Social Media Love

See I saw you on Instagram
And I instantly hearted you,
Met you on Facebook and took a second
To like you
Soon as I joined Twitter couldn't wait
To mention you ,
Retweet you
And favourite you, if not
To DM you,
Get your number
And finally Whatsapp you.
Now that we're past all that,
Can I take you out sometime?

image: lovesocialmedia.com

She became poetry

She's right there
Next to me in her golden brown skin
Embellished by her gorgeous blue dress;
Head scarf wrapped just right
Like an African girl in a painting.

She's right there!
But I can't move.
I'm planted in my seat like an immovable
Bronze statue;
Listening to her accented voice paint the air
With silky tones so smooth I thought I could try to touch,
But with only enough strength to say
Wow...albeit in hushed tones.

I want to tap her shoulder and say
"Habari"
But I don't speak Swahili well
And even if I did
I'm too dumbfounded too say anything worth its weight in sanity.

I'm struck stuck.
My words are arranged like an unsolved Rubik cube;
I cannot fix them well enough quick enough to strike up a conversation.

She moves like a lioness
Controlled , gentle but steady;
Barefoot, one with the earth
Her blue dress kissing the ground around her as she moves.
God knows if I had a kingdom I might have given her half.

And when she smiles (Oh you should but see)
The air becomes rosemary,
The lights glow warmer
Gravity gives up a little
And the heart sinks in invisible velvet!
What a girl this is!

And she's right there;
The most colourful flower in the room,
I'm inches away from forty years ahead 
But I'm stuck in my grey area
Riveted by fear and propriety.
Because I can't find the right words,
The lovely girl wanes into a piece of poetry
Light years from possibility and reality.

Death

Death

How many have written sour words
Who have tasted the bitter bile
You left on their tongues when
You removed the honey of life
The cadence of the living
And left them with but mere shadows
And fading whispers.

A roaring silence weighed upon my soul
Words were too mere and fickle
Deep breaths are all I could muster
In the mist of the news.

Clocks had stopped ticking,
The cursors had stopped blinking.
I was suddenly hollow;
I saw my frame for what it was-
A bottomless pit of nothingness
I'd tried to fill up all my life
With things and experiences.

And now the paint removed
Suddenly, salt had no taste,
Sugar, what a waste!
The colours of life faded into a dark grey
The round edges now jagged and stray.

Death
The things you have spoken to me
Only one can fill
Or I remain empty still
"I need Thee every hour,
Most gracious Lord,
Every hour I need Thee".

Tithe : The increase of Christ

I recently read a book called Richest Man in Babylon. It was interesting to find a tenth of income talked about in the ancient land of Babylon.

For the longest time I'd imagined the tithe was instituted by God but reading this I realised it started with man in a sort of "Save for or save  yourself" scenario especially regards finances.

It was advised that for financial vision , one needed to save one tenth of his income which he would use later for investment.

It was all about prudence , or let me call it a financial salvation plan. Die today, live tomorrow. Today I wondered why God would take this as a shadow of His Son and then I saw it.

The same way God asked Abraham for His Son is the same way the tithe became a picture too.

The tenth was man's wisdom but now God asked it to die at the altar. He would demand tithe but I think more than showing confidence it spoke of the increase of Christ. How?

A seed doesn't produce until it dies. For increase, death was needed. In the case of tithe, a continual saving was meant to guarantee a later investment and gain. Tithe sown over and over increase over again, multiplying the saving, so that the safety and wealth of the person was great.

Christ however is sown once but forever he keeps revealing to us himself : the length, breadth, height, depth etc of him who is love. The greatness of our salvation in one saving. One tenth. To redeem the entire purse. One for all.

In this case, we never tithed, for our tithe was filthy rags, for we were like leaves, here today, gone tomorrow but when God saved his tenth , the eternal God redeemed us all.

What a beautiful realisation. The tithe a picture of God's eternal purpose to redeem to Himself His whole purse through one beloved tithe.

And now his purpose fulfilled, surely can I relegate my tithe to a financial magic box to solve my purse issues?

No, I praise God that the shadow became substance: Jesus lives. I no longer, for He is the whole purse redeemed to God, only when He appears do I appear.

Image: https://ladyamcal.wordpress.com/tag/19th-century-bags/

Hard to say goodbye.

http://www.ldparker.me/

"You feel like a stranger."
The first thing she said to me when we were finally alone. After the masks had gone off, when she could finally tell me the truth in confidence; the first thing she told me was that I felt like a stranger.

And she wasn't lying. We'd become strangers. It had been almost six months since we last spoke in person. And now when finally we had time and space; we no longer had time neither did we have space. She was leaving. She was going away for a year. And she was leaving in three days.

At the time, it hadn't sunk in yet. Here she was; looking rugged and sporty yet through my lenses all I could see was beauty. The same beauty I'd seen the first time I had laid eyes on her. She had a magnetic look in her eyes. Magnetic yet gentle. I looked away but looked again. I was standing outside the church building, she was in a crowd. It was the first time I saw her, but I believe I had seen her before.

Here she was; the same ageless flower I'd fallen for.

"You chucked me". She continued to speak.

I was quick to respond: " I don't chuck people. So if I didn't, then perhaps you're the one who chucked me." A short silence ensued as we reached the gate to her home. I always wondered about her silence. What did she mean? Concession? Abandon?

I realised she was right. This felt awkward. As we broke the silence with small talk about work, computers and her packing, I felt like I was chatting up a stranger. I couldn't look her straight in the eye. My arms were crossed one moment and the next in my pocket. I was anxious, nervous.

It wasn't until the small talk ended that we could speak like we had before. I asked when she knew she was going, and when she was going. When she said she'd known for a while, I asked her why she hadn't told me. She said she had written a mental note to tell me. I heaved.

I heaved because I knew she might have never told me. It was a friend that had told me. I realised we had grown so far apart. So far apart.

However, some miracle brought us to chat about  closer-to-the-heart issues. I don't what it was. Some voice in the heart ? I don't know. When we began chatting, from the heart, I saw her open up like a butterfly. I saw her, the old gem I had always treasured. In a moment, we were in a time portal to the past; the long walks and deep conversations, the writing challenges and the endless texts...

In that blink in eternity, I was no longer a stranger. I could see it in her eyes and her smile.

And then the goodbye. It was almost eleven pm. I wanted to stay longer. I wanted to talk more. I wanted to confess things to her, but it was late. Time had passed me by.

"I guess this is goodbye." She said.

I tried my best to be a man and be strong.

I hugged her (not long enough as I regret now) and said goodbye. I wished her the best and walked off into the night, back home.

There was no power. I sat down, lantern on the table, thinking through the events of the night: The party to send her off; the conversation with her, the hug she gave me when she had walked in and hugged me, the last hug I gave her. And now in this dim light, I realised I needed her a lot more than I had ever admitted.

I do not know what it was about her but I needed her in my life. And now after six months, I wanted to see her, hold her, walk with her, talk to her. But I couldn't get that chance. She was leaving in three days.

I was struck with a feeling of loss. A feeling of regret. A feeling of pain. A stream of questions flowed through my mind. None I could answer. Her impending departure began to sink in.

I tried to cover up this feeling but as the immense cadence of my heart revealed - this feeling had never left. And here I am, heart in my throat, tears at the precipice of my eyes as I realise I might not see her again.

I wasn't ready for this. I hadn't prepared for this. So every time I think of you, I shiver, because I am not too good with goodbyes to people I truly love.

The Socks philosophy of Social Media Interaction

image:www.nanfangsocks.com

Sitokisi!!!! A few people know what this is, however a small community of bloggers are well acquainted with it! Sitokisi or socks was the habit of bloggers wanting to claim the first comment on a new blog post by a person they were following. Even though there was a scramble for sitokisi, eventually, the post was read and comments were made. Even in it's comic nature there are lessons we can take from it in terms of pushing our social media engagement further on whatever platform.

Blogging was more or less the first form of social media engagement I encountered. It meant that for you to get comments on your own blog, you needed to follow other bloggers and comment. In a way, it was a simple form of community. There were no shortcuts to getting read. You needed to create interest by first showing your presence in other people's work.

Thereafter, you were part of community.

In a way, it should be the same for social media. Engagement. Not a mere following/ following back and then continuing with your posts and ignoring the people following you and their posts. Sitokisi means we need to say something, get involved and not be mere robots posting. The difference between bots and people is that bots get on a platform, follow, post and never do anything after that. They might get a like from you, an RT but they will never do the same.

So whether it is Google Plus, Twitter, Facebook etc.... the key is actually engaging. It is a lot of work but that doesn't mean it should not be fun too!

She's a Siren

image: www.sirensdance.com.au

She's a siren.
You know....
The kind o thing that will draw you in
With the magnet of womanly magic
You don't know why you're drawn in
But you keep following her voice
While she dances and plays
Stringing your blind attraction to her.
She loves to tease, hold and release
Makes sport of your hopeless attraction
She seems to breathe it!
You've been told of her song
The sad sweet song,
She, the poor creature living a warm-less existence
Begging for your comfort and embrace,
And when you finally think you have her
For yourself in your grasp,
To remove her sorrows and be her joy
To remove her halfness and make her whole
A man eater you release,
And you live only longer enough
To see the thing you called beauty
Turned into a whore-cannibal,
Whose food shall be your heart.

Don't quote me

Quote?

One fiery spark that fell aside
While a fire was being made.

Ostracised momentary flicker
That faded with separation.

Piece of wood consumed in the inferno;
Singed, removed of substance.

Dust to dust, ash to ash
Forever cliché.

Blown away in the wind
Normalised, devoid of meaning.

image: www.dont-quote-me.com

This idiot misses you

Midnight odes. 

I miss you like an idiot misses the point,
But I'm no idiot, and you get the point ;
You understand that my heart was concrete you stepped on before it dried, and now there's a stamp I can't erase. 
If I sound foolish, maybe I am the idiot 
And you are the point.

Blunts of Grace

"If sin is something that you understand yourself to do on occasion, well then grace might be something that you need on occasion; but if sin is something you are, then grace must be something you live by; grace must be in fact Him living in you. " JH

"Father forgive me for I have sinned." I said as my knees touched the ground. I was really getting tired of this. "Your word says to approach your throne of grace to receive help and mercy in time of need". I needed a fix, another blunt of grace. Another pick me up, I was feeling low. I knew this feeling all too well. Yet despite my best efforts and knowledge, I seemed to end up at this point each time this temptation came,

In my heart I asked, "I know. I know. Yet I still come to this end. Is there no end?". 

Yesterday I heard a brother talk about Paul, and the thorn in his flesh. He noted that whatever was happening was in the realm of the flesh, not the spirit, and despite the discomfort it brought, and the longing he had for God to take it away, it remained. God's response was always "My grace is sufficient." It was not an overcoming grace but a sustaining grace.

Paul after that experience decided to boast in his weakness for it was in that that God's power was made perfect.

Selah.

I try so much to overcome this. It angers me. In the flesh, I would be pleased by it but in the spirit, I find great distress. I find myself a slave in the flesh. I often tell God, something different would have been more workable. A different weakness. Something I can control. Something where I can apply my power and strength. 

A preacher man one time said to get rid of the distress. To make war. War. To exercise my human capacities; mental in this case - to be resolute, to choose to do the right thing. I tried. I failed. 

I ...and it occurred to me then. I.

In all of this, I come first. I detest the shame. I hate the weakness. I hate it. Christ I only come to as an enabler. A blunt to ease the pain of failure. 

The grace I desire is like the "Break Glass in case of fire", when there is no fire I can manage on my own. See, without realising it, the weakness has been about me and no one else. I feel like sometimes I took on Christ to appear sane and cultured, not a bad boy, an outcast. I received a self centred salvation. Something that cleaned me up. 

How I have been deceived. 

Often, without knowing it, God's Grace is a mere blunt. Something for me. Yet grace is Him living, not me feeling better about myself. The more I say I, the more I realise I need to get out of the way and boast in the weaknesses. A free man is sans fears and cares of self preservation; seeing this, I find my idea of freedom has been an illusion. Walking with a very long leash thinking I can move far from where I am chained.. I even realise, love is not comprehended for perfect love casts out all fear. Fear of failure, fear of rejection, fear of loss. 

His grace is Him bringing me into His death, a death I could not die and even if I did, would not be accepted to the Father. His grace is His life taking over. It comes to the place whereby I live by it, yet not I but Christ. Oh but He needs to reveal this to me to the core; inside out lest I put on a show.

Lord, undo me. Take me to that place where it is not I but Christ. I take too much care to myself. If it is letting me fall free, let me. Unhinge me. Remove me from my sights that I may walk in your light. Open my eyes to the grace that is your life, not my emergency button, or blunt. Erase me, establish you. I pray.

Amen.

Awakening

See, my Saviour,
I am waking up,
Though I feel like a man
Waking up from a very strong stupor.

There are no scales in my eyes
But gosh, these eyes are heavy
And the new light that shines
It starts with itching but thankfully soothes.

I am waking up, Saviour
To the reality You've called me into-
I rise but I am used to gravity
So my heart races as You raise me up.

I want to be where You are;
Yet indeed that is where I am,
But the winds and voices from below
Would accost my ascension.

But I am awakening;
This dead body is responding to Your life
Albeit slow and stubborn at times,
I know my old life is not here any more.

I am awakening
To the sound of Your voice;
There's a secret key my new ears respond to
They are keen on the life in the words You speak.

What can I call you Lord,
A word that can resonate with my heart's mind;
Abba, Saviour, Lover, Friend?
Oh, that there was a word to say it all!

There's a flame in my heart
As I think on You-
That You brought me into a needed death
A death that is accepted to the Father because it is Yours.

And a life and resurrection
Docked in You;
My life has gone, Yours has come
My time has passed, Your day is here.

I am awakening Lord to this new day, new life
As you breathe in me, defeating gravity;
Adam has gone - Christ is come
My whole being rejoices and sings!

Hallelujah for the death, resurrection and the life
Zion is home, heritage and life;
The Messiah has brought me into His own
A new day is here in Christ alone.

Image: The Awakening (1980) is a 70-foot (21 m) statue of a giant embedded in the earth, struggling to free himself, located at National Harbor in Prince George’s County, Maryland, USA, just outside the District of Columbia. It was created by J. Seward Johnson Jr. and originally installed at Hains Point, Washington, D.C.

[ Read More at www.homesthetics.net/the-awakening-by-j-seward-johnson-jr/ © Homesthetics - Inspiring ideas for your home.]

Nova Aetas

Feeling empty, but you are everything
Accosted by noise, but you are the silence.
I walk a path of which ground you are
There is really nothing you don't fill.

Simple words like undeniable,
Undeniably deny you your grandeur
Yet you exalt the humble and lower the mighty;
You undo my familiarisations of the divine.

You are that piece of paper I write upon
And yet the pen with which I write,
The thirst in my soul for you
And the drink that quenches it.

You're a flame consuming
And the oil that spreads it,
Engulfing and clearing
Dust to dust, ash to ash; that no flesh remain.

I want no part of myself to stay
Except the part that is awake to your day,
Eyes walking in the light
Heart beating to your life.

New Zion,
I am waking up to adoption
Visions of the past unfolding reality
In this one man, all things find life.

image:thelegacyletters.com

The passing glory of men

"...the vanity of it. I saw humans running around chasing pretty shadows that never brought fulfilment. And even when men caught their dreams they could hold them for just a moment before time took them away..." Jason Henderson

Sho Baraka came to town last December. This was one of the most anticipated moments of my life last year. I mean this was Sho. Ever since I listened to "We can be more", I was hooked. I loved his style of rap, his sarcasm, his kind of manliness. This guy was the best rapper I knew. And he was coming to town. And a friend would hook me up so I would meet him and talk. This was a dream come true! Sho Baraka!

I remember by the time he came I had been ill for a while but I decided I would not miss this for anything in the world. I made it to Kyadondo.

The concert was definitely better than the one I had last attended (PhatFest). It wasn't just Sho Baraka being there, it was the artists, the arrangements, the short speech interludes. When Sho came on, I swear I should have lost my voice. Here was my idol, literally, rhyming live on stage. I screamed, my heart rate increased, felt like flying, I was excited! 

I felt like I was the only one enjoying this part of the show. I was so happy. Ten , fifteen minutes later and the performance was over! I felt cheated. I felt there needed to be more. Then I remember my friend had promised I would see him backstage. I made my move and you guys, I was standing right next to Sho. Baraka. The 116 Clique rapper. The Lions and Liars rapper. The High Society rapper! 

Taller, bigger, crazier but also, calm, funny, humble and normal. 

Sho spoke to me like a regular dude. He had no airs. His nose wasn't in the air. He was human. I was unhinged. I did ask for an autograph. And he wrote one of his favourite verses on the piece of paper I had carried specially for this moment from home. 

After this moment, something changed. All the excitement, all the fire about Sho suddenly ended. He was now a fellow man, like me. Sho remained a good rapper but I was not going crazy about having met him or expecting to meet him again. 

I've been thinking about this for a while and I remembered - "1Co 3:21-23  So then, let no one glory in men, for all things are yours, whether Paul, or Apollos, or Cephas, or the world, or life, or death, or things present, or things about to be--all are yours, and ye are Christ's, and Christ is God's."

I did not force or thrust that reality upon myself. It suddenly dawned on me after meeting Sho. He became less than a musical/Christian giant, and became someone standing next to me; flesh and blood.  Awe had passed. 

I realised, like Jason, dreams come true, may stay a while and pass. What are we left with after that? Paul says a very interesting thing in his letter, let no one glory in men, for we are Christ's and Christ is God's. I cannot tell you how many people I have wanted to meet before Sho but when I met Sho I thought to myself, now what? If I met Michael Jackson, or Switchfoot, what would change? Wasn't it just a momentary filling for the soul that after a while passes. Or perhaps I had a check list, ticking off people I wanted to meet.

People will do things that impress upon our lives but is that true? Do those things stay deep or are they held by a part of us that glories in men? Could it be the only one able to impress upon us is Jesus? And that when we see Him, we no longer look at stature, wisdom, or other earthly things and find the heart of matters?

That I will not feel strange if I do not go to Don Moen's concert, or Israel Houghton's concert; that I will simply enjoy things as they are life and not exalt them on pedestals. That I will not exalt people, or buildings, or things which come and go but will find a place of rest in one who never changes. What if I finally see Him and find rest, no longer swayed to and fro by the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes and the pride of life?

I can tell you one thing; I do not feel the same way about a lot of things after meeting Sho, but meeting him itself was the Son, revealing to me, that only He is able to fill the soul. (Col 3:11 ...Christ is all, and in all.) I know I forget, from time to time, and look for life among the dead but He still reminds me this even now. May I know this, as a rock - Him, sure footing. Rest. Hope. Peace. Love. Life in one - Jesus. Amen.

Do not ( fall for me) (John Reuben parody) and other things

I am John Reuben,
So

"Do not,
Tell me what I can and cannot do when I fall
Original emotions heart beat nonstop
I'm keeping alive I'll turn it out
You feelin' some of that? Don't deny!"

Do not fall for me,
Jamani, unataka nini?
Je ne peux pas prédire l'avenir
Boy chill, no falling this season.

I am Swedish House Mafia
So

"My  mind has said,
"Don't you worry, don't you worry, girl.
See my heart's got a plan for you.
Don't you worry, don't you worry now."
Yeah!"

Do you have no fears boy?
Kineke-oh, many words, no ears
Should I call upon my easy tears
For you to leave me alone?

I am Chris Brown
So

"Too much frost on this window, don't wake me up
Only blankets and bed covers, over my head
If I wake and it's still cold, pass my book
I wasn't finished writing, about your eyes."

Bring Back our Girls

Bring Back our Girls protest in Abuja on Wednesday 30 April 2014 \ trumpetmediagroup.com

Call me racist but these are black hearts
Dark skins with a black terror holding black guns
You have white eyes but still have no sight
Day-walkers thirsting for blood and sorrow.

Your name should be a taboo in these parts.

You've forgotten the womb you came from, rebel
But you're not a rebel, you're really just a beast,
Desecrated the very thing that makes you human
You've waived your humanity, taken on another nature.

Your name should become haram in this place.

I mean they are children, little hearts yet unharmed
Until your soot filled fingers, scaly dark hands
Came and tainted them, anointed them with fear
Looked them in the eyes and began to kill their innocence.

Your name should not be in any books.

If there was one thing left to save your soul
Perhaps a ray of hope for us who pray for you
Even a little heartbeat in those hard hearts
Bring Back our Girls, we pray.

Your name should perhaps start repentance.

Bring back our girls
Bring back your mothers
Bring back our girls
Bring back your sisters
Bring back our girls
Bring back your daughters.

They are not just ours, they are yours as well.

I thought

image: lavieboston.com

I thought I knew
I thought I could read the signs
After all, how hard could it be?
Just letters and numbers.

I thought I could tell the time
Lift my eyes and read the clouds
After all how hard could it be?
Just changes in hues of light.

I thought I would be there by now
I thought I could get there somehow.
After all, how hard could it be?
I had my legs for the journey.

I thought we'd never have this conversation
You knew me, I knew you.
After all, how hard could it be?
We said we were friends.

And the paper trail goes on and on
I guess I was wrong about many things.
I gave meaning to meaningless things
Gave thought to pointless things
And after 24 hours I sat face in hands
Realising without you,

Everything is vanity.

Rubber Ducks

image www.digitalspy.co.uk 

Toys
Rubber ducks are racing down the stream,
With unflinching eyes fixed on unknown finish line;
Red beak smiles across yellow faces,
Floating by Archimedes.

Thick skins but light weights,
Not a thought in their minds: vacuum, empty spaces;
Winds and waves rush them along
Further yet to unknown end.

And the boys are screaming and running
A little along the river banks,
Cheering on the blind and deaf rubber,
Riding high on the thrill of the race.

Feet on the ground,
Their rubber on the water;
For but without;
Lifeless interfaces.

And the ducks do race,
By the tide, by the wind,
As boys’ hearts too race, by the grind, by the heat-
Cans under pressure, ploding from within,
Our ducks become us; we want prominence, nothing less.

When empty ducks fail: second placed, third placed,
What was erstwhile flesh melts and then fades,
Broken hearts, low spirits upon boys’ faces-
Did we become our ducks as we cheered them along?

Daisy

source:immortalmechano.blogspot.com

Turned on the music
To romance the riot in the soul
Hoping that the Chopin
Might clear the clog in his mind.

Ah it led him into the trails of
Viola, in Sonata on the 21
Sorrow converging on his soul like a fog
Shifting him low and high, emotions in a storm.

She said to him,
"Feelings are fickle" and he had never understood
But today the chords paint frowns
Gloomy smile on sad clown, he.

The song plays and he tries to grasp
To hold onto it's misty skeleton,
Exo skeleton
Yet it is fleeting as these temporary fickle feelings.

Alas she was right. But she was wrong too.
See, she's not here now yet he keeps staring
Green light at the dock,
Hoping she will come.

But she left,
Feelings fickle stood still
And she had said yes on the Vanilla hill
Felt a diamond on her tender fingers.

He remained lost, lofty yet in the dungeon
The music took him everywhere yet no where
Like she had done
Everywhere, nowhere

He still never understood, the music was temporary
There was always going to be a new song
And the old would never be virgin again
Like her..

He still never understood
Feet cannot be placed on the whirling winds
Solid ground is what he needs
A firm place to place his feet. A Rock.

Deliver us from Plagiarism

Use Grammarly's plagiarism check because I don't want you beaten up like the sons of Sceva were beaten up for copying. (Acts 19:14-16)

Plagiarists see some thing good and immediately make it their own without thinking of the process it went through to get to that point. They are not mindful of the life behind it, they simply copy and paste. They are mindful of the profit therein and not the process.

Plagiarists are all over the Bible. No? Come, let me show you.

Of course there are the sons of Sceva. Act 19:13-16  And certain from the strolling Jews, exorcists, undertook to name the name of the Lord Jesus over those having evil spirits, saying, We adjure you by Jesus whom Paul preaches.  And there were seven sons of Sceva, a Jewish chief priest, who did so.  But answering the evil spirit said, Jesus I know, and I comprehend Paul, but who are you?   And the man in whom the evil spirit resided leaped on them, and overcoming them he was strong against them, so that they fled out of the house naked and wounded.

Then there are those seeking to be made whole by the law thinking it can do the same thing that only the Spirit of God can do. There are some found in the church in Galatia to whom Paul rebukes and asks - "Gal 3:1  O foolish Galatians, who bewitched you not to obey the truth, to whom before your eyes Jesus Christ was written among you crucified? 2  This only I would learn from you: Did you receive the Spirit by works of the law, or by hearing of faith? 3  Are you so foolish? Having begun in the Spirit, do you now perfect yourself in the flesh?

There are so many, Cain, Hagar, Ishmael, Sinai, Esau. In a sense, their offering was not perfect because it was an attempt to be like the real thing - Abel, Sarah, Isaac, Zion, Jacob, the chosen thing.

The life of God is a life. It is not a system of practises, rather a life. That is what I feel I have missed for a long time. I have read the Bible, listened to sermons, seen beautiful sounding quotes and tried to have myself fit into that mould. I attempted to memorise them and apply them to myself. I thought I could apply the nature of God to myself like painting a house a new colour. I was wrong.

I was often told to "act like" before being told who I was. Long sermons were spent on getting me to be a certain type of man and few were telling me the kind of man I am. I was plagiarising God's nature and constantly ruining myself because no matter how much I tried to live up to it, I could never do it.

I was thrown into a story whose beginning I did not know but whose end I wanted. I thought it was about me and my efforts. Call me plagiarist 101. I did not know the heart of the Father from the start - that we may be one with Him. I thought I was being saved from destruction and that my life depended on keeping to the system I'd been given.

And then some one said "The greatness of God's gift to us is that one man is put away in Christ's death and another Man is offered in Christ's resurrection. First we are granted a death that we could not die. Then we are offered a life that we could not live. This is the grace of God and the great triumph of the cross."

What do we do? We receive it. By faith.

Plagiarists will oft walk by sight not by faith and to them what matters most is the things that are seen not the unseen, yet the things that are seen pass away but the unseen are eternal. In the artistic, it is a call to be true to yourself, what is in you. Bring it out, you do not need to copy someone else's thing. Let your process be. Do not hack/ short cut it.  In the spiritual, may we let Him mould us. And not be quickly moved by the perfect picture we see. May we let Him be that transforming.

2Co 3:18  But we all, with our face having been unveiled, having beheld the glory of the Lord as in a mirror, are being changed into the same image from glory to glory, even as by the Lord Spirit.

May we be delivered from plagiarism, in an artistic and spiritual sense.

Shalom.

Present truths from old journeys

Journals are good. You find answers to questions you're asking now that you had asked before. We forget, it seems, quickly forget that just the other day we were unshackled of our chains and led out of Egypt with no agitation of our own.

That we walked through the waters of the Red Sea and saw a Pharaoh and his army interred therein. We forget quickly.

"Anything on the ground of you is not Him."

Nostalgia; lost time;unforgotten loss; break ups that hurt, heartbreaks that scorched. It seeps in slowly;unnoticed; unawares till the bile is at the tip of your tongue.

I look back and forget the fate of Lot's wife yet not looking is not the solution either. "You left your heart there in Sodom; Egypt - a thousand miles away from it and you still knew where your treasure was.

Even after the fires of heaven consumed Sodom, even after the waters swallowed the strength of Egypt- they remained alive in you; they were home to you."

"Her salty kiss that was sweet as red wine, her dovely eyes that would lock you in her gaze - they lingered. They were Lazarus' tomb four days after burial but to you they smelled like lilacs fresh from the meadows."

"You endured the death of these things but never stayed for their burial. They were as alive as you."

"So they haunt. They haunt you on those long sleepless nights where the air is hot and the sound is gone. They tease your mind with flashes of sunsets and laughter. In that moment, you would become a necromancer - flirting with the dead yet here you are very alive."

So I open the journal, and go back to sane thoughts. To dig up the answers I once had; the truths I'd at one time embraced; the light I walked in.

"She burns - your beloved Sodom
She drowns - the captor you loved, Egypt
She's the past that you ought to inter
For behold He does a new thing-
For look with your eyes, He is the new thing"

"Rest my son. Rest. You're not in a hurry. Everything else passes away but do I pass away, Joel? I am eternal. Stop rushing. Stop being impatient. Trust me. I love you. Seek me. Desire me. Joel, until everything else wanes in light of me, you will always break your heart. So rest... I am treasure, Joel, quit trinkets. Rest in Me, my son. Rest."