Tag Archives: salvation

Lightening Strikes…

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“What keeps the earth in place? Do you do a pre-trip inspection each day as soon as you open your eyes from sleep? Nay, it’s that which we take for granted, that which we treat with utmost contempt that truly matters the most.” R.E Dzhis

Yet again, I’ve been named on a law suit, in a different country, to be before a judge who will most likely remember me even though she knows nothing about me just yet. To the few who know me, they can acknowledge that this is true of me. I don’t go looking for conflicts, but please don’t look at getting into conflicts with me. I’d rather appeal when I can, which is rarely because I don’t control time, but by courtesy of my childhood, if you choose to pick a fight with me, there is usually one result; it’s kill or be killed, no survivors are allowed. I say this because even though it’s 0251 hundred hours, there’s someone who’s gasping at what they just read.

Let me attempt to make it less frightening. Growing up on the streets of one of the, arguably, roughest cities in West Africa, and attending a reputable public high school (until my class turned it into a school that people still whisper about today.) We were bad, and I mean bad and ugly. So bad that our peers and below, in sister schools who had never even been to Warri, heard about us and cringed at the stories they heard. Most were actually worse than what they heard. But I digress. I usually walked to and from school, and that entailed walking through the back of people’s houses, cutting across overgrown lots, keeping a reasonable space from outdoor restrooms with a shit of zinc acting as the door, and being very present in case you came across a couple doing adult things or navigating through a melee.

Throwing down

So, if I ran afoul of someone on my way to school, there was no avoiding that person on my way back. I believe that I’ve shared the tale of a mother who was thumping her son for his lack of interest in going to school, and used me (I was 12 years) as her reference point of acquiring knowledge so he could be a better version of his dad, although, if memory serves me well, I wouldn’t wager a cent on the probable fact that neither of them knew him. Summarily, I encountered him and his friends as they ‘waylaid’ me. Waylaid would most likely be a semblance of the synonym, ‘ambushed’. There was the choice of getting a beat down or a throw down (I’d have to take off my uniform because my mother banned us from fighting at home, so having a plausible reason for bloodstained clothing was not an option). It was kill or be killed, meaning that after the slugfest, you either acquired a new friend or you would create a feud that would involve anyone related to you. Most assuredly, the latter wasn’t a good option.

So, you can take the boy off the street, but you can’t take the street off the boy! I’m still working on myself, no scratch that, God’s still working on me. Despite the fact that I’m on the peak of celebrating half a century, I was once that preteen/teenager who was ready to brawl before the word, ‘brawl’ was completely verbalized. Now, the brawling is done in courts or related facilities, and I am teaching myself and my kids about “letting go, and letting God”. He’s the One who says, “Vengeance is mine.” and so I know enough to ask Him to stay my hand because He’s undefeated and His judgement is swift with consequences that you can’t run away from. The good news is that I can resonate with Jonah, God always has the option of mercy, I don’t, naturally, but I’m a work in progress. His call to me is to reconcile men to Him, not judge them, or criticize them, or fix them, or tag them ‘persona non grata. I can’t be a Christian without walking alongside Him, in surrender and obedience.

It’s like deja vu, but in a different location. Similar players, but the same reason; being nice to someone who has no idea of their purpose in life. They actually have no inkling as to what death looks like. Then, you can understand the folly in the heart of a man/woman, death is staring them right in the face, but they’re so caught up in their premeditated role as well as the deafening chant of the crowd that’s pushing them on. They fail to realize that much wisdom is learned in the house of mourning, and that the path they’re on has just one destination, destruction. I was once capable of patiently waiting to avenge myself, but that me no longer exists, there’s much more fulfillment in changing the world by being kind to just one person at the minimum, whether it’s through listening to them vent, or writing this for someone to read, or even giving the last $3 in my wallet to the young lady with two scrawny kids in tow, yet another victim as evidenced by her badly bruised face, and wounds that are trying to heal.

Yes, I feel the scorching heat from the lightening strike, my seared skin, the torrent of nemories, the sad realization that I’ve been here before, but I also see the kindness of God because I’m still standing. I can’t lose because of Proverbs 12¹⁹. I am a winner in the long run, and every good gift comes from above, and He gives with no shadow of turning. Does it hurt? Absolutely! Can I redirect the lightening strike because it ought not to strike the same place multiple times? No, but I know The One who controls everything, and so I can choose to forgive, and let go. I have known quite a few people who died from their mistakes because they did not learn from them. However, what do you say to a 3-year old child who was born with a medical condition? You and I just have to pick ourselves up and keep pressing on, the morning is almost here. I want to thank Linda, Shawn, Didi, Hilda, and the few who have chosen to obey. The borrowed axe head will float, the scattered bread will be found, and soon, someday we will tell the story of how we overcame through blessing others as we have been blessed.

Adieu!

עד שניפגש שוב, מי ייתן ונוכחותו תהיה אמיתית עבורך!

From Venus…

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Admittedly, resentment and bitterness only hurt oneself, so I may be a little bit unsteady but I’m still holding on because I don’t think He’s done with me yet. I’m not capitulating as I watch but it seems like something is unraveling and I just might have the power to slow it down because inevitability cannot be stopped. It’s mother’s day and the least I can do is share the memories we made together that I’ll forever cherish till we meet again. There’s some irony in God’s playbook because He made man from dust and woman from man’s bone. Now metallurgy not required, we undeniably rely on fact that bone is stronger than dust but there again in full display is our inability to grasp divinity.

It’s been close to 2years since you got called home however your legacy still lives on. Everything I am today, I owe to you in some way. I recall rolling my eyes when you inexplicably went into the tale of my childbirth to my friends but that’s the beginning of just how amazing you were because you made a choice, you had me. I tell people that I wasn’t your favorite but despite that, you poured your entire being into raising all 7 of us, 3 of us felt your ire directly however, that’s why I could contribute in those after me and that’s how I am the father I’ve become, ill-health or not. So thank you, because raising 6 sons is not a feat for the faint hearted especially when you factor in the cities we lived and grew up in.

We have always been dog-lovers but as a young kid, you bought me a night shirt that I still remember and it had the picture of a cat with the words, ‘I’m just PURR-FECT!’. That in itself marked the choices I made and still make because nobody’s perfect but I strove to be as close to it as I could because you showed me how. You taught me to acknowledge that I was in charge of my life’s story; you taught me to believe in myself. Nothing couldn’t be surmounted as long as I believed in myself and today, I pass that message to the next generation. You had your own flaws but when it came to us, you laid it all out and even though you banned fighting at home, I still got into it outside because the streets crush the feeble and I will never describe or be described as feeble.

You bought me my first tie, even though it was to placate me and little did I know that wearing ties would be a signature. My childhood pictures are replete with images of me in bow ties and I look at them today and appreciate the big picture you saw of me even then. Dining was a formal affair especially dinner because you had already committed to teaching even before motherhood and so dinner was always a family affair. With you, there was no defined roles determined by gender and I’m thankful for that. Notwithstanding the fact that we grew up with house helps, you always said, “I will never raise up another’s child to the detriment of mine” and so there was no distinction between what I or the house help could do. It was confusing back then but now I understand.

You took me to purchase my first pair of grown-up shoes (driving was still years away), standing by the side while I made my selection knowing there was a budget to abide by. And when peer pressure came, you never buckled because you taught me that it was more important to be different and true rather than being part of the crowd. You taught me that contentment and self-esteem was a choice, because the road less traveled was usually the better route to take. You taught me to treat ladies with respect even before I had a sister, a trait that’s fast disappearing in today’s world. Chivalry is still as important and more needed today where the battle of self-identity has been flipped on its head; what’s right is right regardless of time.

You took the time (how?, just another pointer to who you were) to teach me driving at 15, intricately weaving in the need to be responsible at the same time. Reading your crime magazines ensured that I could deal with fear and also understand that the heart of man is desperately wicked. Striving for excellence, I knew you were in the auditorium when I got my first award/scholarship as a freshman in high school, because even though I didn’t see you, I could hear your car keys jingle each time you applauded – that was your thing; wearing your car keys on your pinkie. Your ability to effectively utilize the network (and undervalued profession) of teachers ensured that I sought the straight and narrow even when the exuberance of youthfulness came calling with whispered lies and well conceived folly. You were strict and harsh when the occasion called for it and just the memory of the last ‘whupping’ was enough to keep the foolishness away for a season.

You nudged me to understand that salvation was important and essential, making my personal walk with God a decision I made entirely on my own. Acknowledging that there’s more to life than meets the eyes was the foundation of my Christianity and yet I’m still learning and paying it forward till date. Discarding ego, I learned crafts (it was your standard) that positioned me well enough to understand that being your own boss was better than being the best employee. I learned culinary skills from your glossy magazines and catering books as well as being in the kitchen with you. You taught me that adventure was good because curiosity could be a villain. You taught me that freedom was not the absence of rules but rather the opportunity to be disciplined and control myself at all times. You taught me that vulnerability wasn’t a weakness however, building relationships that bettered me would always keep me growing.

Thank you for being the best mother that I needed and happy mother’s day! Till we meet again in Zion, continue in your rest and I hope I made you proud.

Adieu!