice of God more clearly. I understood how He speaks—in whispers, in warnings, through people, and in the stillness of the night. God even birthed a new gift in me: songwriting. I started to write songs that expressed my heart to God—and astonishingly, they ministered to others too.
But there was also repentance. In desperation, I had begun telling small lies just to get by—to find money to care for my children. God, in His mercy, confronted me. Not with condemnation, but with correction. He reminded me who I was and whose I was. I repented, and He began rebuilding me from the inside out.
Now, I know what it means when God sends ministers who resonate with your journey—voices that don’t just preach, but pierce. Voices that remind you that you are not forgotten. That your trial is preparation. That God hasn’t abandoned you—He’s training you to run with horses.
But the story didn’t end there. In the middle of these spiritual lessons, God started opening more unexpected doors.
I became a teens’ leader in church—a role I never pursued but grew to love. I was invited to sit on the children’s school board, entrusted with decisions impacting many lives. I became the secretary of the social media team, and even a home cell leader. One after the other, these positions came, not because I was seeking recognition, but because God was forming a servant-leader in me.
I quickly learned that leadership in the Kingdom is not about prestige. It’s about servanthood. About carrying burdens. About showing up when it’s inconvenient. About humility, grace, and obedience. I had once thought leadership came with glory—now I understood it came with responsibility and surrender.
And in the quietness of these roles, God exposed another area that needed work: my money habits. I had a deep weakness with money management, especially when I felt overwhelmed. I would spend impulsively—sometimes to relieve pressure, sometimes to maintain a certain image. But the truth was, I didn’t want to be corrected.
God, in His mercy, used my children to teach me. I began to see how my spending choices affected them. Their needs, their discipline, their view of responsibility. It was sobering.
So I invited God in. I stopped resisting correction. I created a family budget. I tracked every coin. I built and used software to allocate income to expenses, adjusting when necessary. No more emotional purchases. No more ignoring reality.
Now, I can say boldly: I am no longer an impulse spender. I plan to the letter. I embrace financial discipline as an act of worship. I’ve found joy in orderliness and systems. These aren’t chains—they are channels of peace.
And through it all, I’ve learned that my placement in leadership isn’t because I campaigned or qualified. It’s because of God’s mercy and grace. I didn’t choose these roles—they chose me. Because I had a willing heart. A surrendered vessel.
So here’s my declaration: I’m no longer running from horses—I’m running with them. And if I fall, I’ll fall forward in faith.
To Jesus be all the glory!
