Hungry for God
Jane Nkau
From the opening pages, Jane writes with striking openness about her life, her dreams, and the disappointments that shaped her. This is not a polished success story told from a comfortable distance. It is a lived testimony. She writes as someone who has wrestled with pain, grief, confusion, and hope, and who has discovered that faith is often forged not on the mountaintop, but in what she calls the �muddled middle�.

One of the strongest threads running through this book is Jane�s hunger for genuine faith. As a young believer, she longed for truth, for understanding, and for a relationship with God that was real, not borrowed from someone else�s pulpit. That makes this book especially refreshing. It does not offer shallow answers or neat clich�s. Instead, it traces the painful but necessary process of moving beyond formulas, striving, and performance into something deeper, a faith that learns to trust God even when prayers seem unanswered.

At the heart of the book are the deeply tender chapters dealing with miscarriage, grief, motherhood, and the questions that rise when suffering enters your home. Jane writes about these moments with unusual vulnerability. There is no pretence here. She does not hide the inner turmoil, the fear, or the spiritual wrestling. Yet that is precisely what gives the book its strength. Readers who have walked through loss, disappointment, or delayed answers will recognise something of themselves in these pages.
A book that will stay with you. Beautifully written and full of spiritual depth, Hungry for God is more than a memoir. It is an invitation to every reader who has ever wrestled with God, waited longer than expected, or wondered whether faith can survive real life. Jane Nkau�s story reminds us that the Lord is not absent in the middle of the storm.

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book excerpt

Jesus, is this how you treat your friends? If you ask me anything in my name, I will do it. (John 14:14) I was trying to run my race, but it felt like someone pulled me by my clothes from behind. Children sang in my head, a song I had taught them in Sunday school, “One, two, three, the Devil is after me. Four, five, six, he’s always throwing bricks. Seven, eight, nine…” I shut them up. I couldn’t listen to them sing, “He misses every time,” because I felt squashed by his bricks. From Dr Addai, congested traffic slowed us to a crawl. What had happened at the hospital was unexpected. Shocked, feeling vulnerable and betrayed, my eyes stared at the long way home with fewer blinks than usual. I hate alcohol, what it does to people, what it did to my father, therefore I don’t drink. But in that moment, if it were offered, I would have taken it in desperation for something strong to numb me, to snatch me out of reality. I didn’t want to be me. On a cloudless blue-sky day, I wished for lightning to strike me. Zach shook his head, huffed, wiped perspiration from his face, and buried it in both his palms when we got stuck on a red light for a while. Dr Addai’s words reverberated in my head, “There is nothing we can do except to terminate the pregnancy for medical reasons.” Was this a joke? I laughed a dangerous, crazy laugh. Zach stared at my clasping my hands and shaking my head as my crazy laugh brewed into anger, which threatened to explode into rage. I wished I could drive straight to heaven’s gates and demand to see Jesus Christ. I had so many questions for Him, but the main one I had was, “Is this how you treat your friends?” It beat me; my baby had two tiny hands, perfect legs, his heart beat beautifully, he had everything else, but no brain? There must be a mistake. There had to be. But Jesus? How can this happen under your watch? The secret place? Does the adversary have access too, or am I being tested like Job? Why don’t you just kill me? I said in my heart. Zach spoke, interrupting the noise in my head. “We will not terminate this baby.” I sighed, relieved. “I hoped you’d say that.” Abortion was out of the question. I had to die first before anyone took the baby out of my womb. “We will pray,” he said. I nodded, “We will. We will pray.” I remember how Zach’s words like oil, eased tension on my chest. How I breathed so deeply and released air I wasn’t even aware I had held for a while. From the moment Dr Addai spoke to us, explaining the extent of our baby’s deformity, I had feared what Zach’s response would be. I knew I didn’t have it in me to agree to abortion. During those few minutes I had felt alone and tormented by fear of the unknown when I perceived the battle ahead. Zach’s words gave me hope. United in our hearts and minds, surely, we could not lose. I had seen God answer prayers before, especially when those who asked joined their hands. Therefore, do not be anxious about tomorrow, for tomorrow will be anxious for itself. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble. (Matthew 6:34)