Mr. Sugarcane.

We’ve been handling a flooring project somewhere past Karen, deep toward Kerarapon. The assignment itself is straightforward enough: grind the slab, prepare the substrate, level the floor, then eventually install engineered wood flooring. Simple. Well… simple in theory. Because construction sites are fascinating places where contracts, specialists and contractors go to be humbled.

You arrive expecting order and professionalism, only to find furniture everywhere, debris in corners, tools lying around like the inawork team has just discovered a new road inside the room, and random fundis appearing from rooms you were convinced were empty five minutes ago 🤯. Now ideally, when flooring contractors arrive on site, the place should already be cleared. That’s usually the client’s responsibility or the main contractor. Ours is the floor, not wardrobes, not metal fabrication, sofas, flower pots, abandoned extension cables, or mysterious boxes no one claims ownership of. But this particular site was not cleared. Which meant I needed extra hands. A casual worker. Someone to help move things around before we could begin the actual work. Actually, this site was already extending because of this interruption. What should’ve been a three day assignment was well in the second week and even now, I still had to find someone to clear the rooms.

So there I was, driving toward Ngong early in the morning, talking to the Lord like a site manager who also happens to love Jesus. “Lord, show me someone good.” And honestly, I was not even praying spiritually. I just wanted a sober person. By sober I mean the true sober. Someone who didn’t spend the previous night in a barrel. That alone is already a miracle in some casual labour markets. As I was passing through Bulbul I spotted a bus stop with two men seated under the shed.

Then it happened. That inward nudge. Gentle. Specific. Clear. “That one.” One of the men was wearing green. Immediately, I knew exactly who the Holy Spirit meant, or so I thought. And this is where the story should have become inspiring. This is where I should tell you that I marched boldly toward destiny, obeyed instantly, and watched heaven unfold. But no.

I parked the car… and stayed inside. 😏 For five whole minutes or even more. Five minutes of analysis. Five minutes of hesitation. Five solid minutes of pretending to “discern further.” And that, ladies and gentlemen, was where my obedience began dying. Not through rebellion. Through delay. Eventually I stepped out and walked back toward the shed. But by the time I arrived, the man in green was gone. Gone. Vanished. The green was so green there is no way I could have missed him around us. Or he got into a mat. Can’t be sure. As if heaven itself wanted to make a point.

Now only one man remained there. Young guy. Blue t-shirt. Black Crocs. Smartphone in hand. Holding onto a piece of sugarcane peacefully like a man with no urgent appointment with life. I looked at him. And immediately dismissed him in my mind. You know how human beings do. Too casual. Too relaxed. Too young. Too comfortable… Didn’t “look” like a jobless man. Meanwhile the Holy Spirit, in all His patience, was practically saying, “Yes. Him. I’m still talking.”

But now I had entered the dangerous phase of selective obedience. The kind where God speaks, but you begin editing His instructions. Instead of speaking to the young man, I walked around looking for more “appropriate” candidates. Men who “looked” desperate enough. Men who fit my expectation of who casual labourers should resemble.

Construction has taught me something uncomfortable about human beings: we often trust appearances more than discernment. So I ignored the young man with the sugarcane and went searching for “better options.” A few meters away, I found some boda boda riders and asked them whether they knew where I could get labourers. They did what Kenyan men do best. They formed a committee immediately after authenticating that I was cool and not setting them up for the nearest Subaru bound destination. Suggestions started flying. Phone calls were made. One guy disappeared dramatically to “go find someone.”

The first candidate arrived, from the squad of men who wait to offload lorries with sand and quarry stone. Both had no ID. Now, because the site was in a controlled estate, an ID was necessary for security clearance. So those options collapsed. Then came another man. Older. Sober-looking. More fitting. but commanding as if He was the one who was interviewing me. But I was kinda desperate. Ah yes. Now this looked like the answer to my problems but not exactly my answer – but what to do? We agreed and headed toward the car. Case closed. Or so I thought. Because just as we were about to drive off… Guess who walked up to my window? Mr. Sugarcane. Blue t-shirt. Crocs. Phone in hand.

And with the calm confidence of a man who almost missed his own opportunity, he said: “Mimi nimeskia unatafta mtu wa kazi…” And immediately the conviction hit me. Not emotionally. 🤦🏽‍♂️ Spiritually. That deep inward realization that says: You heard God correctly the first time. The Lord was not silent. In fact I heard Him again whisper “I told you…” I was just resistant. Because suddenly I understood: The issue had never been labour. The issue was obedience. The Holy Spirit had already chosen the person. I was the one conducting unnecessary interviews. But now things had become awkward. The older man was already seated in the car. I couldn’t exactly tell him: “Boss, shuka kidogo. Heaven has updated the instructions.”

So I told the young man: “Nimeshapata mtu.” And the moment he stepped away, I felt it. That grief. That holy discomfort. Godly sorrow. That quiet ache that comes when you realize you have just chosen logic over leading. Flesh over spirit. Now here is the interesting thing. The day still worked out. The older man helped us. The job progressed. The floor got worked. Floor preparation continued.

Which is precisely why disobedience can be deceptive. Because sometimes life continues normally after you ignore God. No lightning strikes. No flat tires. No earthquake. & this is part of what Adam & Eve missed. Just a quiet awareness that you missed something heaven intended. And honestly? That feeling can be heavier than punishment. I kept thinking about that young man the entire day. Who was he? Why did the Lord specifically point him out? What conversation did I miss? What encouragement? What divine appointment? What opportunity for ministry? What lesson? What connection?

I may never know. Because delayed obedience had already closed the moment. 😔 And that’s the thing about walking with the Holy Spirit. Many believers want God to speak in dramatic ways. Audible voices. Burning bushes. Earth-shaking revelations. Meanwhile the Spirit is saying: “Talk to that person.” “Call him.” “Don’t go there.” “Turn around.” “Wait.” “Move.” “Speak.”

Simple instructions. Tiny moments. Ordinary roads in ordinary towns on ordinary Mondays. But heaven hides profound things inside small acts of obedience. That taught me something deeply uncomfortable: Disobedience is not always rebellion. Sometimes it is hesitation dressed as wisdom. Sometimes it is overthinking disguised as discernment. Sometimes it is simply wanting God’s guidance… on your own terms.

And if I’m honest, that was me – CB. Not the pastor. Not the teacher. Not the “spiritual” guy. Just a stubborn man in a parked car arguing silently with an instruction he had already understood. Arguing with the Holy Spirit.