If you knew my story, you’d understand my why.
Most notable, why I refuse to compromise.
To be a genuine Christian, is to be a rebel.
(Mostly because evil is pretty popular now.)
We love a good crash out. A compelling origin story. A relatable villain.
Like.. maybe Killmonger makes a good point…
Even in real life.
We worship bad boys.
Women love them. Men emulate them.
How many rappers nowadays rock the upside down cross?
And why the hell is Andrew Tate still seen as a role model?
Not only is evil accepted, it’s celebrated.
We adore the nihilistic, ‘woe is me, nothing matters’ narrative because it feels more ‘real’.
To reject authority. Wear pain as a mask, hate the world, and love the dark. That’s the modus operandi.
But, the real counter culturalists?
Children of The Light.
Those who, despite what life has thrown at them, remain tethered to their humanity.
Those whose faith is as unshakable as their bond.
Who’ve been to hell and back, yet still find space in their heart to be kind.
Not nice, mind you.
But kind.
(And yes, there is a difference.)
Quick rundown, for those who don’t know.
My name is Sanni Iyintosoluwami. It means “My God is Worthy of Praise.”
Most folks call me Toso. Either that, or Sanni. Which brings me to the next bit of this story.
I love people man. Like genuinely, love them. Oftentimes to a fault, which tends to leave me disappointed.
But I must admit, there’s some willful naïveté that fuels much of the rose tinted madness.
I got married young. Like, really young. Never cared to ‘play the game’.
Thought I had life figured out. Love was simple and that was that.
Then reality hit, and I lost everything.
And everyone.
Long story short, was put in a mental health facility by folks I trusted, and ultimately got ostracized from everyone I knew.
Won’t bore you with the details. But had my savings account drained and much of what I owned stolen from me by my then wife and her family, while I was “getting help” in the hospital, and to be honest, there’s a lot more here that I’m not going to get into.
Mostly because I still have love for her… (again – to a fault).
But it’s cool. Here’s when it gets good.
Love, I mean.
Because after rock bottom, there’s really nowhere else to go but up.
And we all inherently know; love isn’t love if it’s never been tested.
So, this was my test. I had a choice to make.
And I chose to Love.
Regardless.
Started writing more. Published a few books, recorded some music, tried my hand visuals.
But not for aesthetic reasons, more to interrogate my own perspective, and to become who I’m supposed to be.
Love, embodied.
But not the fake shit.
The messy kind.
Sometimes ugly.
But always real.
The type of love that opens itself up to be crucified, while simultaneously praying for the very ones driving home the nail.
The type that bears all things, trusts all things, hopes all things, endures all things… (see 1 Corinthians 13).
Maybe naive is the wrong word.
Maybe love is just, stupid.
So be it.
Anyway; born in London, raised 30 minutes south of Chicago in a town called Homewood, to Nigerian immigrants attempting to find their own way in this world.
Momma was UK-bound, and so left me with her sister. Pops wasn’t around much, as he had another family to tend to.
Through it all, I learned to avoid emotions from a very young age.
Smart boy though. Loved to study. Especially about space.
Memorized all the planets by age 6, every book of the Bible by age 9. Real rule follower. Good kid, great city.
But, was missing something…
A family to call my own.
Fast forward to now. I’ve probably tried every drug under the sun. Most religions too. Almost all of em trash. In college, after a brief foray into Buddhism, I finally came back around to Truth, and rested in the revelation of Jesus Christ. (But not in a rule following capacity.)
Relationship felt like the better framework.
Mostly, because I couldn’t attain perfection. Or nirvana. Or “enlightenment”. (Or whatever ya’ll call it.)
No mater how hard I tried.
I was always only human.
But, if I could just grab on the coattails of someone who already lived a perfect life, and accept the free gift of grace.. then maybe, I could inherit His perfection, and wear it as my own.
I could become, holy. Righteous.
Perfect.
Not because of what I do.
But because of who He is.
To be honest, I’m not sure why I returned to God. Probably because I have a praying grandmother, who’s name, appropriately, is Grace.
Or because of my own momma, a deeply spiritual woman, who daily shows me what sacrificial love looks like.
But it’s just as likely, that what really happened – is that God found me.
Some feel to be good for goodness sake is, corny.
And I admit, I almost fell for it. Lot of bad actors out here that really make you question…
So personally, I don’t take issue with nonbelievers. My beef has always been with the Pharisees.
Or, the ‘Professional Christians‘, as I dub them.
And church folks don’t like that.
But frankly (and excuse my language)
F*ck em.
And therein is a story for another time.
But for now. Just understand Im far more impressed by broken people who manage to continue surviving, than self flagellating religious folk who play up myths of moral superiority.
Real people, in real places, that by some miracle, are able to maintain a soft heart. That’s what impresses me.
Not people who pretend for social media.
Imagine. Trying to placate demons in some weird attempt to be seen as the ‘nice guy’.
Placing my soul in a cage, so I can be approved …by other imperfect people?
Hard pass.
I’d rather love you instead.
The radical type. The unconditional type.
The no holds barred, in your face type.
The opposite of nonchalant.
Because truth is, I do care.
About life. And about beauty. And about You. And about me.
But ultimately, I care most about the infinity resting in your soul.
And I want you to experience the amazing, incredible, and reckless love that can only come from God.
(Even if you don’t want that for yourself.)
Some people say love is a serious mental disease.
If that is so; maybe I am crazy after all.
So, now you know a bit of my story.
International vagabond, schizophrenic lover, and eternal optimist turned shadow banned battle rapper.
Can count on one hand the number of people I trust, and still have a few fingers left over.
Yet, I can’t complain. Because really I should be dead.
But it seems, God had other plans.
In a few words:
Sin came. Grace spoke. Death died.
And now, I’m free.
So, may as well ball out.
Spread as much love as I possibly can, until my bio suit no longer finds use on this plane of reality.
Because though my heart is broken, and my flesh is weak… my spirit is undefeated, and my life is His.
Sounds like good news to me.
If you’d like to learn more about my story, I wrote a book back in 2019 – shortly after I got discharged from the loony bin.
It’s called “Hello, My Name Is…”
A practice in identity formation.
You can find it on Amazon (click here), or my website, timegrow.org (scroll down to publications).
But really, ‘my story’ is immaterial.
A proxy, for what really matters.
Which is, your story.
My aim, is just to remind you, that perfect love does exist, and it is waiting for you.
My love on the other hand, is heavy.
And rancid, and ugly, and hewn on all sides.
It burns right through my chest, and curls up out from the cavity in this stupid heart.
End of the day, it’s insufficient.
Because I am limited. Only knowing what I know.
Though, I do know this:
Jesus loves you.
And His love?
Now..
There’s something you can depend on.
So yes. It is true. I do love you.
And there’s nothing you can do about it.
But on a more crucial note (literally).
Jesus Christ loves you.
Like waay more.
And there is something you can do about that.
Cheers my friend.
Love,
Zen.