tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20637808446605610662024-03-13T16:06:41.482+01:00GOD GIRLThis is the blog of a God girlAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17033629803820665743noreply@blogger.comBlogger40125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2063780844660561066.post-90451822153663851242016-03-15T20:49:00.000+01:002016-03-15T22:08:40.041+01:00#4 - On Sin and Sinning<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><i>Sin is not angering an easily enraged or indifferent God. It is spitting on the face of a loving Father and bruised Saviour.</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><i> </i><br /><br />There are many things that draw out controversy and one of such is the topic of sin. In fact, the topic of sin is soo awkward that it is literally a conversation killer. Like if you just WANT to end a conversation flow in a mixed (READ: nonreligious) crowd, just chip in something like this:<br /><br />“Sooo, what do you guys think of pre-marital sex.”<br /><br />Silence.<br /><br />A cough.<br /><br />Then a brave soul.<br /><br />“Errm…well. It’s bad?”<br /><br />That’s it. You have effectively ended the conversation coming at your direction (this is a bonus tip for anyone who wants to learn how to survive in socially awkward situations. You’re welcome). It is easier and less awkward to talk about the weather and the news than it is to talk about sin.<br /><br />Why? Because we all either sin, will sin or have sinned. And let’s be honest, it is easier to talk about how clear the sky is today than to talk about ME and my failings. If it didn’t rain today or if the dollar rate has risen, it was the weather or President Buhari that failed. Not me. <br /><br />But when it is sin, I have to put myself in that awkward position of scrutiny. And when confronted with it, I shuffle my feet, study a particularly fascinating pattern on my skirt, shrug in a let’s-look-flippant way and mutter, “Well, I…err…struggle…sometimes.”<br /><br />But the truth is, the topic of sin is so crucial that we should always want to talk about it. This topic was so important that three chapters into the first book of the Bible, it shows up and from there everything got disrupted and it started showing up more often than we would have liked. In fact, as I was recently going through the history books of the Bible, I got a good sense that Sin was the central theme. <br /><br />But,<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> </span>what <i>is </i>sin?<br /><br />This question is probably a no-brainer since we all seem to know what sin is but I think a large portion of us are more ignorant on this topic than we care to admit. Because 80 percent of the time when I ask this question in a religious crowd, I get something along the lines of: "It is anything you do that is against God's commandment." While this is true in some sense, it is not essentially how God sees sin. <br /><br /><b><i>“Thou art worthy, O Lord, to receive glory and honour and power: for thou hast created all things, and for thy pleasure they are and were created.” (Revelation 4:11 – KJV)</i></b><br /><br />When God made the world and all that is in it, He did so with some intent in His heart. He made everything beautiful and holy but then sin walks in and messes the whole thing up. Sin is not <i>essentially </i>the action, sin is the intent. It is a <i>nature</i>. It is losing God in the knowledge of what we do.It is either being b<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">lind or blindfolded (depending on what side of the coin you fall). It is having SERIOUS loyalty issues. </span>It is not coming up against God’s law. It is coming up against <i>God Himself.</i><br /><br />We were made for GOD’S pleasure. We were made for Him<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">, </span>not for ourselves. The second we step outside this ideal and start pleasing ourselves, WE SIN. Therefore, anything I do that is outside God’s pleasure IS SIN. It doesn’t matter if it is on the list of good deeds, if it is not FOR God, then well, yeah, sin wins.<br /><br />I guess you would already be shaking your head thinking, “How can this be possible? It is so hard. How do I even know what God wants anyways?” This begins to give us a sense that we are in an impossible situation here. The nature of sin in us, the one we are used to is one that is alien to God, by nature opposed to Him and all that He is. We may be moralists for a while, but even in that, the ultimate intent remains to promote ourselves, making it sin.<br /><br />We need a miracle.<br /><br />Then, (*drum roll*) enter Jesus! He comes in and saves us from this impossible fix by his suffering on the cross and subsequent resurrection, effectively dealing with our sins and the nature of sin in us, through our belief. He doesn’t bother with plucking out the <i>fruits</i> but roots out the tree from the very ground it stands. He gives us the nature where, as Ezekiel 36:27 puts it <i><b>“I will put my Spirit in you and make you eager to obey my laws and teachings.”</b></i><br /><br />That’s one side of the coin.<br /><br />The other part is this:<i> Christians still sin. </i>A lot. It is a reality that we face because we live in a fallen world and a body so used to sin. Now, here’s where I make my point (the lesson I’m learning). When I sin as a Christian, I effectively spit upon my Saviour’s face. I turn against him and his death. Because sin is EVERYTHING he died for. My sin was so serious it caused the very God of the universe HIS LIFE. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">It wasn’t just a little prank I played or a joke I didn’t mean, it was <i>deadly </i>and caused God’s son His LIFE. And I’m not just talking about giving His life on the cross, but also living for 33years or so in a depraved world without sinning. I<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">t <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">is so serious that <a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=matthew+18%3A8-9&version=TLB" target="_blank">Jesus <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">said I would be better off sawing my <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">arm off or plucking my eyes out th<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">an to sin.</span></span></span></a></span></span> Therefore, I have to lose the consciousness of this to sin. I have to lose sight of the cross, the price of <i>my </i>sin, turn my back on Him; the Father who gave all for me.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />I have taken His gift for granted. I have walked away from His table and gone to feed on dirt. I have walked with blindfol<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">ds<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">.</span></span> I have hurt God. I have angered God. I have disappointed God. <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I have hurt myself.</span><br /> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">He doesn't find this amusing.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">It <i>is </i>very serious. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">And this is how He sees sin in me.<br /><br />Sometimes, I thoughtlessly do some things and forget this truth. Why can’t I be more conscious of the cross? Living a crucified life is a liberating one. But it demands from me. It demands that I leave my all, my ideals, my LIFE on His altar. That I DIE. But no one wants to die right? <br /><br />And herein lies the fix. Herein lies victory.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />The Cross.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /><i><b>Side Note:</b></i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><b><i>“Don’t
cause the Holy Spirit sorrow by the way you live. Remember, he is the
one who marks you to be present on that day when salvation from sin will
be complete.” (Ephesians 4:30 – TLB)</i></b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><b><i> </i></b></span><br />Alright, I have said what I <strike>think</strike><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> </span>know sin is.<br /><br />So, <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">w</span>hat is <i>your </i>definition of sin?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><i><b>Side Side Note:</b></i></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Oh, and a book I will totally recommend for you on this topic is <a href="http://www.christianbook.com/smell-and-the-fresh-air-grace/don-everts/9780830823895/pd/23892" target="_blank">"The Smell of sin and the Fresh air of Grace" by Don Everts.</a></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">You could check the link or <a href="mailto:oladayo.williams@gmail.com" target="_blank">contact me</a> if you'd like a copy. <i> </i></span> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-size: xx-small;">*<a href="http://williamsoyindamola.blogspot.com.ng/2015/10/what-i-have-been-learning.html" target="_blank">Based </a>on the <a href="http://williamsoyindamola.blogspot.com.ng/2015/11/what-i-have-been-learning-ii.html" target="_blank">"What I have been learning" </a>series.</span></i></span></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17033629803820665743noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2063780844660561066.post-77780507976290313702016-02-16T19:42:00.001+01:002016-02-18T00:28:04.232+01:00#3 – Busy being busy<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><i>A multitude of activities doth not a success make...</i></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://williamsoyindamola.blogspot.com.ng/" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img alt="busy-painting" border="0" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Hblq-_GHSqU/VsNogSuFPPI/AAAAAAAAF98/EAqkgbdBn1c/s640/CatClRXW8AACcXG.jpg" title="Busy-painting" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://williamsoyindamola.blogspot.com.ng/" target="_blank">Image source: Unknown</a></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><i><br /></i>I <strike>used to</strike> have a veerry cluttered desktop. No, not the wooden one. My virtual desktop. Computer. This is mostly because I have tones of sticky notes flying around. Notes, tips and several goals I placed on my PC to help organize my life. <br /><br />My tiff is however not with my love-hate-relationship with sticky notes. I like sticky notes, really I do and maybe a little clutter too. But the quarrel is with myself.<br /><br />Here is why…<br /><br />The ONLY reason I have tonnes of sticky notes is because I have tonnes of <strike>unfinished </strike>tasks. Somehow, it feels really good writing those notes down. And I won’t argue there are benefits, but the problem is after making dozens of bullet point goals, I sit back and admire my art of goal setting. But, after some weeks, I come back and if I still find those tasks undone, I begin to feel like I have…err…failed.<br /><br />I define the quality of my life and ultimately my success by the <i>number </i>if things I am able to accomplish. This has always been one of my twisted ways of defining success. That the measure of success is being able to manage different things at the same time and succeed at all. I always thought, “Oh, you are good at that? Just that? What is the fun in <i>that</i>?” You see, this should not surprise you (maybe it doesn’t ‘cos you think the same way) as I am a serial multi-tasker. All ladies are. The quintessential Juliet-of-all-trades…err…master of…umm…err...none? <br /><br />But it gets frustrating like I said, when I come back only to find I was not able to accomplish most of those tasks. It gets even worse when on some days I know I should be doing something but then just sit staring blankly at my bullet point list trying to figure out <i>what </i>to do. Ironic right? I mean I have many things to do already. Right?<br /><br />Sigh.<br /><br />Then I found something. <br /><br /><b><i>“I have glorified You on the earth. I have finished the work which You have given Me to do.” (John 17:4 – NKJV)</i></b><br /><br />Did you get that? Jesus said, ‘I have finished the work YOU gave me to do’. Not ‘the work Peter gave me to do’. Or ‘the work the Pharisees want me to do.’ But the work YOU gave me to do. Each time I pictured Jesus, I used to see Him as this super busy activity overlord who was running around healing the sick, preaching and generally doing good without a breather. But this is not true. Inasmuch as he was far from idle (John 9:4), he couldn’t possibly have been <i>that </i>busy if he could sit and draw circles in the stand, have relaxed conversations with strangers he met at the well, or have dinner parties with sinners. There were gazillions of sick people and lots of requests and expectations from him (many expected him to be an earthly king who would overthrow the Roman government), but he did only what God gave Him to do.<br /><br />You see, this is key. I have realized that the only one I will report to is God. He is the one who holds the blueprint for my life. My duty is therefore, to find this blueprint on a daily basis. Instead of wasting time running off frantically in busyness, I should spend all that time finding what He wants me to do. I will be shocked to find that what he requires of me is blessedly simple. I should just chill and follow Him. This is not only wise but time-efficient.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />Doing this, will drastically simplify our lives. God wants us to live full lives. Not busy lives. He wants us to live to the fullest. Love to the fullest. Abundant life. He wants to stretch us. But He doesn’t want us wasting precious time running at every one’s beck and call and generally getting burned out trying to compete with the world’s standard of success.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Busyness is great but can leave us blindly chasing results and not <i>process. </i>It sometimes has us leaving brush strokes all around and forgetting to admire the beautiful painting that is our lives. It can leave us as <i>doers </i>instead of <i>livers. </i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><i> </i> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Am I saying not to push yourself to the limit? Am I saying to be mediocre? Far from it! God will push you to your limits, His plans are anything but mediocre. What I am saying is this:<i> shed off the extra load! De-clutter your life.</i> The only burden you want in your life is that which God places on you. And it will shock you to find it is very light! <br /><br /><b><i>“Come to Me, all you who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take My yoke upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. <u>For My yoke is easy and My burden is light</u>.” (Matthew 11:28-30 – NKJV).</i></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><b><i> </i></b><br />His burden is light if we take it up with joy and surrender. Pause a little. Review your to-do list. For whom are you doing them? If the answer is not God, then immediately strike them off your list. Now, begin to ask God, “What will you have me do?” Sometimes, you cannot sit idle and wait for God to move you. Take one step in faith first and watch Him guide you. Because a success is not a busy person but an obedient, <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">purposeful </span>person.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />I may not do all the great things I dream of doing. I may not go all the places I desire to go. I may not make all the money I want to. I may not please everybody, even myself. I may not fill every moment of my life with ‘great’ activities. But I will do all God expects of me. I will settle for what He wants even if it looks insignificant in the world’s eyes. Things like faith, love, hope, joy…silence. I will work tirelessly for <i>His </i>beautiful will. I will wait on and for Him.<br /><br />And maybe that’s okay.<br /><br /><b>Side Note:</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">In summary: </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><b> </b><br />Whatever you do, don’t EVER, EVER, EVERRR, EVER, EVER, EVER, EVER, EVERRR, EVER, EVER, EVER, EVER, EVERRR, EVER, EVER, EVER, EVER, EVERRR, EVER, EVER, EVER, EVER, EVERRR, EVER, EVER, EVER, EVER, EVERRR, EVER, EVER, EVER, EVER, EVERRR, EVER, EVER, EVER, EVER, EVERRR, EVER, EVER, EVER, EVER, EVERRR, EVER, EVER get too busy for God.<br /><br /><i>Ever.</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><i>Sorry, I was testing my copy and paste skills </i>:)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Okay, here goes: Whatever you do, don't ever get too busy for God.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">*<a href="http://williamsoyindamola.blogspot.com.ng/2015/10/what-i-have-been-learning.html" target="_blank">Based </a>on the <a href="http://williamsoyindamola.blogspot.com.ng/2015/11/what-i-have-been-learning-ii.html" target="_blank">"What I have been learning" </a>series.</span> </i></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17033629803820665743noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2063780844660561066.post-13462573303400111432016-02-05T20:49:00.001+01:002016-02-16T20:45:23.002+01:00#2 – On God’s love<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /><i>God loves me unconditionally. He loves me because He is Love and not because I am lovely.</i><br /><br />I had a terrible day the other day. It was so horrible I was on the verge of tears. Don’t ask me about it because it is not a gist for today. And if you are really interested, you can grab me whenever you see me and ask me about it. I’ll be polite. Except I’m having another bad day -__-<br /><br />Alright, where was I?<br /><br />Yeah, I had a horrible day. The day was so so so bad. In fact it was not palatable at all. I felt like I had probably woken on the wrong side of the bed and maybe as <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e5zkOfSJSn4" target="_blank">Sara Groves</a> puts it, the wrong side of the world. It was just horrible. Ick.<br /><br />Okay, I’m sure you get the idea.<br /><br />So, I was having this phenomenally bad day, and to make it worse, most of it was my own folly. I had made some terrible decisions and crossed some lines that day. And as I sat on the slab, licking my wounds and battling the tears, I began to get in the ‘sorry me’ mood. You know, the one where you suddenly remember all the things wrong with your life and how you are the innocent victim of life<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">...</span><i>yadda, yadda, yadda. </i>Yeah, that one. <br /> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">But as I am wont to do, I did not chalk the horribleness of my day to a few bad decision<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">s </span>alone. I dug deeper and realized that all these could be traced to just one bad decision I made that morning or maybe several of those before then.<br /><br />I missed my time with God.<br /><br />Okay, so you may roll your eyes and snort thinking, <i>“And so?”</i> But for me, this was huge (or I <i>want </i>it to be huge. It should b<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">e [</span>this is another long post]). And somehow, I began to think that maybe, just <i>maybe </i>God was getting back at me for standing him up too long. Of course, I tried to shake this feeling off immediately it came, saying I knew better. <br /><br />But the suspicion was there.<br /><br />We are like this a lot of times. We believe that God’s love for us is based on our performance. W</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">e feel <i>loved </i>when we act well but <i>unloved </i>when we act badly </span>but this is a lie. In fact, it was while we were still dead to God in sin and cared nothing for Him that He demonstrated His love for us (Romans 5:28). It was while we were enemies of God and were wanderers lost in our o<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">wn</span> folly that He extended a hand of fellowship to us.<br /><br />God loves us because He is Love. This is His nature. He cannot help but love. He loves because He is love and not because we are lovely. Nothing we do or don’t do will make Him love us more or less. We cannot coerce Him to love us because we don’t have to.<br /><br /><b><i> “The one who does not love has not become acquainted with God [does not and never did know Him], <u>for God is love</u>. [He is the originator of love, and it is an enduring attribute of His nature.]” (1 John 4:8 – Amplified Bible).</i></b><br /><br />That’s just the way it is. And of course there are times we do fall short and begin to wonder about whether we deserve to be loved. I know I wonder. But, the truth is we don’t, we don't deserve it <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">and </span>it is in this state that we can truly appreciate the nature of Love. The nature of love is the nature of God. We don’t have to <i>feel </i>loved, all we need is to trust in His word and His profession of love He splatters over the pages of the Bible. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /><br /><b><i>“Love suffers long and is kind; love does not envy; love does not parade itself, is not puffed up; does not behave rudely, does not seek its own, is not provoked, thinks no evil; does not rejoice in iniquity, but rejoices in the truth; bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.” (1 Corinthians 13:4-7 – NKJV).</i></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><b><i> </i></b><br />Did you get that? Love is <i>patient</i>. God is <i>patient</i>. He is kind, and every other character of love stated above is HIM. Get it? Christ asked us to forgive our brother 7 times 70 times a day. And I believe that if God could ask that of us, then He would at least do the same. He cannot ask of us something He himself has not done or cannot do. So yeah, God is <i>enduring</i>. And all that.<br /><br />The more we understand about this love of God, the more we are propelled to <a href="http://williamsoyindamola.blogspot.com.ng/2016/01/1-on-loving-god.html" target="_blank">love Him.</a> An active indication of not loving God is that we do NOT understand God’s love. Also, when life comes barelling at us like a raged bull, reflecting on His love keeps us. We struggle with a lot of issues because the love of God is still not real to us. For if we understood, how can we not respond favorably to a One so dear? How?<br /><br />God is love and ALL that He does for us is born out of the love He has for us. It may look <i>unloving </i>to us, but ultimately He is loving us through the process and redefining our perception of what love really is. He is giving us Himself through and through. We may not like the process. We may b<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">end and <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">pass through fire.</span></span><br /><br />But faith sits and watches.<br /><br />She waits before the ashes.<br /><br />She nods and mutters;<br /><br />“It is well. <i>Love </i>is here.”</span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Side Note:</span></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Again I sit and wonder. I cry in my heart with a desperation that I cannot contain.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">'Lord, make this <i>real </i>to me yet!'</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">For if indeed I understood, would I still keep love waiting? Would I continue to gather worthless jewels while He awaits? Will I not pick up my cross and walk the path of love? Will I not be responsive?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Reality. Yes, all I need.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Reality.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">**<a href="http://williamsoyindamola.blogspot.com.ng/2015/10/what-i-have-been-learning.html" target="_blank">Based </a>on the <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><a href="http://williamsoyindamola.blogspot.com.ng/2015/11/what-i-have-been-learning-ii.html" target="_blank">'What I have been learning series.</a>**</span></span></i> </span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17033629803820665743noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2063780844660561066.post-61432924113620624162016-01-26T20:22:00.000+01:002016-01-26T20:58:59.588+01:00#1: On Loving God<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><i>Loving God is so beautiful. It is my duty and I have to decide to do it, consciously.</i><br /><br />One of the most helpful things that Jesus did for us was the clarity of His teachings. He was so clear about some issues that we tend to get confused about them. Agreed, some of Jesus’ teachings, like His parables can be quite difficult to understand sometimes but most of his words were just so clear cut. I guess our confusion has to do with our tendency to want to complicate things. <i>God is so simple we find it hard to understand him.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /><b><i>“…Of all the commandments, which is the most important?” Jesus replied, “The one that says, ‘Hear, O Israel! The Lord our God is the one and only God. And <u>you must love him with all your heart and soul and mind and strength.’</u> “The second is: ‘You must love others as much as yourself.’ No other commandments are greater than these.” The teacher of religion replied, “Sir, you have spoken a true word in saying that there is only one God and no other. And I know it is far more important to love him with all my heart and understanding and strength, and to love others as myself, <u>than to offer all kinds of sacrifices on the altar of the Temple</u>.” Realizing this man’s understanding, Jesus said to him, “<u>You are not far from the Kingdom of God</u>.” And after that, no one dared ask him any more questions. (Mark 12:26-35 – TLB)</i></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />I can almost imagine the crowds circled round Jesus, with some of them shuffling their feet awkwardly, some nodding and others just giving him a blank look as they almost asked, <i>“That’s it?” </i> They probably stared at Jesus for a long time as they mentally pictured scrolls upon scrolls filled with the laws Yahweh handed to Moses, comparing all those rules with the simplicity of Jesus’ words and wondering<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> how he could say that was <i>all</i></span>. Love.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />But that is the SIMPLE truth. This is all it takes. This is all he asks of us; that we love, that we be faithful in giving our all. And considering all he has done for us, this is not too much to ask. Really. We have not been called to do anything but love. We have been called to be faithful. We have been called to walk with God and to be portals who give as we have received.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />What then does it mean to love God?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />First, it is a choice, as it always is with God. As much as he desires that we love him, God would not force it on us. Doing so is hardly love. How would you feel if someone came to visit you simply because they had been compelled to do so? You would rather they had stayed back! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />God created us as with freewill because he wants to delight and find pleasure in us. He desires to see us choose him. Over our fears, over our ambitions, over our desires and our desperate need for acceptance. He wants to be above all that. He wants us to choose Him. And I guess this is all it boils down to. Choosing to love with <i>all our understanding, </i>heart and<i> </i>strength.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />Who do we choose? In that moment when we are torn between loyalty to God and the seductions of the enemy, who wins the bet on our lives? Do we weigh God on a scale with those enticements and shrug, deciding that after all, those things weigh more than he does? I have been thinking <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">about </span>this. When I open my mouth to say God is worthy, do I really mean it? Am I not weighing him with those other things and deciding that maybe, just maybe God isn’t worth as much as them?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />You see, it goes beyond singing a couple of beautiful songs. I mean, I like songs. Really I do. But can we just cut out the hypocrisy a little bit? Can we allow our hearts speak before our vocal chords enter a frenzy of melodies? Can we just stop for a second to understand the meaning of the words we let spew out our lips? Is it too much to ask that we find substance to back up our words? Because words on their own are very cheap; anyone can afford them. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-oLu5JWKtT9c/Vqe5tRW_ySI/AAAAAAAAF9M/fudk7j8nbVI/s1600/loveGod.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Love-God-love-people" border="0" height="486" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-oLu5JWKtT9c/Vqe5tRW_ySI/AAAAAAAAF9M/fudk7j8nbVI/s640/loveGod.png" title="Love-God-love-people" width="640" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />So, loving God is beyond what we profess. It is beyond the fancy stickers, hashtags, lyrics and pretty words.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /><i><b>“Loving God means doing what he tells us to do, and really, that isn’t hard at all;” (1John 5:3 – TLB).</b></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />That’s it. It’s just so really simple. But do I get this? Do you?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />So, secondly, loving God is doing what he tells us. It is doing his bidding without hesitation or regret. It is seeking to please the Father who gave his all for us. It is trusting his instructions knowing that the one who gave his very life for us has a beautiful plan in everything. It is devotion that is more than routine. It is giving our all. It is loving people. It is worship.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />It is letting go.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />It is making room.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />It is beautiful.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />And this is what I am learning to do. Picking up my cross. Choosing this cross with joy and a sense of privilege at the beauty that I finally get to love the one who sought me out when I didn’t even care anything for him. It may seem hard (even though it really is not, <i>“</i></span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><i>for every child of God can obey him, defeating sin and evil pleasure by trusting Christ to help him.” - 1John 5:4</i>). It will cause me to bleed and maybe even die.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />But I will choose life.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />I will choose love.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />Even if it means my life.</span></div>
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<u><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><b>Side Note: </b></span></u></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">It would be nice if you could pray about this.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Seriously.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>**This post is <a href="http://williamsoyindamola.blogspot.com.ng/2015/10/what-i-have-been-learning.html" target="_blank">based </a>on the "<a href="http://williamsoyindamola.blogspot.com.ng/2015/11/what-i-have-been-learning-ii.html" target="_blank">What I have been learning</a>" series.</i></span> </span></div>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17033629803820665743noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2063780844660561066.post-72206957758975624782016-01-13T08:38:00.001+01:002016-01-15T13:16:00.647+01:00 A YEAR OF QUIET REST<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Hey guys! A gracious 2016 to you. May God’s light continue to shine brighter on your path.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">God has been so faithful over the years and I am expectant for a greater future. And hopefully, this time around I will be able to do something more meaningful on this blog but who knows? (No, it has nothing to do with the fact that I am only just writing my first post for the year. Don’t judge me abeg).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Alright, if you insist. Brace up for the excuses.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Number one: ………</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Okay, okay. I accept your apology<b> :/ </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Seriously though, I actually planned to post something earlier but you know, life. But, it was prolly more because I didn’t know what to write about. You will notice that hasn’t changed. I’ve been having this ah…block lately. But that’s what happens when a girl doesn’t write in a long time. Hmph! Serves her right.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Alright, I was thinking I’ll start something with the <a href="http://williamsoyindamola.blogspot.com.ng/2015/11/what-i-have-been-learning-ii.html" target="_blank">“What I have been learning”</a> <a href="http://williamsoyindamola.blogspot.com.ng/2015/10/what-i-have-been-learning.html" target="_blank">series</a>. I’ll just pick each of those items on my list and discuss. By my calculation, there are about 35 of them. This means at least 35 posts for 2016 (0__0).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Breathe.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">It’s not that much of a tall order now, considering I posted 15 articles in 2015. It’s just 35 posts, how hard can that be?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">I am reaallyy tempted to draw a time-table or something right now but maybe I shouldn’t. Or should I? And if you are wondering how I am going to go about this, this is how:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><i><b>“The passionate commitment of the LORD of Heaven's Armies will make this happen!” (Isaiah 9:7 – NLT).</b></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Away from blogging, I’m hoping for a lot of things this year. I did try at setting some goals and I’m trusting God’s grace will see them through. Don’t worry, I’ll share the testimony when the time comes. My watch scripture for the year? (at least for now):</span><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><b>“Lord, I am not proud and haughty. I don’t think myself better than others. I don’t pretend to “know it all.” I am quiet now before the Lord, just as a child who is weaned from the breast. Yes, my begging has been stilled. O Israel, you too should quietly trust in the Lord—now, and always.” (Psalm 131 – TLB).</b></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">That’s it. Quiet trust and a thorough satisfaction in God alone, no matter what.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Then and only then is He glorified.</span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Side Note:</span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">What are those huge goals you’ve set for yourself this year? Why not commit them to God? For His ‘passionate commitment’ is able to see them fulfilled. And above all else, whatever happens, trust in God and be satisfied in Him.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Then is He glorified.</span><br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pLBcCJ8swC8/VpX-kiWtcuI/AAAAAAAAF4A/ijQJT4OoPWA/s1600/psalm%2B131.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Psalm-131" border="0" height="397" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pLBcCJ8swC8/VpX-kiWtcuI/AAAAAAAAF4A/ijQJT4OoPWA/s400/psalm%2B131.png" title="Psalm-131" width="400" /></a></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17033629803820665743noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2063780844660561066.post-48821824394957982072015-12-22T14:59:00.001+01:002015-12-22T18:15:29.372+01:00GREAT IS THY FAITHFULNESS: NOTES OF A STORYTELLER<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">#LatePost</span><br /> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">Time: Before the cock crowed twice.<br />Location: Somewhere in Nigeria.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><i>I finally rise, with an alarming wealth of feeling. <br />I had been falling in and out of sleep as different thoughts ran through my mind. <br />My phone had started ringing some minutes before.<br />Breathe. Yes, I’m actually breathing.<br />Okay.<br />Let’s go…</i><br /><br />Today is my birthday.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />And today, however, it is with a sense of gratitude I mark this year. Songs rise in my heart in gratefulness to God. Not that you care or anything, but He has been super good and faithful to me, as is His character. I have not been an exception.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">A songwriter once said, “Count your blessings, name them one by one”. And I began to wo<span style="font-size: small;">nder how realistic this was. His blessings are innumerable…how could I name them all? Well, thank God for </span>another songwriter who also said, “What the Lord has done for me, I cannot tell it all.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />One of the songs that rocked my vocal playlist this morning was “<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xID_t--BrqE" target="_blank">Storyteller</a>” by Morgan Harper Nichols feat. Jamie Grace. And for the record, that song is PHENOMENAL. She sang my heart EXACTLY. You can figure what the melons she was singing <a href="https://www.musixmatch.com/lyrics/Morgan-Harper-Nichols-3/Storyteller-with-Jamie-Grace#" target="_blank">here</a>.</span><br />
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<span class="text Ps-108-4" id="en-GNT-16985"><sup class="versenum"> </sup><b><i><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Your constant love reaches above the heavens;</span></span></i></b></span><b><i><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="indent-1"><span class="indent-1-breaks"> </span><span class="text Ps-108-4">your faithfulness touches the skies. (Psalm 108:4 - GNB).</span></span></span></span></i></b><span class="text Ps-108-4" id="en-GNT-16985"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />Then there was the poem I wrote (a while back) in a feeble attempt to express God’s love in verses. I thought it was only fitting:<br /><br /><i><b>LOVE SONG</b><br />The cadence builds in soft rhythms<br />Undulating melodies gently stirring<br />Curl round my weary stone<br />Crimson is she who had been battered<br />Torn and scraped till she bled crimson<br />This stone, my bleeding heart<br />So, the tunes continue to rise<br />Building into a sweet song<br /><br />The first verse is a soft whisper<br />It’s sonority gushing over polished pews<br />Flowing to dark, lonely hours<br />Resonating in the corners of my heart<br />Calling in an rousingly sweet sing-song<br />“Come, my love!”<br />I sway in almost hypnotic dances<br />Until I find myself at your feet<br />Kneeling and weeping, “Here I am.”<br />How I love this verse!<br />The one where you found me [or I, You?]<br />Beating drums on a resonant cross<br />Cooing to this infantile lass<br />Drawing me with your piper’s tune<br />To that place where only you can heal<br />And wrap me in your arms.<br /><br />The second verse is a soft voice<br />Breezing gently like mild wind on a summer day<br />Lifting my heart to planes of passion<br />Awakening a hunger for more of you<br />“Arise, my love!”<br />I rise, staggering as though in a stupor<br />Struggling to steady feeble knees<br />But you remind me of your love still<br />How I love this verse!<br />The one where you find me [or I, you?]<br />Side by side you on a resonant cross<br />Pleasured by your presence on a solitary hill<br />Romance and intimacy that intoxicates<br />A place where music lacks not a voice<br />And you call me beautiful.<br /><br />The third verse is a loud call<br />Yet one I oft miss for it is quiet<br />Stirring my feet to move in rhythm to you<br />A bitter-sweet melody to my heart<br />“Go, my love!”<br />I hesitantly move my heavy feet<br />Will I leave this hill to the crowded square?<br />I fear for myself yet go still<br />How I love this verse<br />The one where you find me [or I, you?]<br />Cut with whips of pain and love<br />Beaten to pulp on your resonant cross<br />Like fluttering birds in a hedged nest<br />My heart struggles to break free<br />As your song stirs and draws me<br />To that place where you are sufficient<br />And I am enough to be used.<br /><br />The chorus is a simple, unending melody<br />Weaving itself through every verse<br />Lacing intricately in soft and loud tunes<br />“Your banner over me is love!”<br />How I love this chorus<br />The one where you find me [or I, you?]<br />It spills resonantly for all to hear<br />This very perfect love song.</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><i>************************************* </i><br /><br /><b>Side Note:</b><br />I kid you not when I tell you I literally breathed a sigh of relief this morning when I thought: I AM 20 YEARS OLD. FINALLY! </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />Y’all, be not deceived, 19 is such an AWKWARD age. You are legally an adult but not really an adult when people don’t hesitate to remind you that you are after all, still a teenager. That look!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />I am just reaallyy grateful I finally pulled it through the teen phase and with a story too. A colourful one, if you will. This past year was actually one of my best, and chief among the numerous things God blessed me with this year was CLARITY; at least to a considerable degree. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />I have laughed. Cried. Stood. Fallen. Won. Failed. Grown. There were times of silence. There were times of sorrow and unbelievable joy. There were times of aloneness (and maybe loneliness). And there was always Love. He was ALWAYS there. This may sound trite but I literally did NOTHING to deserve Him. I did nothing but suck and generally be an idiot. He is<i> be-awesome</i> (beyond awesome).</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />Then there were the people. Those super beautiful souls, my personal angels who God deliberately surrounded me with. Y’all are awesome. Don’t give me that look; you know yourself!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />And I am sooo looking forward to this new year. I am looking forward to another year to prepare for my glorious eternity. Another year to add more stars to my crown. Another year to pant to behold His face. Another year to dream.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />Hope.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />Cry.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />Laugh.<br /> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Die.<br /> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Live.<br /> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Fail.<br /> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Win.<br /> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Love.<br /> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">See.<br /> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Believe.<br /> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Grow.<br /> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><i>Be.</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"></span><br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3IvXBk8tEH8/VnlWM0tsxeI/AAAAAAAAF2I/uVrKs5ExKSw/s1600/BDAY.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3IvXBk8tEH8/VnlWM0tsxeI/AAAAAAAAF2I/uVrKs5ExKSw/s1600/BDAY.png" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3IvXBk8tEH8/VnlWM0tsxeI/AAAAAAAAF2I/uVrKs5ExKSw/s1600/BDAY.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /><b>P.S:</b> My birthday was yesterday.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><b>P.P.S:</b> A big shout-out to all who made it memorable. God bless y'all.</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17033629803820665743noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2063780844660561066.post-83514153118038542242015-12-07T16:54:00.002+01:002015-12-07T17:01:00.213+01:00I HAD A DREAM<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IJljpBk8xIQ/VmWrSybE7HI/AAAAAAAAF1s/AmUFsl26A0M/s1600/lightstock-37473-a-red-flare-from-what-is-left-of-the-sun-falling-behind-the-horizon-colors.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IJljpBk8xIQ/VmWrSybE7HI/AAAAAAAAF1s/AmUFsl26A0M/s640/lightstock-37473-a-red-flare-from-what-is-left-of-the-sun-falling-behind-the-horizon-colors.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I had a dream two days ago. It was very vivid and chillingly real. I can still remember if I try.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />The <i>smell</i>.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />The <i>sounds</i>.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />The palpable fear eating into my heart.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">It sucked the very air out of my lungs and left me thoroughly deflated<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">.</span> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />It was about the <i>Rapture</i>.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />It had started with some flash occurrences I cannot quite place now. But after some of those events, I remember someone telling me the rapture had taken place. And all of a sudden its implication dawned on me.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />I had been left behind.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />I remember feeling so deflated. So incredibly sad. It was as though no ocean could carry the depth of my fear mixed with sadness and a great level of disappointment. Nothing else mattered anymore. Nothing else made sense. After all, I had missed the one event my life revolved around.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />The pain was so awful. I thrashed in hysterics but could not find tears. Surprisingly, I saw some other people I did not expect still left behind. This did little to comfort me as I rolled on the floor asking God just one simple, agonized question.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />Why?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />Not why He come so soon but why I had not gone with him. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />Why?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />I woke with a jolt and a tangible fear that made me second guess my current reality washed over me. Was it actually a dream? It was as though I had crossed the bridge between reality and illusion and was struggling to find a safe landing port back.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />After that morning, I became really sober. This type of dream wasn’t the first this year and I realized that maybe I was on to something. Maybe I should not keep it in anymore.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />I’m not usually one to go around spouting dramatic prophesies, but I just had to let this one out. After considering also what is going on around right now, I felt it was expedient. And in my waking moments, one thing became obvious to me;</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />Jesus is coming SOON.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />Of course, most of us know this, we even sing it in melodic and offhanded tunes but I wonder how much of this we REALLY believe. I wonder how many of us really give this a serious thought as we go about our daily activities. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I kept wondering why I had been left behind. Of course it was a dream but I <i>knew </i>i my heart it was no ordinary dream. <span class="text Col-3-1">That morning, in my QT, I kept asking. Kept praying and I got this:</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span class="text Col-3-1"><br /></span></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><i><b><span class="text Col-3-1">"Therefore if you have been raised with Christ
[to a new life, sharing in His resurrection from the dead], keep
seeking the things that are above, where Christ is, seated at the right
hand of God.</span> <span class="text Col-3-2" id="en-AMP-29520">Set your mind </span></b></i><b><span class="text Col-3-2" id="en-AMP-29520">and </span></b><i><b><span class="text Col-3-2" id="en-AMP-29520">keep focused </span></b></i><b><span class="text Col-3-2" id="en-AMP-29520">habitually </span></b><i><b><span class="text Col-3-2" id="en-AMP-29520">on the things above [the heavenly things], not on things that are on the earth [which have only temporal value].</span><sup> </sup><span class="text Col-3-3" id="en-AMP-29521">For you died [to this world], and your [new, real] life is hidden with Christ in God.</span><sup> </sup></b></i><span class="text Col-3-4" id="en-AMP-29522"><i><b>When Christ, who is our life,<sup> </sup>appears, then you also will appear with Him in glory."(Colossians 3:1-4. AMP).</b></i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Somehow, we seem to have gotten so carried away with what is going on around us.We hardly ever talk about Christ's coming again. Even if we do, it would be in stilted words, and with hands fumbling over invisible threads as we try to surmount this awkward topic. And all of a sudden the initiator of such conversations get more stigma than an HIV patient. You seem like a 'kill-joy' for spouting such things.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">But should this be so? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Should the <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">thought </span>of having our Saviour and Lord coming back for us not cause an outrageous delight in our hearts? Should we not view the things of this world with contempt in light of his inexplicable glory? Are we scared to believe? Are we scared to hope?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">But hope <i>shields</i>.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Hope <i>purifies</i>.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><i><b>"My dear friends, we are now God's children, but it is not yet clear what we shall become. But we know that when Christ appears, we shall be like him, because we shall see him as he really is. 3 Everyone who has this hope in Christ keeps himself pure, just as Christ is pure." (1 John 3:2-3. GNB)</b></i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I realized in that dream that although I did not get an answer to my "why", I knew I had failed the 'hope test'. The truth is that you cannot expect to just disappear into the sky when you are being carried away by something else. <b>You cannot be raptured by Christ when you are enraptured by the world.</b> It doesn't work that way. You have to believe. You have to live with a consciousness of His coming. You have to hope.</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> </span><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9KGgRNEpfg0/VmWrKpCQihI/AAAAAAAAF1k/Zu36TqLnQUg/s1600/lightstock-37473-a-red-flare-from-what-is-left-of-the-sun-falling-behind-the-horizon-colors.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-32sQdQwQYBM/VmWrCVBLRtI/AAAAAAAAF1Y/9aLc-cACTtQ/s1600/rapture.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-32sQdQwQYBM/VmWrCVBLRtI/AAAAAAAAF1Y/9aLc-cACTtQ/s400/rapture.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Hope <i>shields.</i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Hope <i>purifies. </i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><b>Side Note: </b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">As part of getting ready for His coming, we need to tell every ear that cares to hear and even those who don't that Jesus is coming soon. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Call the sinner, wake the saint, Jesus is coming soon. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Photo credit: <a href="http://lightstock.com/" target="_blank">Lightstock</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span class="text Col-3-4" id="en-AMP-29522"></span><span class="text Col-3-4" id="en-AMP-29522"><i><b> </b></i></span></span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /><br /></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17033629803820665743noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2063780844660561066.post-14791080004774173522015-11-20T19:48:00.002+01:002015-11-20T20:53:17.062+01:00WHAT I HAVE BEEN LEARNING II<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><i>…continued...</i></span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ovRepbDTk8Y/Vk9qI3JyQNI/AAAAAAAAF0s/y4iEBmQiHKs/s1600/lightstock-98918-writing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="425" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ovRepbDTk8Y/Vk9qI3JyQNI/AAAAAAAAF0s/y4iEBmQiHKs/s640/lightstock-98918-writing.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">So, in the last post, I made a 15 point list of <a href="http://williamsoyindamola.blogspot.com.ng/2015/10/what-i-have-been-learning.html" target="_blank">what I have been learning lately</a> as a challenge to myself and you to begin to take conscious and serious note of what God and life have been teaching us. They are numerous but one-step-at-a-time is my motto. Here is another list of some of my lessons. <br /><br />Let’s go…<br /><br />1. God WILL do His work. Stop worrying. It is not my job to tell God how to do His. Just let go and let God be God.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />2. Oyindamola, there is a thin line between HATE and INDIFFERENCE. There is a <b><span style="font-size: large;"><i>HUGE</i> </span></b>difference between love and lust. Love is selfless, but lust is SELFISH. Love is about ‘them’ but lust is about ‘me’. Love IS <i><b>God</b></i>. Lust is well…<b><i>SIN</i></b>. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />3. My acceptance before God is not based on what I do. It is based on His love and mercy. Thinking otherwise is an<b> awful case of pride.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><b> </b> <br />4. Most of the things I call ‘personal stuff’ are actually rotten stuff about me that I don’t want people to see, so I go<i> “…It’s personal.”</i> (*yinmu -__-).</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />5. Learn to place your priorities right. Whatever adds no value to you is just unnecessary baggage. Get rid of it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />6. Learn to know God for yourself. To seek Him for <i>Him </i>and for me. Not for ANYBODY. Hypocrisy never got anyone a medal. At least nothing eternal.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />7. Most times, I demand of people <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">what </span>I do not demand of myself. I place a <span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>GINORMOUS </b></i></span>fence for them to climb while I neatly stack a couple of <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">stones </span>for myself to jump. This is just terrible.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />8. You don’t always have to talk. There is a thing called <i><b>SILENCE</b></i>. Learn it. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />9. Marriage is not as easy as it sounds. There are starry-eyed moments alright, but boy is it serious business.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />10. Write because you have to <i><b>breathe</b></i>. Write because it is an <i><b>obligation </b></i>of the divine on you. Write because you <b><i>need </i></b>it more than <i>they </i>do. Write NOT for the accolades. Write NOT just for the self-expression. Write for the <i><b>God-expression</b></i>. Write when you feel like it. Write when you don’t. Write in all sorts of weird places. Write until God’s truth dawns on you like the first lights of day. Write till your limbs grow tired. <b><i>Read</i></b>. Read. Write. Write. LIVE and write. <b><i>BE</i></b>.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />11. You’re a weirdo. Maybe you should just accept it already. Own it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />12. Stop obsessing over that girl in the mirror, she is not the real you. There is only one true mirror and that is God’s Word and what He thinks of you. Okay?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />13. Contrary to popular opinion (mine), time is not something to be trifled with. It is impatient and thoroughly stealthy. <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">You</span> must do what <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">you</span> must do like NOW.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />14. Take off your mirrored lenses. Look at people and when you do look, SEE them. Not yourself. In fact, as much as possible, eliminate the words, “I”, “me”, “my”, “myself” from your vocabulary, Oyindamola. Seriously!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />15. She who would have friends must prove herself friendly.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />16. No matter how hard you try, no matter what you eat, you will forever look <i>lean </i>in your mother’s eyes. So, whatever you do, DON’T LISTEN TO HER (in this case) because you’ll get extra fat and she’ll still go, <i>"You are soo lean.”</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><i> </i><br />17. Ask questions till everyone concludes you are dumb.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />18. Doubt does not always mean you are faithless (?). Sometimes, it means you are still thinking and maybe that is not so bad.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />19. It is not enough to write a fancy list of stuff you have been learning. Be very deliberate. Be practical. Everyone knows these things but what makes us different is what we do with what we know.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />20. Keep learning. Keep walking. You’ll be fine.<br /><br />Sigh. I hope by now you realize this transcends the <i>lately </i>time frame. I probably dug up some forgotten lessons from over the years. It’s cool though. It made me think and ponder what the <i>melons </i>I have been doing with my life.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><b><i><span class="text Prov-9-9" id="en-GNT-17882"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"</span>Anything you say to the wise will make them wiser. Whatever you tell the righteous will add to their knowledge." (Proverbs 9:9 - GNB<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">).</span></span></i></b> </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /><b>SIDE NOTE:</b><br />Which of the lessons above can you relate to? What have you been learning lately? Are you taking note? What do you plan to with them? What are they?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />I’d love to hear them…</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">GLOSSARY</span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">*<i>yinmu </i>-
the upward tilting of ones nose, meant to be a smirk but infinitely
more loaded with an, "it's a lie" or "be deceiving yourself" intent.
Something like <a href="http://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://www.bellanaija.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/09/Jibs-Sent-From-My-BlackBerry-BellaNaija-21.jpg&imgrefurl=http://www.bellanaija.com/2011/09/01/sent-from-my-blackberry-just-say-amen/&h=320&w=320&tbnid=HsNUiwSz0nWdjM:&docid=L1VhlO-lMUSRIM&ei=jmVPVrK5OMWqaaPahaAK&tbm=isch&ved=0ahUKEwiyuKD7z5_JAhVFVRoKHSNtAaQQMwgiKAUwBQ" target="_blank">this</a>.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><i>Photo credit: <a href="https://www.lightstock.com/users/prixel-creative" target="_blank">Pixel Creative</a> via <a href="http://www.lightstock.com/" target="_blank">Lightstock</a></i></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17033629803820665743noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2063780844660561066.post-48336483575305820032015-10-27T15:01:00.002+01:002015-11-20T20:35:20.568+01:00WHAT I HAVE BEEN LEARNING<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xUXA6ty68G8/Vi-DEyRPdDI/AAAAAAAAF0Q/PcUswDl2lAc/s1600/lesson.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Lesson learned" border="0" height="448" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xUXA6ty68G8/Vi-DEyRPdDI/AAAAAAAAF0Q/PcUswDl2lAc/s640/lesson.png" title="Sticky-notes" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I have realized something about myself. It is annoying and very unflattering. I have found that I am what I call <b>‘an unconscious learner’</b>. I <i>know </i>a lot of things but have <i>learned </i>few of them. I do not apply my heart to the lessons I am taught.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Life is filled with teachers and God has graciously blessed me with them. They are people, situations that teach me, sometimes gently and quietly and other times loudly and obnoxiously. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Mostly however, they are the storytellers who tell a tale and forget to deliberately enunciate the lessons, leaving them for me to figure out. It is my duty as a good student of life to take each of those lessons, read between the lines and ensure I apply them.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">But the truth is, I AM NOT. I am a terrible student and have probably had more grace than most to have made it this far in the school. I am in fact not a willing learner. I am stiff and bent on my ways, my folly. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">A wise man once said, “Only a fool does the same things over again and expects different results.” I guess I am a classic example of that fool. A fool never learns until they’ve been burned. They never grow until they’ve been beaten. They never laugh until they have cried. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I don’t want to be that fool anymore. I want to be wise. I want to take note of the road signs so I don’t fall into a ditch ahead. I want to consciously learn the lessons God and life have been teaching me.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">So, I’m starting now, diligently copying my lessons and giving them deliberate consideration and determination to follow them through. I thought I should share them with you:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Here goes…</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">1.<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">God loves me unconditionally. He loves me because He is </span><i style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Love </i><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">and not because I am </span><i style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">lovely</i><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">2.<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Loving God is so beautiful. It is my duty and I have to decide to do it, consciously.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">3.<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>A multitude of activities doth not a success make.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">4.<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Sin is not angering an easily enraged or indifferent God. It is spitting on the face of a loving Father and bruised Saviour.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">5.<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I still suck even at the things I used to think I was pretty good at.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">6.<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>It is okay to say ‘no’ sometimes. In fact it is recommended I learn to do so.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">7.<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“No, I’m not alright” is not on the list of unpardonable sins.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">8.<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Over half the things I am taught in school have no relevance to real life. I should build my life outside the school walls now.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">9.<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Successes in life are not unconscious learners, they deliberately take note and take notes.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">10.<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>My life will be summed up in just a few lines when I die. It is my duty to ensure I make those summarized words into heavy punch lines.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">11.<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I cannot do everything. I cannot be <i>all</i>.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">12.<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I am not the centre of the universe. God is.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">13.<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I will not always get it right and that is okay as long as long as I am determined to get it right.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">14.<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Learn to love beans early in life (in case I have a next life).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">15.<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I can survive without Dodo*.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">This is not all though, there is more. I will add them as they come up.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><i><b>“Are you immature? Learn to be mature. Are you foolish? Learn to have sense.” (Proverbs 8:5 – GNB)</b></i></span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Side Note:</span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Are you an unconscious learner too? Do stop to take note of the lessons God and life have been trying to teach you. Which one of the lessons on my list resounded with you? What would you like to add? What have you been learning?</span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Glossary:</span></b><br />
<i><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">*Dodo – Fried plantain.</span></i><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Photocredit: </span></i><i><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">Via: <a href="http://www.lighstock.com/" target="_blank">Lightstock</a></span></i> </span></i><br />
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<i><b><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">To be continued...</span></b></i></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17033629803820665743noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2063780844660561066.post-56208004421156021642015-09-21T15:18:00.000+01:002015-11-20T19:55:26.838+01:00GOD’S STORY<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />So the other day I watched a bus conductor. He hung by the door of the bus, angled slightly outward as he bellowed on the top of his voice for passengers. His crescendo undulated, rising and falling intermittently in the traffic. He looked so tired, so worn. And I wondered what his story was. Did he have dreams? Did a smile ever crack that now expressionless face? How often did it happen? What were his hopes as a child? Did he ever plan to be where he was?</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />Life on the whole can be pretty crappy and some things happen that make us wonder if it is even worth it. We wake, eat, work, go through routine, sleep and wake again to continue the vicious cycle. I am not about to write another book of Ecclesiastes, but my point is, life <i>can </i>seem meaningless. Why do we live? What do we live for? We sometimes get so caught in the middle that we feel like amateur actors in the center stage of a movie with no script or cues.<br /><br />Why do we live? We laugh and the next second we cry from the very things that caused us joy. We live in a world where nobody seems to care anymore. Nobody wants to hear anybody. We are lost. Obscure even as we are in everyone’s faces. Sometimes you feel like <i>maybe </i>we all lost our way. Maybe we all should have been somewhere else. Then the question would be…<i>as opposed to what? Space?</i><br /><br />There has to be more. Routine is not what we were born for. This picture just doesn’t seem right.<br /><br />As I go through the book of Genesis, particularly chapter 5, I see names, people…lives. But something struck me; I realized that each of them had a story but somehow, their stories looked so…small that it could be summarized in a verse or a few verses. The writer seemed to breeze over, a procession of names and few-line stories. Whoever they were, their whole book appeared to be sufficient for only a few lines. And even those few verses would go along the lines of:<br /><br /><b><i>“When Kenan had lived 70 years, he became the father of Mahalel. And after he became the father of Mahalel, Kenan lived 840 years and had other sons and daughters. Altogether, Kenan lived 910 years, and then he died.” (Genesis 5:12-14)</i></b><br /><br />What a biography! For nine-hundred and ten good years! We don’t even know what he did. All we know is he spent 910 years breathing, making children and…dying. And he wasn’t the only one. Obviously, I know the writer of Genesis couldn’t possibly tell us all they did with their lives. But there should be more.<br /><b><i><br />“And after he became the father of Methuselah, Enoch walked with God 300 years and had other sons and daughters, altogether, Enoch lived 365 years. Enoch walked with God, then he was no more because God took him away.” (Genesis 5:22-24).</i></b><br /><br />I am amazed at this. Why? Because Enoch seemed to have accomplished more in his 365 years than the other people did in over 900 years. Even in the probability that the writer was struggling with space, he could not pass over this significant detail of Enoch’s life.<br /><br />I have one major fear. I fear that I would be ordinary. I fear that I would not be that person whose story is ridden in so much awesomeness. Who doesn’t? But the truth is, we all have a story, every one of us. But your story or how it is told is defined by who holds the pen. If you choose to hand it over to a writer with an absolute lack of imagination (like yourself), what right has your story to be anything less than boring? A one-line diatribe?<br /><br />Enoch understood this and so he wisely handed God not just his pen but his hand as they walked into the sunset, littering the pages of Enoch’s life with beauty, a grand work of art. Yours doesn’t have to be a story the whole world knows, but it should be one that fulfils God’s purpose for your life. It should be a life where you die EMPTY, knowing:<br /><i><b><br />“I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.”(2 Timothy 4:7).</b></i><br /><br />A life that disappoints the grave because it has nothing give it. A life that has given all there could possibly be. A life that fought to the last irrespective of its length.<br /><br />It is true we all have struggles, true it can never be easy. It is also true that a manufacturer alone understands why and how he made a car. Life doesn’t have to be a routine or a list of meaningless pain or pure purposelessness. It is more, irrespective of our hurt and wars. <br /><br />But no matter who we are, where we have been or what demons we fight, we owe it to not just ourselves but to God and indeed our world to tell a story. It is one thing we all have but the extent to which we are able to draw people to it and not bore them or make them shake their heads in pity when our stories are told, is the extent to which we really <i>live</i>.<br /><br />Open the book.<br /><br />And hand God the pen.<br /><br />It would be hard. It would be tough. It would take the very essence of who we are. But in the end it would be God’s story told in us. And it would be worth it.</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2063780844660561066" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><b><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5rUFqOuZkBs/VgFTB1ofCCI/AAAAAAAAFzQ/FfpLXQiklho/s1600/God%2527s%2Bstory.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5rUFqOuZkBs/VgFTB1ofCCI/AAAAAAAAFzQ/FfpLXQiklho/s640/God%2527s%2Bstory.png" width="640" /></a></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><b>Side Note</b>: </span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">There is more to life than the routine we tend to fall into. Life can be abundant and overflowing and it can only be found in Jesus. Give Him your pen. He alone can write that best seller with your life. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Much love! </span></span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17033629803820665743noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2063780844660561066.post-83759566002722595792015-09-10T13:23:00.001+01:002015-11-20T19:55:37.601+01:00ODE TO THE KING<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-CSSq0hAgvwM/VfFwaXWmQvI/AAAAAAAAFyk/QvIIIsJYbwU/s1600/king.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Ode to the King" border="0" height="440" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-CSSq0hAgvwM/VfFwaXWmQvI/AAAAAAAAFyk/QvIIIsJYbwU/s640/king.jpg" title="Ode to the King" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Fiery is He that walks on cloud<br />Storming in strong winds loud<br />Open the gates for the King<br />Swing the lyre and let praises ring<br /> <br />Mighty is He that steps in the battle<br />Wielding nothing and burning fettle<br />The Sun he holds in His fist<br />Burning its flames into a mist<br /><br />Awesome is He who made all things<br />Never lacking in creative capacities<br />Creation will bow at His feet in worship<br />Dancing around and around at His feet<br /><br />Gracious is he who made the air<br />Releasing torrents to all; wicked and fair<br />Never giving a dime of what we deserve<br />Gently he leads, tenderly He carves.<br /><br />Loving is He who hung upon a tree<br />Releasing all bond slaves free<br />Curled like a serpent on a prophet’s pole<br />Stretched taut, a sinless soul.<br /><br />Ode to the King, Ode to He<br />Ode to the Father who made me<br />Pour your scented oil at His beautiful feet<br />There you’ll find me, there we’ll meet.</span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> </span></b>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17033629803820665743noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2063780844660561066.post-43550565819241387372015-08-12T11:44:00.002+01:002015-11-20T19:55:50.162+01:00OBSESSING BLESSING<br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">My generation is obsessed with blessings and it doesn’t take a genius to figure this out. All you have to do is take a not-so-critical observation of how we pray and think. It’s in our every proclamation. Pouring out from every pulpit and sucked in with desperation from every pew. <br /><br />Whoever you are, no matter how terribly blasé, villainous or tightly conservative you may be, you just laave blessings.<br /><br />Admit it.<br /><br />I do. A lot. But, at a point in my life, along with figuring out life isn’t a fairy tale after all, I also discovered something else; blessing is a vague thing. I mean I know it’s a good thing but what <i>exactly</i> is it? And the dictionary made this even worse for me by providing not less than four definitions for blessing.<br /><br />But I also saw how people defined it;</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /><i>“Look at that fine, young man, he just got a high-paying job, an expensive car and a big house on the island.” Sigh. “He is soo blessed.”<br /><br />“My cousin is seventy and retired. All her kids are educated, married and have kids of their own. She and her husband recently celebrated their anniversary at the Bahamas.” Insert nod. “God has really blessed her.”<br /><br />“You know Sarah? Yeah, she graduated with a first class. Such a smart, beautiful girl. Now, she’s getting married to Bill Gates’ son. That girl is so blessed.”<br /><br />“I just got a scholarship to Harvard. Gosh, I am soo blessed!”</i><br /><br />You get the picture? When a person is somehow fortunate to have things that bring physical comfort, we nod our heads and call them blessed. Favored. Happy. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Prosperous. <br /><br />Probably, but then it gets more confusing with the whole prosperity gospel going on in our churches today. Immediately the Pastor pronounces a blessing on you, he quickly proceeds with a succession of money, favor, health, connections, marriage, kids, yadda yadda pronunciations to accompany it. You can only make one conclusion.<br /><br />But, the other day I was studying the Bible and I was shocked.<br /><br />The people Jesus described were the poor (in spirit), the bereaved, the docile, those who were hungry and thirsty, the generally “too nice” guys who knew nothing, had nothing and sought nothing but God. They were the ones who were constantly spat on, degraded, lied about and generally hated to an unbearable point.<br /><br />Jesus, after making a very thorough and sincere analysis of these guys, could only nod his head and say, “Blessed!”<br /><br />Honestly, these people do not seem so blessed to me. They seem…miserable. Wretched. In fact, if they were from my part of the world, my people will call them accursed. <i>“Dem don dey follow am for him village,”<span style="background-color: #cfe2f3;"><b>(a)</b></span></i><span style="background-color: yellow;"></span> they would say while they nod their heads sagely and pretend to throw spittle on the ground. <br /><br />It just doesn’t make any kind of sense to me. Like:<br /><i><br />“I am such a horrible mess. I can’t do anything right. I’m at the end of my rope. All I need is God” Sigh. “I’m so blessed!”<br /><br />“I’ve lost a lot. I am so grieved right now.” Sniff. “How blessed I am!”<br /><br />“My boss just laid me off for singing Don Moen. What a blessing!”<br /><br />“Did you see the new ISIS video with those Syrian Christians getting their heads chopped off?” Sigh. “Such blessed people!”<br /><br />“My class mates hate me. They keep calling me a witch with a fish brain. In fact, Leah slapped me yesterday for trying to preach to her.” Smile. “I’m crazy blessed!”</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><i> </i><br />Am I the only one who thinks this is weird? It makes no sense. At least no common sense. But that is what God tells us. So, what exactly is blessing? I’m not sure I know yet, but going back to the Attitude guys, we find out that there was something about them. During the process of their general misery (from the world’s assessment), they get a huge deal in return. And this makes me think that maybe the blessing is in this.<br /><br />And it wasn’t just about the fact that they were heaven-bound and had a reward from God. No. there was so much more.<br /><br />They all got God.<br /><br />In their moments of woe and desolation; whether as a Missionary in a far out rural area with little money. Or as a young orphan struggling to get by in a hell-hole. A young Christian trying so hard not to fit in…there was that uttermost and high state of bliss, rapture and beatitude. That unfurling peace and joy, that beautiful embrace and joyful assuredness of knowing; <br /><br />He is here. <br /><br />I am not alone.<br /><br />I am His!<br /><br />He is mine. <br /><br />When you have the Master of all creation, the God of the Universe, the Love Himself, the Supreme commander of all as your Lord and Saviour, how can you want more? <br /><br />And this, is the real blessing!<br /><br />Are you blessed?<br /><br /><b>Side Note: </b><br />Have I disputed the place of material blessings? Nope. It will in fact result from the real blessing...but for a purpose. It's important we know that it is <i>not </i>the real definition of blessedness from God's perspective. Never forget that.<br /><br />Stay blessed!</span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Glossary:</span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><i>a - "Dem don dey follow am for him village." </i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Literal meaning: He is being followed by his kindred.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Translation: He is under a spell. </span> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17033629803820665743noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2063780844660561066.post-23014834372178796032015-07-21T12:18:00.001+01:002015-11-20T19:56:04.333+01:00OUR FATHER WHO ART IN HEAVEN<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><i> #LatePost</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I shouldn’t feel this way. I know. I am a Christian for Christ’s sake. Or at least I like to think I am. I close my eyes, open my mouth and try to express what I feel, or don’t feel. But Nada. Zilch.<br /><br />Nothing.<br /><br />I should pray. I know I should, because I am a Christian. I am supposed to pray! Prayer is what we do. But I just don’t feel like it. I’m serious.<br /><br /><i>I don’t feel like praying.</i><br /><br />And that is the problem. Has been for a while. Of course this should not be expected of me. I should be able to roll off my bed with the first thing on my mind being God and talking with him. But now I wake with a certain kind of…trepidation. Like, “Here we go…”<br /><br />I say ‘trepidation’ because I hate routine. I like doing the right thing but I hate doing it <i>dutifully</i>. It makes me hate myself because I feel…passionless. Then I start feeling sad for hating myself. And then guilt sets in, going on in a vicious cycle. <br /><br />So, yes, <i>trepidation</i>. Days have gone when I felt that way. <br /><br />I mean, don’t get me wrong. I still love God. Very much. But it’s more like me saying, “I really, really do love my Mum but I just don’t <i>feel </i>like talking to her. I just prefer we sit side by side in silence.” <br /><br />It happens in relationships right? You just want to enjoy the person’s presence.<br /><br />But you see, it doesn’t work that way with God. Because for starters, I can’t even <i>feel </i>his presence, how then can I enjoy it? Secondly, I really need to pray…especially now, with all that’s going on.<br /><br />Sigh.<br /><br />The silence is unbearable. I don’t say anything and neither does He and somehow this makes me mad. <i>Why won’t you say something? Why do I have to be the one to initiate the conversation?</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><i> </i><br />I’ve always been one of those Christians who believe in prayer and it became really alarming when this went on for a few days. So, after a lot of pep talk, from me (and God?), I finally decided to pray.<br /><br />“Our Father who art…” I say but slowly drift off. I gave it another shot and this time tried not to pay attention to how dry and frigid my voice sounded even to my own ears. It felt…<i>forced</i>.<br /><br />I mentally threw my hands up in defeat.<br /><br />“Lord, this isn’t working and we both know it,” I say.<br /><br />But what has to be done has to be done, so after several minutes of rambling and carrying on with my routine, I decided I had satisfied my conscience. Or maybe not. And this went on for days.<br /><br />It’s not like I don’t know I should pray. Like I said, I believe so much in prayer not just because people say so but because, I’m telling you, I have tasted its power and beauty.<br /><br />I have had times when God showed forth for me at the nick of time or even before time because of prayers. I have received strength and refreshing waters in the place of prayer. I have seen it at work. So, why can’t I just pray?<br /><br />It’s like every time I close my eyes to pray, my brain starts bustling with things to do yet I know every bustling outside God is just busy nothing. I tried. I promise, I really tried. But it was not a discipline issue this time. No. there was something more, keeping me from reaching that beautiful place of fellowship with God. And I didn’t know what, I just was not <i>feeling </i>it.<br /><br />And then it hit me.<br /><b><i><br />“We walk by faith, not by sight” (2 Corinthians 5:7 _ NIV)</i></b><br /><br />I realized then that I was basing my connection with God on how I felt at that moment instead of allowing faith shape my perception of God. And a lot of this goes on in our generation. We are so in touch with the physical, basing everything on what we can see, smell, taste, hear or feel. But that is the problem because God does not dwell in the physical. <br /><br />We worship and communicate with God in the Spirit because <i>He is Spirit</i>. He is our Father in Heaven who we don’t see and want to communicate with. Our emotions have no place in this.<br /><br />Pay attention: Prayer is NOT about how you <i>feel</i>. Got it?<br /><br />Of course it would sometimes come to a point where God rubs on us so much that it overflows to our emotions. But, it does not begin there.<br /><br />Get this straight. Passion and feeling in prayer does not begin with the emotions. It begins with following God in blind-eyed faith before the manifestation of anything physical. Go and check, those who encountered God in such awesome ways in the Bible began with a step in faith.<br /><br />So it means that at that point you don’t feel like praying, <b>that is the best time to pray</b> because you pray in the Spirit and not by feeling (sight, emotion, flesh).<br /><br />Immediately I had this understanding, I ran straight for God. At first it seemed like a repetition of the same ol’, but I pressed for more. I pressed, bearing in my heart that I have a Father in Heaven who is just waiting for me to speak. I pressed till I was so completely immersed I didn’t even realize it. <br /><br />It was a wonderful feeling. But it didn’t begin with the feeling.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />Another tip: When you just don’t <i>feel </i>like praying, go to God’s word. Allow his voice soak you through His word. It spurs you to pray. <br /><br /><i>Pray God’s word to him.</i><br /><br />And yes, you’ll need lots of discipline too.<br /><br />So, are you ready? Now close your eyes, take a deep breath and say, <br />“My Father, who art in Heaven…”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><u><b>Side Note: </b></u></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I'm sure by now you've noticed this is a favorite topic of mine; prayer. And in all my goodness, I have decided to spare you the pain of having to point out the obvious. So, yeah, it is a topic of particular fascination to me...the ability to communicate with the divine. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">And I've read a few books on this. Will probably do a book review on my top 5 books on prayer sometime.</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17033629803820665743noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2063780844660561066.post-46981968866830894702015-07-10T12:28:00.003+01:002015-07-21T12:21:48.350+01:00THE RACE II<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vPo-EGYyASM/VZ-m8bOi-_I/AAAAAAAAFxU/rqV45WyZGIc/s1600/race.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vPo-EGYyASM/VZ-m8bOi-_I/AAAAAAAAFxU/rqV45WyZGIc/s400/race.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><i>…get set…go!</i><br /><br />Clarence wobbled a bit as his weak limbs hit the dusty road. He was tired. He was hungry. He wasn’t even sure why he was running anymore. They were about fifty kilometers out on the trail but he felt like his lungs were going to burst open, spilling his innards on the dusty road.<br /><br />He winced a little at the thought. <br /><br />He should stop to eat something. Some of the other runners did. Every few hours they stopped to eat some of the food Papi – for that was what they called the organizer of the race – kept on the track. But, he couldn’t do that. He was too busy.<br /><br />He had to win this race.<br /><br />The Papi also helped the runners a lot. Sometimes, he’d just jump in and take some of the weary ones on his shoulder while he ran. Or offer them glucose. Or help them read the map. Or bellow advice from a chopper hovering above them constantly. But Clarence had <i>graciously </i>rejected his offer several times.<br /><br />All his friends were in the race. He had a lot to prove. He did his exercises well and was a natural at this. He didn’t need the food. But, he felt really doozy. His initial energy and fervor that was present when he began the race was gone. His breaths came in wispy, shallow puffs now. But he kept going.<br /><br />He would make it.<br /><br />He didn’t need food.<br /><br />Or anyone’s help.<br /><br /> * * * *<br /><br />The bag was weighing her down. Tina had wondered at a time what it would feel like to carry a thousand ton rock on ones back. Now, she knew. She couldn’t remember where the strange thought had come from at that time. Maybe something she had read somewhere about placing a millstone around someone’s neck and dropping them in the ocean.<br /><br />She felt so strangled. All her energy and concentration focused fully on carrying the weight hanging on her stooping back. Her steps were slow and labored. But this was hers. She would carry it. So she hopped on with the bag flopping heavily on her back as she did so, her breath shallow and labored.<br /><br />Several times Papi had hovered in a chopper above her like he usually did, bellowing on a megaphone for her to drop the load. But all the time she would shake her head and ignore him. There was no way she was dropping it.<br /><br />She had left home with it. It contained all her personal stuff. Things she loved and was comfortable with. Things she wasn’t ready to let go of for any reason.<br />For any one.<br /><br />Besides, she was sure she was doing great in the race…for someone with all that load. Never mind most of the energy from her food always went to carrying the bag rather than running the race. But she wasn’t complaining.<br /><br />She would be fine.<br /><br />She stopped a bit to catch her breath and watch the other runners and tried not to envy some of them. They were so agile and fast. If only she could be that way. Some who breezed past however, were so pathetic she wanted to laugh. But then she remembered the weight chocking her and changed her mind about expressing her scorn. Their steps were so feeble and Papi had to carry them most of the time or offer them some kind of help.<br /><br />They were so helpless.<br /><br />At least she was better than them. Now, if only she could find a way to carry this load without it chocking or hindering her steps too much, she would be fine.<br />She would be just fine.<br /><br /> * * * *<br /><br />Ladi had always loved beautiful things. She remembered as a child, she had had such a keen eye for art that her parents had thought she would end up as an artist. She would usually point excitedly at a daisy or a rose and hop excitedly screeching, “Look! So, so pretty!” Her friends thought she was weird, in a kind of way that was somehow acceptable for only artists.<br /><br />But she hadn’t grown to be an artist. She was a photographer.<br /><br />Now, as she ran on the trail, she couldn’t help but notice how the surrounding hills towered and tilted towards each other like they were having a private conversation. She sighed.<br /><br />It was really beautiful.<br /><br />Then there were the luscious berries that hung alluringly and beckoned silently by the side of the road. Her mouth watered, never mind the food Papi provided for them. They were not like these ones. These ones were different. She could just take…<br /><br />She shook her head vigorously and blinked. “Focus, Ladi. Focus!” she chided herself and picked up her slowing steps.<br /><br />She must have run for about a kilometer when she saw it. It wasn’t different from the others she had been seeing along the way but somehow this one caught her fancy. She halted in her tracks for a bit and watched.<br /><br />There was a party at some distance to the west. The people were dancing and laughing like they had no care in the world. They looked like they were really having fun. She found herself smiling longingly. <br /><br />She wanted to go.<br /><br />All she had to do was stay awhile. Maybe take a few of those berries she had seen on the trees along the way. They had them there, in platters. Ladi squinted and tried to make out the other things lying on the table. She couldn’t really see them from where she was but they seemed really delicious. She would not stay long, she told herself. She would be able to get back on track later, after all she was a fast runner. Very lithe.<br /><br />She should go. <br /><br />What harm could there be?<br /><br /> * * * *<br /><br /><i><b>“Do you not know that in a race all runners run, but only one gets the prize? Run in such a way as to get the prize.” 1 Corinthians 9:24 _ NIV</b></i><br /><br /> The End?<br /><br /><br /><u><b>Side Note:</b> </u></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">No, my question mark is not out of place. I’m not sure that story ever really ends. It’s our story. All of us.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />What is the lesson in it, you ask? Well, it should be there somewhere. But here’s a tip: They are all Christians. On a race. <br /><br />Go figure…<br /><br /><br /><br /></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17033629803820665743noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2063780844660561066.post-19162821574984390692015-05-29T21:38:00.001+01:002015-05-29T22:15:08.708+01:00THE RACE<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><b><i>On your marks…</i></b><br /><br />Jade breathed deeply, sucked in her stomach and slowly let out air from her open mouth. Annie had insisted this was wrong aerobics, “Breathe in air <i>to </i>your lungs,” her know-it-all friend had said but Jade was too occupied at the moment to worry about the technicalities of breathing.<br /><br />She squinted, scanning around briefly for any sign of them. But even after roving the curved sidelines as far as her eyes could see, she still couldn’t spot them. Though the sidelines were brimming with humans, she didn’t bother filtering the bodies around critically. She knew.<br /><br />They were not here.<br /><br />And all of a sudden, all her cool confidence was shattered. She could feel her heart sink like an anchor thrown into the sea and this made her feel weak. Weak from the exhaustion of the pain and disappointment. Weak from the strain of making excuses for her family and friends. They just did not care.<br /><br />“Live with it,” she mumbled to herself and spat ungracefully. She did the breathing again to steady her heart. She didn’t need this now. If there was ever a time she needed all her mind in one place, it was now.<br /><br />Jade had entered for the “Run for life” marathon a month ago. A friend, Ben, had introduced it to her and she had gotten the ticket; which was weird. The ticket, that is.<br /><br />They had told them the ticket was free and the only thing they had to do was show an interest. They said the prize was N50 million and a mansion. Seriously, who gives you a chance to enter for a contest with such a huge prize attached to it without expecting anything? Jade thought. And it wasn’t even a company event. It was a one-man organized thing. <br /><br />Another strange thing. No one saw a picture of the mansion. In all the fliers and banners, they had never shown anyone the prize they were running for nor the man – the organizer. But she gave up understanding it. Her friends had laughed at her. They thought it was a sham and teased her mercilessly when she got up early every morning to train. But all that didn’t matter.<br /><br />She was running.<br /><br />Of course her family had disapproved. It was foolishness, they said. But she had hoped that somehow they and her friends would still come to cheer her on.<br /><br />Apparently not.<br /><br />She got on her mark. The race was about to begin.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /><br /> * * * *<br /><br />Dave couldn’t get what the man was hollering about. He stood at the sidelines and yelled at him to get himself fixed up. What did that mean anyways? He had entered for the race about a week ago after getting the handbill from some guy on his way to the office and it had said nothing about getting himself “fixed up”. It just sounded like a great deal to him.<br /><br />Okay, fine it was indeed a race and like his friend had told him, he needed to train hard. But seriously, he didn’t think it was that big a deal. He was very athletic and after doing a sweeping survey of his fellow runners, he decided he was probably the most fit. With or without exercises.<br /><br />And running shoes.<br /><br />Agreed, dress shoes were not exactly “track-friendly”. That and his beige slacks together with a clean white shirt and tie. But that was beside the point. Heck, there was no way he was wearing any of those ugly running boots he saw the others sporting. He huffed. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />Some people had style.<br /><br />All that did not matter. The point was at least he had come. Dave could almost see the dazzling mansion in his mind’s eye. He didn’t know what it looked like but he enjoyed imagining it. He had even told some of his friends to come along. Some had agreed and others laughed at him out rightly. They thought he had lost his mind, running for something he knew almost nothing about.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />He would show them.<br /><br />The sun was coming on them really hard and he thanked God for the strong antiperspirant his wife had made him buy before coming. Although she hadn’t entered for the race yet, she had agreed to join them later. That was possible. The flier had said so. So long as the race was still on, others could join them.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />Weird rule, he thought.<br /><br />He waved off the man – hollering man on the sidetrack – and gently rocked on his feet while placing his hands in his pockets. The old trooper just shook his head and walked off. <br /><br />Dave briefly surveyed the sidelines again but couldn’t see any familiar face, which was great. He didn’t care one way or the other. He was a one-man team and didn’t need any cheerleader mussing up his focus. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">He rolled up his sleeves and picked the rumpled sheet from his back pocket. It was a map they had been given when they signed up for the race. He stared blankly at the curves and lines that ran over the sheet. He had no idea how to read it.<br /><br />But once again, it didn’t matter. He didn’t even need the thing. It was a terrain he knew so well. He stuffed it back in his pocket and whistled.<br /><br />He was waiting for the shot. The race was about to begin.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> <i> ...to be continued</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"></span><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-swtyyevCxUU/VWjMmu3UEyI/AAAAAAAAFww/Hw7GDNqQgFg/s1600/marks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="On your marks" border="0" height="270" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-swtyyevCxUU/VWjMmu3UEyI/AAAAAAAAFww/Hw7GDNqQgFg/s400/marks.jpg" title="On your marks" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /><br /><br /><br /><b>Side note:</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">What next? Honestly, I'm not sure I know but stay with me on this okay? This might take a while though, but then something to look forward to, right?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">And of my absence...that's another piece, trust me. A serious marathon, guaranteed to bore you to tears. Get your shoes and we'll talk. But no, I haven't backslidden.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Thanks for asking ;)</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17033629803820665743noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2063780844660561066.post-66528137272875062772015-04-15T16:49:00.000+01:002015-11-20T20:01:12.386+01:00JESUS TAKE THE WHEEL...OH REALLY?<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /><i>“…In the same way, those of you who do not give up everything you have cannot be my disciples.”</i><br /><br />You remember <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lydBPm2KRaU" target="_blank">"Jesus take the wheel"</a>
by Carrie Underwood? Yeah. It's a really pretty song. But then I
started to wonder if I could rewrite it. If I did, it would go along the
lines of<br /><br /><i>"Jesus take the wheeeel!</i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><i>Take it from my hands</i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><i>While I give you instructions</i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><i>I'm not really letting go</i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><i>Give me hundred more chances</i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><i>Save me from this road I'm on...</i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><i>Jesus take the wheel... "</i><br /><br />Okay so I admit it will not be a very <i>pretty </i>song.
But it'll be pretty accurate. At least for me. I would sing it at the
top of my lungs, unmindful of musical murder. Why? Because that is my
confession.<br /><br />Alright, so you were finally able to convince your
Mum, after several months of shameless persistence to allow you drive.
She gives that exasperated sigh of one who is left with no more choice
while she haltingly hands you the keys. So, off you go, taking
possession of the wheels with your Mum sitting beside you while she <i>allows </i>you drive.<br /><br /><i>Yayy</i>!<br /><br />But you've barely gone several meters before she's twisting in her seat, barking instructions at you:<br /><br /><i>"Watch that pothole!”</i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><i>“Swerve to the right"</i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><i>"Not so fast!"</i><br /><br />And
naturally you want to remind her you’re not blind. Because, you see,
you are at the wheels, but you’re not really driving. She is.<br /><br />Reminds me of me.<br /><br />I
have been at the wheel of my life for so long that I almost forgot how
to relinquish control, but it doesn’t take me too long to realize that I
suck as a driver and here is Jesus, offering to take control of the
wheels. After a lot of hesitation, I decided that maybe surrender isn’t
so bad. It’s even a command. So, I hand him the keys and scoot to the
passenger seat.<br /><br />He is at the wheels and I would like to say I have fully surrendered all. Maybe I have.<br /><br />Or not.<br /><br /><i>"Lord, do you think you could umm...hit the gas? You are going a little too slow"</i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><i>"Lord, this is not the road. It's too rough. We should've followed the highway. "</i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><i>"Lord, watch that pothole.”</i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><i>“Lord, I’m not sure I could do that.”</i><br /><br />We
say we have surrendered. Yet there are still parts of our lives we
would like to protect and explain away on grounds of temperament,
background and so on. Parts of our lives we would like to own. Control
is a human thing. It’s something we never want to lose. We all want to
feel some level of control in our lives. We hate being helpless. Yet,
God demands this of us. He demands full consecration. He demands full
surrender.<br /><br /><b><i>He demands ALL of you.</i></b><br /><br /><b><i>“Simply
put, if you’re not willing to take what is dearest to you, whether
plans or people, and kiss it good-bye, you can’t be my disciple.”
(Jesus, Luke 14:33_The Message).</i></b><br /><br />God doesn’t demand much
of us but that we give Him our all. He deserves it because he gave us
his all. He desires that we rest back in our seats and allow him drive.
Simply put, follow him.<br /><br />But how can you surrender to someone you
do not trust? How can you fully surrender when your surrender stops
short of the “I suck as a driver” realization? How can total surrender
come when our motives are not fully aimed at God alone? How can we
surrender to a God we feel will whip us the minute our hands are up?<br /><br />How can we surrender when we are not aching to see His glory but ours?<br /><br />The
truth is, we cannot. Total surrender is born, not of a mere realization
that God can do it better. But is born of wanting all of God as much as
he wants all of us. Trusting. Letting go. Aching for him so much that
we let the reins slip easily off our fingers because we realize we
cannot hold all of Him – his might, love, power – and still hold on to
our control.<br /><br />It just doesn’t work.<br /><br />It is harder than it
sounds. But why not start where you are? Begin by not giving him
instructions then work your way, with every step of grace, to that place
of full surrender.<br /><br />So, I would again have to rewrite the song…then I’ll have something like this;<br /><i><br />"Jesus take the wheeeel!</i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><i>Take it from my hands</i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><i>And put a tape duct on my mouth</i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><i>I'm now letting</i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><i>I’ll give you full control</i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><i>Save me from this road I'm on...</i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><i>Jesus take the wheel... "</i><br /><br />Sigh. Okay, yes. It will still suck as a song. But it’ll be pretty accurate.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">And it will be my confession.<br /><br /><b>Side note:</b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I'm recruiting back up singers for my own version of "Jesus take the wheel" (The latter one now).</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">So, what do you say? You in?</span></span><br />
<br />
<i><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Photo credit: via<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> </span></span></span></i><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><i><a href="http://www.lightstock.com/" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Lightstock</span></span></a></i> </span></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17033629803820665743noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2063780844660561066.post-72837312010025534882015-03-30T17:47:00.000+01:002015-04-15T16:15:55.730+01:00...WHEN GOD DIED<br />
<br />
<i> "...Nature trembled at this great alteration..."</i><br />
<br />
<i> </i><br />
He is the word made flesh<br />
The Son of God of virgin birth<br />
Like a lamb to a slaughter he was led<br />
Not a protest, not a word said<br />
A guiltless man persecuted and trialed<br />
For your wrong and crime that was mine<br />
On him our punishment was laid<br />
Paying a debt we were too desolate to pay<br />
Dragged to Pilate on that fateful day<br />
He was handed over by the ones he came to save<br />
Crucify him! Crucify him! The people roared<br />
Rejected by his own, they had him flogged<br />
Entering the hearts of men who gave him room<br />
Lucifer unwittingly plotted his doom<br />
They stripped and adorned him a scarlet garment<br />
Setting on his head a crown of thorns they taunted<br />
They spat on the king, struck him and hurled insults<br />
While some gathered his clothes and cast lots<br />
They scribbled an ode on his cross for fun<br />
The written charge a veritable one<br />
“This is Jesus, King of the Jews”<br />
They said to scorn but it rang true <br />
Because of my sins he was ill-fated<br />
For cursed is he hung upon a tree<br />
The soldier pierced him with no sensitivities<br />
His pain stretching tautly to the extremities<br />
And when on the Son laid our sins<br />
The Father had to turn away from him<br />
Seeing all had been accomplished<br />
He breathed his last words, “It is finished”<br />
The sun retreated then into its tent<br />
Refusing to show the abomination of men<br />
Nature trembled at this great alteration<br />
A sinless blood, the atrocities of nations<br />
The earth shook and trembled in fear<br />
Throwing up bodies of men long dead<br />
The curtain of the temple ripped apart<br />
A sign of what should have been from the start<br />
Now all who believe can walk in<br />
Through the advocate, our High Priest<br />
Ushering in an epoch of grace<br />
One which welcomed all people, all race<br />
To those captured by death he was the ransom<br />
He paid the price in ways one cannot fathom<br />
With foolishness, He confounded the wise<br />
It was the unthinkable when God died.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-bRdoGnSFPZ8/VRl8YKu5UII/AAAAAAAAFvA/_4egaPm6o9c/s1600/lightstock-65958-roman-soldier-s-hand-holding-nail-on-the-cross.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-bRdoGnSFPZ8/VRl8YKu5UII/AAAAAAAAFvA/_4egaPm6o9c/s1600/lightstock-65958-roman-soldier-s-hand-holding-nail-on-the-cross.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Courtesy: lightstock</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<u><b>Side Note</b></u><br />
You remember "Passion of the Christ?" Yeah. This is my own tired version. But, I'm telling you, this story is by no means finished. He died and guess what? He rose again. The only "Valentine" who lives to tell the story. <br />
<br />
HE IS RISEN Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17033629803820665743noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2063780844660561066.post-48015420951521011642015-03-03T18:48:00.003+01:002015-03-03T19:18:33.727+01:00CONFESSIONS OF A SHEEP<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">I am a sheep. My slightly drooped eyes and lazy trot tell the story. I am wandering, vulnerable. Dumb. Completely stupid and undiscerning. Even as I type these words, my mind screams, “NO”. I’m not any of those. I’m smart. Strong. Independent. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">He laughs.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Not that raucous sneer a villain throws out when he has pinned down a victim. No. It’s the mildly amused, long suffering soft laugh a Father would give a child who thinks he can drive at age three. That kind.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">I am undependable. <i>Fickle</i>. A prey to wolves. If I were left on my own, I would make fast acquaintance with one of them. He says I shouldn’t play with them but I stubbornly jut out my chin, stamp my foot and insist I know better. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Yet I laugh at Adam and Eve.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">I am a sheep. Yes. And you know what more?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><i><b>The Lord IS MY Shepherd.</b></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">I mean really. He is. Not me, no matter how foolishly I insist I <i>know. </i>He constantly is. No one else but Him. Mine. My very own Shepherd. And I'm not even paying.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><img alt="sheep" border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pNO8uxmfzVM/VPXzlZtJsTI/AAAAAAAAFt4/aSLiFy4BBGA/s1600/confessions.jpg" height="228" title="confessions of a sheep " width="320" /></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Yes, I'm a Sheep. </span></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><i><b>I have all I ever need. </b></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">He relentlessly gives me fodder so I lack nothing. Not even a hair on my fur is amiss. Not even a parched throat or dehydration hits me. He gives me. All the time.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><i><b>He MAKES me lie in lush pastures.</b></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">I pretend I know everything but I can’t even string two steps together enough to lay myself down. He has to do that for me. If I were left alone, I would struggle, bleat and grunt until I’m finally able to lie in soggy, stinking puddle. But HE MAKES me lie in GREEN PASTURES. He lays me down. Gently. Lovingly. In green, fresh, lush pasture. In abundance.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Sigh.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><i><b>He leads me beside serene waters. </b></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Not the turbulent, wild storms. But peaceful, restful waters. The ones I can even walk on.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><i><b>He renovates my soul.</b></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">I fall. I stumble. I’m weak. He stocks me up. Refreshes me. Restores me. Strengthens me. No wonder he laughs when I <i>think </i>or dare <i>say </i>I am strong. HE is the strong one. <i>Stupid </i>sheep.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><b><i>He leads me in righteous paths. For Him.</i></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">I am a very good person.Seriously. I promise. I don’t steal or cheat. I don’t even kill people. But then, I realized all that was raggedy. I DO NOT have to try SO HARD. He LEADS me in blameless paths. For His namesake. He will do it because, <i>I’m telling you</i>, His name is at stake here! <i>If only I’ll let Him lead me.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><i><b>Yes, even if I walk through the deep, sunless, shadow of death valley, I’m not scared because you are present with me.</b></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Sometimes I will wander from your side and find myself in that deep, dreaded dark valley of death. Where all that surrounds me is empty, thick darkness and the sound of my own strained breath. But still you are there with me. Shame on fear. I’m not scared.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><i>Yay!</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><i><b>You have a walking stick, with which you guide and help me. They bring me comfort.</b></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">I can hear your steady taps as I follow the sounds in the dark. I find you right here. In the pages of my worn out hard-back, labelled “Bible”. I find comfort here. Even in the dark.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><i><b>You prepare a delicacy for me in front of my haters.</b></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">They are wolves. But there’s a meal for me. Before them. They salivate. Want to gobble my food and me up in one bite but God, you shame them.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><i><b>You pour sweet scenting oil on my head until I have an overflow. </b></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">You have filled me thoroughly and truly with your oil. Your Spirit. You’ve dabbed me with all that you are. In excess. Which is why I wonder how I would decide to throw all that away in my moments of stupidity. <i>Dumb, undeserving sheep.</i> No wonder the devil hates me.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><i><b>Most assuredly, goodness, mercy and unfailing love shall FOLLOW me, ALL my life and I’ll forever bask in Your presence</b></i>.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">All your goodness, all your love and grace will follow me. Not on twitter. But ALL the pages that you stuff into this wonderfully beautiful book that is my life.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Because I am a sheep. And He is my Shepherd.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><i>Adapted from David’s Psalm – Psalm 23</i>.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><u><b>Side Note</b> </u></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">I’ve been musing on this Psalm lately and just couldn’t help it. I had to write it. It amazed me how many times I have recited this Psalm without even thinking about it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Are you a Sheep?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17033629803820665743noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2063780844660561066.post-35680340387142933192015-02-10T05:11:00.001+01:002015-02-10T07:10:16.794+01:00VAIN BABBLINGSI want to rant. And why not? It’s the fastest, easiest and most effective way to get your message across especially when people just would not pay attention. Then, place it on some obscure blog in the tangled mess that is the web for better effect. Works wonders. Right?<br />
<br />
Okay, so that’s probably very inaccurate but what can a girl do? <br />
<br />
There’s a certain disturbing practice that goes on in Christianity today, it’s so disturbing and so predictable that Jesus had to send us the red light beforehand, like, “I know you’re going to do this but before you do, here’s a tip…” I'm by all means guilty of this also.<br />
<br />
I remember growing up in church, we were always asked to pray and boyy did I dread those Sunday schools. This isn’t the disturbing part. Wait for it. <br />
<br />
See, we’d be asked to pray for a long time and well, since there are only so many words in an average nine-year old’s vocabulary, we quickly run out of what to say to God. What do we do? We recycle. Repeat some words and phrases – e.g. “Amen”, “Jesus”, “Help us”, “Please”, “Do this oh, Lord”, “Bless us, Lord”... the list goes on – as many times as humanly possible so we can improve our “time with God”.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mk55USMAKKY/VNmCP8iU_FI/AAAAAAAAFr4/NaCXpwkHdPM/s1600/babble.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mk55USMAKKY/VNmCP8iU_FI/AAAAAAAAFr4/NaCXpwkHdPM/s1600/babble.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Courtesy: flickr.com</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Now, this isn’t even the major disturbance. Nope. It gets worse when adults – grown-up adults (forgive the tautology, but this is still a rant) – repeat the words in prayers for effect. I mean, really now. How short of words can we get?<br />
<br />
Then, there’s the Church. When prayers get intense, we kick, yell, stamp around and repeat words in rapid successions (here’s a classic; “Shout Jesus seven times” or “Shout Amen three times”). I did these a lot. Church taught me but then I came across this scripture;<br />
<br />
<i><b>“But when ye pray, use not vain repetitions, as the heathen do: for they think that they shall be heard for their much speaking. Be not ye therefore like unto them: for your Father knoweth what things ye have need of, before ye ask him.” (Jesus, in Matthew 6:7-8).</b></i><br />
<br />
For starters, <b>God is not deaf!</b> Neither is he like that old man across our street whom we have to yell a sentence more than a few times before his ears can pick the signal. I mean, even if we thought He was, why not use sign language or something? Really, who do we think we are yelling at? <br />
<br />
Secondly,<b> God is not forgetful.</b> We don’t have to repeat instructions (yes, that’s what we do half the time – give instructions) to Him because we’re scared He’ll forget. If we do that to humans, not to God.<br />
<br />
Third, how many of us, when talking to our very-undeaf, very-attentive friend repeat a sentence or phrase over and again or in between sentences have to keep yelling his/her name while s/he has their eyes and ears glued to us? Really? You do? You need to change your friends. <br />
<br />
If not then why do this to God, especially after we agreed that prayer is <b>communication, </b>people?<br />
<br />
Lastly, and most importantly, how annoying do you think it is when a person keeps telling you something you already know? God knows us, my friend. <b>He knows our needs</b>. We don’t have to repeat them to Him before He gets it. Because really, he <b><i>gets </i></b>it!<br />
<br />
And while we’re on that, I didn’t say we should not tell God what we want…noo!! In fact, He instructed we ask! Yet, I don’t think it’s nice when we do things to God we cannot accept or do even to ordinary men. It just goes to show how we view God. Yes, that’s all it boils down to. <b>Our</b> <b>view of God. </b>A God inattentive, unknowing, unreachable.<br />
<br />
Maybe it's high time we took a serious look at the Gospels. We shouldn’t repeat our words to God. But then again, don’t go looking around your Webster’s when you want to pray! -__-<br />
<br />
Think conversation! Think fellowship, my friend!<br />
<br />
<i><b>“And when you pray, do not heap up phrases (multiply words, repeating the same ones over and over) as the Gentiles do, for they think they will be heard for their much speaking. Do not be like them, for your Father knows what you need before you ask Him.” (Matthew 6:7-11 – Amplified Bible). </b></i><br />
<br />
Need I say more?<br />
<br />
<u><b>Side note: </b></u><br />
I told you this was a rant.<br />
Do things like these occur in your church? Tell me about them. Come on, humour me…<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YVGPQQKlLds/VNmDLHsCbII/AAAAAAAAFsA/A_ma7dv59Ro/s1600/talkative-duct-tape-solution.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YVGPQQKlLds/VNmDLHsCbII/AAAAAAAAFsA/A_ma7dv59Ro/s1600/talkative-duct-tape-solution.jpg" height="239" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just for the fun of it ;) - campusdiaries.com</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17033629803820665743noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2063780844660561066.post-739930433183297432015-01-26T00:11:00.001+01:002015-02-10T03:37:06.389+01:00OF WISH LISTS AND TO-DO NOTES<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-kxJ5CqJ9Kws/VMV2LdrVFoI/AAAAAAAAFp4/Tq42av8LpDA/s1600/wish-list.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-kxJ5CqJ9Kws/VMV2LdrVFoI/AAAAAAAAFp4/Tq42av8LpDA/s1600/wish-list.jpg" height="212" width="320" /></a>Hey!!!! :D <br /><br />So, a happy new year is probably still in order but I decided that would be tired. No point stating the obvious fact that I’m sooo out of tandem, I’m old school. <br /><br />Moving on.<br /><br />Have you ever come across one of these classic tag lines? <br /><br /><i>“My year of Divine Favour”<br /><br />“My Year of Open Doors”<br /><br />“My year of miraculous signs and wonders”<br /><br />“My Year of Great works”<br /><br />“My Year of……” </i><br />And the list goes on.<br /><br />Well, if you come from the side of the great giant ball where I grew up, you’d probably be nodding away. But if not, well… you’d get a hang of it.<br /><br /> Every New Year is usually laden with hopes, wishes and prayers; we wish, we hope, we pray that somehow, this New Year would end up better than the last. Resolutions, prayer points, tag-lines…anything, begin to suffice as we grapple for some kind of control in a world – our world – we perceive as less-than-perfect. And for a good reason.<br /><br />A lot of people have emphasized the fact that our change doesn’t necessarily have to come with a new year, which is true. Repentance is a daily thing. Remember? But that’s not what this post is about. And that’s not also to say that I totally agree with dispensing with the implication of a new year.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1QRMxUpCIJg/VMV3UFXVPVI/AAAAAAAAFqA/FyMs4YbInd4/s1600/new-years-resolution-list-300x279.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1QRMxUpCIJg/VMV3UFXVPVI/AAAAAAAAFqA/FyMs4YbInd4/s1600/new-years-resolution-list-300x279.jpg" /></a>While growing up, I learned the classic art of New Year traditions; tagging along for cross-over services, following the “new year, new me” attitude, proclaiming one of those tag-lines…I even tried my hands at resolutions, but for me they were more wishing lists than “to-do” notes. I was not just benighted, I was painfully ignorant because, looking back now at the crystal ball that was my past, I can only shake my head, laugh and snort in self-derision at the amazingly unrealistic “resolutions” I made. And no…I’m not sharing any with you. <br /><br />Then there were the tag-lines. All churches have them; “My year of…” well, I was caught in that ruse for long, even though at the back of my mind I kept thinking, “So, this year is ‘my year of great grace’. What if its “great love” I want?” But of course, this is a moot point because when the Man of God yells, “Receive it!” I can only chorus the “Amen!” No one ever rejects it. <br /><br />Except then, for most of us, by mid-April (note: Best case scenario. Most don’t even make it to mid-January), it becomes just this fancy sticker we can have up our doors or car bumpers.<br /><br />But the point still remains; “This New year, I want something. Preferably new. If it would take a resolution for me to get it, fine. If it’s a wishing (or prayer) list, okay with me. If it’s with the tag-lines I shallowly proclaim to encourage myself, no problem…this is MY year.”<br /><br />But what if we are wrong? What if it’s not our year? What if it’s someone else’s turn? What if it’s God’s? What happened to giving God everything? What’s wrong with a nice little tag saying:<br /><br /><i>“God’s great year of harvest?” <br /><br />“My year of surrender”<br /><br /> “God’s year of praise” ?</i><br /><br />I do think we have missed the point. A new year isn’t about claiming new blessings for ourselves and seeking for ways to fix our lives so we can be more…“content” or “successful”. No. But just like every other year, every day, every hour, every second, it is one more opportunity to prepare ourselves for the ultimate happily ever after.<br /><br />Eternity.<br /><br /> “Then came the word of the LORD by Haggai the prophet, saying, Is it time for you, O ye, to dwell in your cieled houses, and this house lie waste? Now therefore thus saith the LORD of hosts; consider your ways.” (Haggai 1:3-5 – KJV).<br /><br />We are just like the Children of Israel. After God delivered them from captivity, all they cared about was building their own houses and doing their own stuff. Telling themselves, “This isn’t God’s time yet. It’s not the time to build His house. It’s our time. It’s my time.” <br /><br />No one’s saying you shouldn’t build and get a wonderful life. No. But let’s not get so tangled up in building our houses that we forget to build God’s. <br /><br />My point? Please if you are one of those who think this is your year, Consider your ways. Make this God’s time. Instead of spouting the many things you want Him to do this year, how about being an answer to His prayer?<br /><br />Pause.<br /><br />Pay attention: <b>HOW ABOUT YOU BE AN ANSWER TO GOD’S PRAYERS?</b><br />It’s so easy for us to see God as this mighty, unfeeling being. God has needs too. He has desires but we cannot even come close to sensing them unless we love Him. And we cannot love Him while we are busy building our structures and relegating Him to second place. While we are trying to cling to Him and our own selfish desires.<br /><br />God is too big for second place.<br /><br />God first yo’!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><b>Side Note:</b> You know I was considering an apololgy letter. The one featured by dozens of "sorries" and tonnes of trite excuses on why I haven't blogged in a while, but I'll spare you. *Sigh* Maybe I actually need a resolution more than I think. Probably something along the lines of; "To blog nine times a day." Hehehe!...I permit you to move that to the wish list category.<br /><br />Oh well, A Happy, gracious 2015 y'all. God first yo’!</span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17033629803820665743noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2063780844660561066.post-84519342317740682202014-12-22T20:18:00.000+01:002015-02-03T03:07:47.116+01:00FORGETFUL ME<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Yesterday was my birthday and it’s just
so amazing how time imperceptibly tip toed past my beclouded – and yes, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">bespectacled – </i>eyes. Eyes that were so
busy roving over history books of yesterdays, clouded by the past that they
forgot to see time dancing past.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">I am particularly big on history. I
believe, for one, that if we want to move ahead in the future and not make the
mistakes we did in the past, there is a need to dust up our books and take
stock. That sounds like a perfectly logical thing to do. Right?</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Which was why yesterday, I decided
to settle down and think of my past. I thought of my childhood (*smug smile*
yes, I said childhood), my teenage years (ok, don’t roll your eyes now – I meant
the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">major </i>parts) and my…now. From where
I sat on my bed that morning, the view looked very colourful, with some white,
black, red, green and even grey areas. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">At that point I got confused; what
part do I focus my lens on, really? Those times when I did things I wasn’t so
proud of? Or those ones where I could beat my puffed up chest? Either way the
lens went, one thing was evident, there was no helping my future with this. I tried
so hard to spot mistakes and think up new strategies to advance. Nada. Zilch. Nothing!
I tried resolutions and wishing lists. Didn’t work. Because somewhere in my
heart I couldn’t find a motivation, a springboard to hop on to my new year.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">I kept searching.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">And searching….</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Then it hit me! </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span class="text"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">“See, I am
doing a new thing!</span></i></b></span><span class="indent-1-breaks"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"> </span></i></b></span><span class="text"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?</span></i></b></span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"> <span class="text">I am making a way in the wilderness</span><span class="indent-1-breaks"> </span><span class="text">and streams in the
wasteland.” (Isaiah 43:19 - NIV)</span></span></i></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span class="text"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">I finally
got it. God is doing something new! He is making ways and springing upwelling
of waters. This is the trend. And He’s calling me, drawing my attention and
wondering how I could be so alarmingly obtuse. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“I’m doing it! Open your eyes and see it. Perceive it. Don’t be so
insensitive”. </i>There is relief for me in this arid place. There are spurts
of revitalizing waters in this desert but somehow I couldn’t see it and God’s
gift to me is this, “Look!”</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span class="text"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">But there
is a problem.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span class="text"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">The new is
great and exciting. It is all I want and all I look forward to, old news is
getting boring and frustrating. But there’s more to this promise than just
looking and seeing it. </span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">To enter my brand new future, there has to be a “letting
go”. I need to forget the past, no matter how ugly and frayed or how sparkly
and glorious because going over history will keep me from the new, it would
build a misty cloud over my eyes so I miss my “new” twirling past me.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span class="text"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><sup><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"> </span></sup></i></b></span><span class="text"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">“No one cuts up a fine silk scarf to patch old work clothes; you want
fabrics that match. And you don’t put wine in old, cracked bottles; you get strong,
clean bottles for your fresh vintage wine. And no one who has ever tasted fine
aged wine prefers unaged wine.”</span> (Luke 5:36 – The Message).</i></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span class="text"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">So, no
matter how much I fancy my old clothes, there is no patching them up with the
new silk. Nope. God would not build a new skyscraper on an old foundation, he would
not make do with the old. He would not build on my yesterday. I have to forget the
past. Forget it and how comfortable it is, forget how cozy its familiarity
feels, forget its glories and shame. Everything.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span class="text"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">I’m dropping
my thick-leather-back history tome, placing it in a fancy chariot and hurling it at a
60 degree tangent straight into the Red Sea; chariot and all.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span class="text"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">I’m turning
my back.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span class="text"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">And I’m getting forgetful.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">That. Is. My. Happy Birthday.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZHfAfNKy7D8/VJhuJCiJjcI/AAAAAAAAFnk/mKUhZouGApc/s1600/iLive.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZHfAfNKy7D8/VJhuJCiJjcI/AAAAAAAAFnk/mKUhZouGApc/s1600/iLive.png" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span class="text"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">“<u>Forget</u>
about what’s happened;</span></i></b></span><span class="indent-1-breaks"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"> </span></i></b></span><span class="text"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">don’t keep going over old history.</span></i></b></span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"> <span class="text">Be alert, be present. I’m about to do something brand-new.</span><span class="indent-1-breaks"> </span><span class="text">It’s bursting out! Don’t you see
it?</span> <span class="text">There it is! I’m making a road through the desert,</span>
<span class="text">rivers in the badlands.”</span> (Isaiah 43:19 – The Message
Bible).</span></i></b></span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17033629803820665743noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2063780844660561066.post-27479635435206361782014-12-02T19:45:00.000+01:002015-11-20T19:59:31.613+01:00HE WASN’T KIDDING! (II) – Wow!<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3hxRmhjq8HE/Vk9tPprhNbI/AAAAAAAAF04/HEGXwWAo88Q/s1600/lightstock-15268-joyful-child-listening-to-music-on-an-ipod--2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3hxRmhjq8HE/Vk9tPprhNbI/AAAAAAAAF04/HEGXwWAo88Q/s640/lightstock-15268-joyful-child-listening-to-music-on-an-ipod--2.jpg" width="470" /> </a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 18.0pt;">There are a handful of things I could
say I have learned from kids, that is, when I allowed myself look beyond the
gurgles and wailings to the true essence of innocence, beauty and…wonder. A few
of these I could see reflected directly in scripture’s directives.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 18.0pt;">One of them is WONDER. There was a
time my little cousin was fascinated by butterflies. Most kids would squeal and
run in circles when they saw one. Not my cousin. If he was squealing or running
in circles, it was because he was too excited and wanted to catch the critter. He
would “ooh!” and “aah!” all over, much to my irritation. I mean jeez, it was
just a butterfly. Who stands wide-eyed at a flappy critter? Apparently, he did.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 18.0pt;">I am not wide-eyed.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 18.0pt;">And I say that with all sense of
pride and smugness. Life and society have taught me to be practical. <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">You are
not a “village” girl</i></b><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">.</i> Staring
wide eyed at city lights and buildings. Practicality…down-to-earth. It’s the
stuff of sophistication and well…maturity. Of course, there are some occasions
when I see something and go, “wow”, like say a technology or an art. But only
those things I can understand, at least to the extent where I know it must have
cost a lot to make it that “wow” inspiring. If God is too awesome for us, we’d
probably probe and prod till we lose the stars in our eyes. We run to science to
explain the phenomenon behind it. As if to say, “How dare You do something so
amazing I can’t understand?” </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 18.0pt;">God is great, I say that all the
time. But somehow it has grown so…familiar. Yeah, God parted the sea for His
children to walk through, so what? It sounds cool but I wouldn’t allow myself
drool all over my Bible because of it. He is God. He is expected to do these
things, right? Besides, I’ve heard that a dozen plus times.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 18.0pt;">He stills the sun, he roars in
lightening and cloud, formed the world in six days, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>he walks on water, restores unseeing eyes, he
multiplies loaves of bread…litters the pages of the Bible with awe-inspiring exploits
and still manages to be everywhere at the same time. Yet, somehow I do not see
the wonder in this. My eyes don’t grow wide, I don’t gasp and mouth “wow” in
amazement, my mouth doesn’t go agape. It doesn’t occur to my slow brain and
familiar heart that THIS IS NOT NORMAL. People don’t generally go about doing
these kinda stuff.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">“Truly I
tell you, whoever does not receive and accept and welcome the kingdom of God
like a little child [does] positively shall not enter it at all” (Jesus in Mark
10:15 – AMP)</span></i></b></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">But somehow I could feel God
pulling my heartstrings with his word. He tells me to receive his kingdom like a child,
first with blind-eyed belief, then with wide-eyed wonder and finally with open
arms. JUST LIKE A CHILD. A child who somehow thinks everything is fascinating. A
child who isn’t too familiar with the wonders of God. A child who would stop to
stare at the vastness of the sky and cry, “look!”, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>a child who jumps in excitement to see a bird. </span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">I’m not awesome, He is. He gracefully
and powerfully causes His enemies to bow, He paints the sky with elegant and
fluid strokes, splattering His nature all over for us to see, He provides meals
from the sky, heals the sick, changes the heart of people.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Hangs on the cross.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">He is awesome. And he has called me
to receive the beauty of His kingdom. He didn’t call me to probe it. But to
stand and watch with wide eyed wonder and parted lips at his bruised battered
face, bloodied body on a wooden cross till I cannot but fall to my knees in
worship. He has called me to the very Kingdom He purchased for me with his punctured
hands, those same mighty hands that formed me…that same heart that loves me.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">I am called to receive, called to
accept, called to welcome. If the call was in a still small voice pulling my
heart or in a thunderous voice accompanied by lightening, it is not my duty to
probe it but to stand in wonder and brokenness and simply whisper, “Yes, Lord.” </span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">God wants me to worship Him in the
beauty and wonder of His holiness and mightiness. His deeds and works should
elicit wonder. His kingdom should not be one I take lightly because I’ve heard it
a trillion times. His Kingdom should be one where its sheer beauty, power and
righteousness causes me to be awed. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"> </span> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I should receive His kingdom with a
WOW!</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i><b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">"Let be and be still , and know (recognize and understand) that I am God. I will be exalted among the nations! I will be exalted in the earth!" </span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">(Psalm 46:10 - </span></b></i><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><i><b>AMP)</b></i></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Side note: </span></b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">When last have you allowed yourself give the skies more
than just a passing glance? When last did you let out a shout of amazement
because the wonders of God cannot be contained? When last did you wonder about
the hand of God in a person?</span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Well, the other day, I was walking
home and I was able to capture the sky on camera;</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6ZvcClDaA-E/VH4ID1H8jjI/AAAAAAAAFmY/D5mR9dtuQTU/s1600/Photo0542.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6ZvcClDaA-E/VH4ID1H8jjI/AAAAAAAAFmY/D5mR9dtuQTU/s640/Photo0542.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></span></div>
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<br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">God is awesome.</span></span></span><br />
<br />
<i><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Photo credit: via <a href="http://www.lightstock.com/" target="_blank">Lightstock </a></span></span></span></i></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17033629803820665743noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2063780844660561066.post-48712634695710167592014-11-11T19:11:00.003+01:002015-02-03T03:13:05.044+01:00HE WASN’T KIDDING! (I) - Faith like a child<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">I love children. It is an affection
that has spurred me to study every fascinating detail of them. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I love their big, bright eyes, their cute
gurgles, their endless ramblings on related and unrelated topics, their smell,
their naughtiness, their cute and funny repartees, their cute little toes and
fingers. Their ignorance.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">But as much as I love kids, I do
not admire them. How could I? I mean, they are KIDS. One of the greatest
insults I thought I could ever get as a very grown girl from a person was when
they looked me square in the eyes and allowed, “You’re acting like a child!”
drop from their mouth. Now, I consider myself a quite genial person but maan,
call me a kid and my head could heat up. I avoided this like the plague, had
spent almost my whole life trying to prove it.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">I AM NOT A CHILD. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"> </span>
</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">It became my favorite mantra, a
sword I would wield in anyone’s face as soon as I saw any red lights screaming,
“Kid-accusation alert!” The rules were formed, I didn’t have to try so hard,
society and conventions defined them.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">RULE NO. 1: BE INDEPENDENT</span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">I adopted this rule as often as I could. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Mum: “You should not do this like
this. Here, let me help you”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Me: “Ugh! No, Mum! Geez, I’m not a
child!”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">This was the format of me and my
Mum’s arguments as I grew to be a teenager. I could do stuff myself. I didn’t
need anyone to teach me or help me (especially the ones I thought I could well handle).</span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"> I prided myself in this. I thought it was
a very…mature way of thinking.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">And it wasn’t surprising when I and
God started having these arguments too. ”Lord, I know I need you but surely there
has to be SOMETHING I can do myself!” </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Plus, I am a very rational human
being. I don’t believe in Santa Clause, nor the man in the moon. I know
everyone isn’t perfect, so I never trust them. If God says I’ll do" A", boy it
has to be censored by my high-beam-lie-detecting equipment. <i>"Did he really mean that?"</i> I think too much. And
that is a good thing. Right?</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">But as always, God has a way of bursting my painfully
inflated bubbles.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">“I assure
you, anyone who doesn't have their kind of faith will never get into the
Kingdom of God." (Mark 10:15-16 – NLT)</span></i></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Annnd…there goes my bubble!</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Jesus dropped the bomb in carefully
succinct words. So short, with no parables of any sort, that it is soo easy for
us, rational-independent adults to miss.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Independent. Reasonable. These are
words we love to be described by, but Jesus sunk our boats on this one. He never told us to be super strong, independent and rational. Nope, He asked us to be like a child. Kids aren’t
independent or rational. They are clingy and completely unreasonable. No way
was I having <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">them </i>as my role model. BUT,
THAT IS WHAT JESUS EXPECTS! </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">He expects that when He tells me He’d
do something as ridiculous as say…sanctify me and make me (ME, you guys!) like himself,
I should just believe Him and hang to His every word. No questions or theories to explain whether he will
or how he will. He expects that I cling to Him for my EVERY need including the
ones I feel I am big enough to handle…like say, making my own decisions. That’s
the difference, a child would believe anything his/her parents tell him/her,
even something as ridiculous as talking donkeys. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-5DDw-yNkuKQ/VGJPwAYIN4I/AAAAAAAAFj4/k0hRlSUoNRI/s1600/child.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="//4.bp.blogspot.com/-5DDw-yNkuKQ/VGJPwAYIN4I/AAAAAAAAFj4/k0hRlSUoNRI/s1600/child.jpg" /> </a></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">This picture of helplessness, gullibility
and unshakable trust is what God wants. It trumps all my fancy "miss-independent-and-rational" fumes out the window. Funny how He seeks the little things. He
doesn’t need my big muscled faith, he wants my quiet tiny mustard seed. He wants
me to trust in Him like a child with wide eyed belief and no specs of
suspicion, rationality or doubt. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">He assures me that EXCEPT I receive
him in child-like faith, I CANNOT see the Kingdom. Thus, you should know He was
pretty serious. So, when Jesus said, “BE LIKE A KID,” HE WASN’T KIDDING! It was with a straight, un-laughing face. </span>He wants me to continually look to
Him with outstretched arms and wide, believing eyes. Seriously.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">"Yes, I am the Vine; you are
the branches. Whoever lives in me and I in him shall produce a large crop of
fruit. <u>For apart from me you can't do a thing.</u>” (John 15:5 – TLB).</span></i></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">How helpless and gullible are you?</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17033629803820665743noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2063780844660561066.post-14333378496538184972014-10-20T17:07:00.004+01:002015-02-03T03:11:29.994+01:00THE WITNESS II<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> ...continued</span></i><br />
<br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u>DAY TWO:
EVERYONE TO YOUR TENTS!</u></i></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Fruits of
the Spirit</i></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kjFLS6PbuF8/VEUiEXzExEI/AAAAAAAAFfk/9GnEDcbHiFQ/s1600/fruits2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kjFLS6PbuF8/VEUiEXzExEI/AAAAAAAAFfk/9GnEDcbHiFQ/s1600/fruits2.jpg" /></a>‘’Sisters,
you have about thirty minutes left to dress up, pack up your belongings and
vacate the hostel. If you’re still sleeping by now, you are very wrong.’’ </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">The lady’s
shrill voice rang out through the cacophony of the hostel’s early morning hustle
and bustle. She was the ‘’captain’’ in charge of our hostel and was now going
around each hall to make the announcements. I lay back on the bunk, observing
the happenings around me. I was fully dressed and ready to move out at the
‘’go’’. This was what gave me the nerve to be in such a reclining position even
as I watched other girls go frenzied. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">“Hey!
That’s my bucket,” a short, plump girl shrieked as she struggled out of her bed
to confront the tall girl who had picked a bucket beside her bunk. She seemed
to have been sleeping, but she was wide awake now. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">“You carry
bucket come this place? Abi dem write ya name on top am?”(Check the glossary if you don’t
speak Naija Pidgin) the tall girl countered in an I-will- not-be-ignored thick voice
and an undeniable Igbo accent. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">“But I was
the one who picked it first,” plump one said quietly now as she gauged her
opponent to be more than her match. She was obviously an ‘ajebo’ and probably
didn’t want any kind of trouble. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">“And so?”
Tall-girl prompted, hands akimbo and neck cocked in angle 45, battle ready. Several
seconds of pregnant silence passed and I watched with amusement as Plumb-ajebo’s
shoulders finally sagged in defeat.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">“Alright,
you can use it. But please when you’re done, give it back to me,” she said
half-heartedly. If she had been expecting a boot-kissing gratitude for her act
of “valour”, she was sorely disappointed as tall-girl did a 180<sup> </sup>degrees
in the direction of the door without so much as a “thank you” much less
boot-kissing (plump-ajebo wasn’t wearing boots anyways, so it was just as
well).</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: -4.5pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I shook my
head in pity and amusement; plump-ajebo had nothing more than twenty minutes to
get ready and now because of her cowardice-inspired gallantry,
didn’t even have a bucket. I thought of how she had to also go in search of
water, then wait on a long queue before she could have access to the bathroom
and felt really sorry for her. But hers was even better as there were other
girls who were still sleeping and those around did not even bother to wake
them. Mortals!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: -4.5pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: -4.5pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Fifteen
minutes later, I and my fellowship friends packed our stuff and headed out to the
auditorium, we got there just in time for the opening prayers. An hour of
worship led us into God’s presence in a way that felt familiar but strange
also…sounds weird, I know but that was just how it felt to me. Familiar because
I had been there before, strange because it was different also (don’t try to
understand it, I don’t too). I felt really refreshed after the worship, having
shook off the last shreds of ill-feel at the disappointment of the day before.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: -4.5pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: -4.5pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Soon
after, we were grouped according to our zones in order for the registration to
commence. We waited for several hours for that to be done as the zonal
officials ran around to ensure that everyone in their zones got registered so
they could be entitled to accommodation, feeding and the conference materials
(a satchel, ID card, books, biro, programme booklet, bible study manuals, C.Ds,
Bible). </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: -4.5pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: -4.5pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Well, fortunately, our zone was an…unorganized one, so it took longer
than necessary for all that to be done – hours - and when at last we were able
to get registered, we were handed the left overs. Luckily for us, this meant we
got the worst of the hostels. There were 3 hostels for girls – Joy, Love and Endurance
and 2 for guys – Love and Long-suffering (sure you guessed where that came
from). Like I said earlier the place was still under construction, so the other
hostels were unavailable. We girls were flung to Endurance while the guys
landed squarely in Long-suffering. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: -4.5pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: -4.5pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Funny
names, I thought idly as I picked my bag.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: -4.5pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: -4.5pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Don’t rain
on my parade!</i></b></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: -4.5pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">So, we
packed our bags with sweaty palms from the sweltering heat and headed to our
fruits of the Spirit (I mean hostels). We girls walked to the building which housed
our hostel. On an iron gate was boldly inscribed “ENDURANCE” and with relief
coursing through my veins for the fact that a warm, cosy bed and a gateway for
my tired bones to get a respite awaited, I walked through the gate and what I
saw blew me away. Not the knock-your-socks-off kinda ‘blown away’. No sir. But
the knock-your-head-to-check-if-you’re-hallucinating kinda ‘blown away’. I’m
not sure if you’re beginning see the trend here yet. The movement of totally unforeseen
turns. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: -4.5pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: -4.5pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Now,
here’s what I saw; two very big bungalow buildings with warm, comfy bunks in
the rooms…all the amenities in place. Well, that is actually not the problem
but the fix was, we were not standing in front of the bungalow. I also saw a
grass covered ground towered by a large tent.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: -4.5pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: -4.5pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">So, there
we were with our big bags in hand and befuddled expressions firmly in place on
our faces as we stood under the large tent flanked on both sides by the two
other hostels.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: -4.5pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: -4.5pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">“Where’s
the hostel now?” I asked no one in particular, as I dropped my bag on the grass,
looking around the large area with hands akimbo; as if expecting the hostel to
magically appear, hit me on the head and yell, “Here I am. Bat!” I saw several mattresses
on the ground with some girls sitted on them, looking all comfy, with their
eyes all over me. What was going on here? Why couldn’t they join me in the
search instead of staring at me like I had “idiot” written over my forehead?
Well, apparently I was<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> </i>the only one
not seeing this oh-so-visible hostel. Great. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: -4.5pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: -4.5pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">After
doing a sweeping glance at the situation on ground, taking in the mattresses
and suitcases, Florence, one of my group members (the one who sat beside me in
the bus) looked at me and tilted her head upward, motioning to the tent
overhead, her brain and eyes apparently in better condition than mine. I took
one look at the other girls in the tent and I wanted to make a run for it (insert
“blown-away” now). Melons! This was it! This was Endurance hostel!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: -4.5pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: -4.5pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">And
suddenly the joke was on me. Again.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: -4.5pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: -4.5pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">“This is
Endurance, right?” I whispered as though if I said it too loud, my nightmare
would take on flesh. The tent was in between Joy and Peace, with its large
tarpaulin towering over several mattresses, bags and…girls. Okay, so here I was
again standing in the puddle of my disenchantment and trying to make a meaning
of it. God was up to something, I didn’t know what but I just hung on to my
dear sanity.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: -4.5pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: -4.5pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, I calmly dropped my bag on the grass,
called my friends and we went to the secretariat to pick our mattresses. We
found a space on the grass, set our beds and I tried to relax (Amazingly I did
not lose my cool…hold your applause, thank you very much). Through the din
which rose around me, I was able to suppress it all; willing my mind to zero off
all sounds as I tried to sleep. It was past 3pm. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: -4.5pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: -4.5pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">So, I had landed in Kwali,
instead of Abuja. So what? So I was now sleeping under a tent that was to house
me (or “tent” me) for the next five days instead of a warm, cosy hostel I had
imagined (like the one I could see on both sides of me). What did it matter? Besides,
it was a missions’ conference, so maybe this was part of the training. I
thought sensibly. Who knows? It could even be fun, I thought with forced
optimism, squinting as I tried to look on the brighter side of the whole situation.
I mean it couldn’t possibly get any worse than this. Could it?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: -4.5pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: -4.5pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">So I’m
sleeping now.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: -4.5pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2vb6C7HjH_g/VEUj_NPzavI/AAAAAAAAFgA/UAnPAOeWjCI/s1600/fuvvu.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2vb6C7HjH_g/VEUj_NPzavI/AAAAAAAAFgA/UAnPAOeWjCI/s1600/fuvvu.jpg" /> </a></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: -4.5pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I sigh as
cool breeze fans my heated skin, Lord knows I needed it. This was definitely a
welcome development. Aha! A brighter side; tents are more airy, I thought
enthusiastically. I rolled over, trying to find a better position on the small
bed.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: -4.5pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: -4.5pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">The breeze
got cooler…colder. I frowned. Odd. That was definitely no breeze. It felt
like…like… wind! My eyes flew open and a tiny moan escaped my lips. Oh puppies,
no!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: -4.5pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: -4.5pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">The whole
place had gone shadowy, as clouds floated gloomily in the sky, promising an
outpouring of pent up rage. Rain! I stared dazedly as the floodgates flew open
minutes later, delivering the promise straight to our tents. The whole place
was in an uproar then, as everyone tried to move her things away from the
rain’s cold, watery grip. I blinked. You gotta be kidding me! Rain?! I thought
in alarm as it finally sank.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: -4.5pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: -4.5pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My teeth clenched in anger. This vendetta had
lasted too long. I had not paid the few thousand naira I did and come all the
way to this…this…village to be beleaguered by the forces of expectations. I
looked longingly at the two hostels, seeing as its occupants closed their
windows and crawled up under the covers while we ran helter skelter looking for
dry spots to put ourselves and things. This wasn’t fair! We paid the same
amount with them, so why did we have to be the ones to bear the brunt of all
this? Endurance indeed! I should have known.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: -4.5pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: -4.5pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">The water
now filled the canopy, threatening to bring it down under its weight with
gallons of water spurting out. Some men came around and used sticks to relieve
the canopy of its burden, in the process wetting what little dry ground was
left. Our bags were clutched tightly to our chests and mattresses dripping wet.
There we all stood, looking all wet and forlorn, like street urchins locked out
in the rain.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: -4.5pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: -4.5pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Someone
had gone out-and-out to meritoriously and vindictively rain on my parade, in
every sense of the word. And now my umbrella had been blown away by the wind. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: -4.5pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I sighed
resignedly. One more fruit of the Spirit couldn’t hurt now, could it? I
thought. So, I endured…</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: -4.5pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: -4.5pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Blankets
and rainbows</i></b></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: -4.5pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">The endurance
test by rain finally stopped, leaving cold, wet and weary girls in its wake.
But we weren’t the only ones who suffered. Some damage had been done on the
grounds; tents had been raised down, the power went out and some other reparations
I can’t really say (ask the technical crew) had been inflicted. This meant a
change in schedule. We on the other hand sought to change our stations, we had
endured enough and now we sought better. While I packed, the National Director,
Uncle Bala, came around to apologize to us for the inconvenience. He also
promised a better reception next time.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: -4.5pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: -4.5pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">We left
the tent in search of greener pastures. Joy proved abortive as it was already
full. Peace was no better. I finally decided to settle at the corridor of Joy
(no pun at all intended) with my sodden mattress. I was cold and frustrated.
This was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">not</i> how I imagined my trip.
Don’t even get me started on that one.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: -4.5pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: -4.5pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1f2I_6fSiDA/VEUj_YbXzNI/AAAAAAAAFgE/bsNqylVCNhA/s1600/rainbow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1f2I_6fSiDA/VEUj_YbXzNI/AAAAAAAAFgE/bsNqylVCNhA/s1600/rainbow.jpg" /></a>However,
you know how there is always a promise preceding every storm and how strips of
colours glow in the sky to show there’s a brighter side? You, know…rainbow?
Well, mine finally showed up when I got the news that Florence (bus partner,
remember?) had acquired a bed-space in Peace hostel and needed someone to stay
with her, since it was two per bed-space. Who knew she'd eventually become my savior? And then, I felt guilty for not being so friendly to her on the bus.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: -4.5pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: -4.5pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Well, the long and short of it was
that I finally got my warm, comfy bed complete with a blanket (not literally
though). I could go on and on about how happy and relieved I was to finally see
the light at the end of my tunnel, but I’ll spare you the whole sappy drama.
But, really I learned something from the whole experience (Don’t roll your eyes
now). It sounds corny, I know but it’s true. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: -4.5pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: -4.5pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Lessons:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: -4.5pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">1. There’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">always </i>a rainbow at the end
of <u>every</u> storm. God’s special promise. And maybe a blanket too…</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: -4.5pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: -4.5pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">2. You never know who'd save your behind tomorrow. Be good to everyone you meet.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: -4.5pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: -4.5pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">3. Be careful what you wish for, you never know what fairy's eavesdropping your mind.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: -4.5pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: -4.5pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">There’s
more (like never ever <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">ever</i> ask
thoughtless, obvious questions no matter how stumped you are…yeah, that type
and many other really <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">thoughtful</i> lessons)
but let’s stick to these ones. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: -4.5pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: -4.5pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Funny the things God does to get our attention sometimes. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><b>Glossary</b></span></div>
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<![endif]--><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">- <i>Ajebo</i> – a person
born with a silver spoon in their mouth…or one who acts as such .</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: -4.5pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">- <i>“You carry
bucket come this place? Abi dem write ya name on top am?” </i>- “Did you
bring a bucket to this place? Or did they write your name on it?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: -4.5pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: -4.5pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><a href="http://williamsoyindamola.blogspot.com/2014/10/the-witness.html">Here</a>'s</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> for those who missed the beginning of the story. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: -4.5pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: -4.5pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><b>Side note: </b>Is that the end? You ask. Honestly, I don't know but I guess, yeah. We'll just have to see. Thanks for sticking around and sharing my story!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: -4.5pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: -4.5pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Adiós queridos! </span> </div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<b> </b> </span>
<!-- Blogger automated replacement: "https://images-blogger-opensocial.googleusercontent.com/gadgets/proxy?url=http%3A%2F%2F4.bp.blogspot.com%2F-2vb6C7HjH_g%2FVEUj_NPzavI%2FAAAAAAAAFgA%2FUAnPAOeWjCI%2Fs1600%2Ffuvvu.jpg&container=blogger&gadget=a&rewriteMime=image%2F*" with "https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2vb6C7HjH_g/VEUj_NPzavI/AAAAAAAAFgA/UAnPAOeWjCI/s1600/fuvvu.jpg" -->Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17033629803820665743noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2063780844660561066.post-40015808487142598872014-10-16T16:35:00.000+01:002015-02-03T03:14:11.440+01:00THE WITNESS<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Helloooooooooooooooo!! Good to see you here again :)</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Now, I consider myself a very considerate person. Very. Which is why in my consideration, I have noticed a certain marginalization on here (this blog). There are people who absolutely ADORE long, boring stories and I have not as a blogger performed my duty in delivering that. This blog post is therefore both an apology and an "I'll make it up to you". </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Today, I'm just gon' give a peep into my wonderful life, and I can almost hear you snort, "Like I care". Well, yeah you aren't supposed to. Because this, my friend, is the point of a blog. So, like you figured, today we're talking about me (of course it involves God now!).</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">And no, this is not because I ran out of inspiration. I'm serious (this is my straightest face -__-</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">So, here goes..... </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-os8kmQEc9kg/VD_e_707g0I/AAAAAAAAFfA/qIvEsskFV-A/s1600/witness.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-os8kmQEc9kg/VD_e_707g0I/AAAAAAAAFfA/qIvEsskFV-A/s1600/witness.png" height="238" width="320" /> </a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u>DAY ONE: A
RUDE AWAKENING</u></i></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u><br /></u></i></b></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Ring,
ring!</i></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"> </b></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Arrgh!</i> I moaned as the raucous sound filled my ears. Quickly, a signal
was sent to my very listless brain which strove through the fog of drowsiness
to interpret it. Several seconds passed as I struggled to leave dreamland before
it finally started to register as my alarm. After this was done, another signal
was transmitted to my body to respond to it. My eyes opened far enough for me
to peer through narrow slits but shut instantly as light flooded them. I had
left the light bulb on before going to bed the night – or morning – before. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I
stretched out my hand – still with closed eyes – and felt for my phone which
was still ringing angrily under my pillow. With a herculean effort, I opened my
eyes again and stared dizzily at the dancing figures on my phone’s screen. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">5:30 Am. </i>Already? I felt like I’d only
slept for fifteen minutes. Then, a realisation dawned. Today was The Day! At
last!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">As if from
nowhere, adrenaline pumped my veins as I got up from the bed like a spring
wound up too long. My eyes became suspiciously bright then. I got on the move
and did all that had to be done. That morning, everyone seemed so excited. Why
not? After all, today was a long awaited one. We were all going to Abuja for
the NIFES National Missions Conference. A trip I especially looked forward to,
not just because of the conference itself but also because I’d be going to
Abuja for the very first time. Urbane buildings and incandescent lights filled
my mind’s eye. I couldn’t wait. I just knew the campground was going to be a
brilliantly massive one.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Several
hours later, and I was all prepped up for the journey to the Promised Land. I
felt like a kid on her way to Disneyland. Well, maybe not that kinda
‘’excited’’ but you get the picture. I was probably way too old for that kinda thing,
but that’s just the way it was. It was all I could do not to start a tap
dance. But never let it be said that an about-to-be-an-adult
girl was all worked up about something like that. Not good for the image. So, I
kept my cool.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Well, there I was, seated at the back seat of a van, book in
hand, headphones safely tucked in my ears with a quiet unassuming neighbour
whom I was glad didn’t have a lot to say because the last thing I needed was talkative
who couldn’t get a hint to shut up, seated beside me. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">8:35 Am</i> and we were off!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><u><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">This is
NOT Abuja</i></b></u></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><u><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><br /></i></b></u></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I was
confused. I didn’t know what to do with myself. The journey was already in full
gear and I was still trying to decide my course of action. Should I read first?
Take a nap? Or just sit, listen to music and enjoy the scenery? I weighed my
options diplomatically. I mused and finally decided on...nothing. Since sleep
didn’t have enough patience to wait for me to make a decision, she took matters
into her own hands.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Several
forceful jiggles later and sleep lost me. I groaned in frustration as the van
hopped ceaselessly over dusty, jagged roads. My rump felt sore, really my whole
body did. We all murmured in protest, either the roads were super horrific or
the driver was. Either way, it was exasperating since it made reading very
difficult. Sometime later, I gave up on the book and settled for music and some
moping. But all these did not temper my excitement. No way was I going to allow
a few bumps – well, maybe not a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">few </i>–
mess with that. After all, nothing good comes easy; no pain, no gain, I
rationalized.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Bump! </i>Another jiggle later and I was re-evaluating my rationality. I
shut my eyes and played grand cosmopolitan city scenery in my head over and
over. I thought of Aso rock, of beautiful lush gardens, grandiose mansions set
in idyllic landscape, high-rise buildings of architectural masterpiece, of
tarred highways lined by <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">working</i>
halogen street lamps. Ah, yes Abuja was definitely worth the pain. It had to
be.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Without
boring you any further, we finally left Lokoja and entered the Federal Capital
Territory, complete with our “jiggly” van and expectant eyes at about 5pm. We
flew past villages and hills, forests and then...Kwali! My eyes widened at the
sight before me, it was unbelievable!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">“Sorry, is
this Abuja?” I asked foolishly and immediately bit my lip at such a ludicrous
question since “WELCOME TO NIFES CAMPGROUND” screamed boldly on a tall
billboard. My neighbour looked at me for the first time since the journey began,
in a funny way, like I had just asked if the earth was flat. “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Way to go, champ...way to go. You’ve not
only proven beyond a smidgen of doubt that you’re a JJC but that you’re also
irredeemably blind,” </i>I thought giving myself a mental pat on the back.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> I
shook my head and gaped. This was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">it? </i>Where
were the tall, sophisticated buildings? Where were the bright lights? Where did
the idyllic sceneries go? What about the tarred, busy highways? Traffic lights?
I wondered as I stared incredulously at the large, partially-fenced grounds
surrounded by nothing but rolling hills that towered over dense vegetation. </span></div>
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</span><br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-hC7wqfFA0v0/VD_kLc15W5I/AAAAAAAAFfQ/U1eZJJDbV8M/s1600/disillusion.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-hC7wqfFA0v0/VD_kLc15W5I/AAAAAAAAFfQ/U1eZJJDbV8M/s1600/disillusion.jpg" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Then, it
finally dawned like an avalanche. This was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">not </i>the great capital city. It was a...village! It was Kwali, a
town located on the outskirts of Abuja, as I was made to understand later. I
was crushed, disillusioned and totally disappointed as I looked around as if expecting
the real city to flip up from underground like those hi-tech action movies (no,
not Nollywood, thank you very much), but what can I say? Life is obviously not
a movie. I felt like a kid who finally found out fairy tales weren't real.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> We packed our van and got down, I sighed with relief as I stretched
the body that had been cramped up for several hours. We carried our bags from
the trunk and headed for the check point where we were searched thoroughly by
some people I assumed were NIFES staff, guarded by armed soldiers, before we
were let in. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Great security</i>, I
thought absentmindedly. </span></div>
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Stepping past
the check point and onto the ground, I took in the scenery before me. There
were several buildings scattered around the massive grounds, with some still
under construction. Our campus group was led to the large tent where we found a
place to settle while we waited for our registration. There were several other
campus groups around and it was very noisy. Typical, I thought. Boisterous
students. Some of them were singing and playing talking drums, guitars, others
were just yelling. A guy was moving around, hollering; “This is Kwali o, not
Abuja. Abeg make una no vex.” I wordlessly accepted the apology as other
students threw repartees at him. After a few minutes, some of my tension began
to ease as I watched the goings-on around me. </span></div>
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Later on,
we were able to get food - for free - and I could not believe how surplus it
was, since we were practically begged to eat, I knew we were going to suffer
for it later. The main programme was not to start that day, so we were asked to
retire early and since the registration could not be done that evening, being for
arrivals only, accommodation was survival of the fittest. I and some of my
campus group friends got a hostel and some mattresses after a lot of heaving
and hustling. But I could not retire as early as I thought since we had
rehearsals that night for the NMC mass choir. I could not sleep until past
midnight but it was well worth it. Singing has a way of easing me up.</span></div>
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Being the
idealist that I was, I was able to look through rose-tinted shades and see the
brighter side of the whole issue. This place <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">was </i>idyllic - well, maybe not the main, student-infested
campground, but the surrounding landscape was. The hills looked really nice and
it was probably better that the campground was far away from the noisy and busy
city. After all, no one builds a campground in the middle of a city. I don’t
know what I was even thinking. Well, I had obviously been dreaming and this was
definitely a rude awakening.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">...<i>to be continued</i></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>Side note: </b>Stop frowning abeg. I told you 'twas boring stuff. And those of you who just have a penchant for long, boring stories can thank me later. But really, I'm going somewhere with this ok? Just chill and come back later.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">See ya!</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17033629803820665743noreply@blogger.com0