Olúwakọ́mimoṣe - God, Teach Me How to Do
Olúwakọ́mimoṣe. It’s a Yoruba word that has been on my lips and in my heart constantly this month. It is a complete prayer in itself, a profound sentence compressed into a single, beautiful word: Olúwa (God), kọ́ mi (teach me), mọ (to know), ṣe (how to do). As September comes to a close, it feels only right to reflect on the simple but profound phrase: “God, teach me how to do.”
This month has been a landscape of difficult emotions. One might have guessed as much, given I’ve written here more in the last few weeks than I have in the past three years (now you don’t want to see my offline diary). But through every difficult conversation and each fresh disappointment, one thing remained constant: a sober, whispered prayer of “Olúwakọ́mimoṣe.”
It’s a prayer that sits at the intersection of surrender and strength. It isn’t a desperate cry for a magic solution, but a humble admission that my own strength, my own wisdom, has run its course. It is the quiet acknowledgment that I have reached the limits of my understanding, that I am navigating a scenario I have never faced before.
“Teach me how to do” becomes the question you ask when you no longer know how to be.
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Teach me how to respond with grace when I feel slighted.
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Teach me how to find the right words when the silence is deafening.
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Teach me how to sit with this discomfort without trying to numb it or run from it.
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Teach me how to let go of the outcome I’ve so tightly gripped.
Beyond a prayer, Olúwakọ́mimoṣe has the cadence of a beautiful name. I even suggested it to a friend of mine who had a newborn earlier this month.
As September gives way to October, I know the challenges won’t magically disappear. But I’m carrying this word with me, not as a solution, but as a tool for navigating whatever comes next.
Olúwakọ́mimoṣe. God, teach me how to do.