Here Is My Heart - A Thousand Times

Since 2am, today, I have been hooked on this particular song, Here Is My Heart, by the band Jesus Culture. I have played it incessantly and sung along more than I can count - most of the time with my hands raised up to the heavens.

I can’t explain why, except that this song ignites the desperate longing to give all of my heart, my soul, my strength, and my mind to my Father and God who loved me first.

Though it is a very simple, short song, it is very true to the heart. I hope you enjoy listening, and I hope it means something to you too:

Artist: Jesus Culture
Album: Your Love Never Fails
Song: Here Is My Heart by Kim Walker

*Video, Courtesy Youtube.

The Kabiesi's Complaint: We Too Are Spirits

May the truth of our inner selves show us some tolerance. For either of ignorance or forgetfulness we've acted with apathy in regard to our origin and identity. We've acted as though we are nothing of the spirit.

Frantically we go about speaking out our fear of *Abiku. We accuse her of being alien. We say she' s a foreigner with no bearing in our midst. For what! All because she's labeled Abiku, the spirit child?

Yes, she's spirit with all her oddities. But what else could she be other than what we are. You villagers, hold your peace and leave the little one alone. If you think her strange, you too are strange. For like her, you are spirits born of a spirit God.

"Then God said, "Let us make man in our image, in our likeness..." - Gen 1:26a

*Abiku, "predestined to death", is a Yoruba word used to mean the spirit of children who die before reaching puberty (precisely before the age of 12), and also a class of evil spirits who cause children to die. In my own view, it is a superstition that has cause a lot of psychological pain to familiars because of the stigma associated with the spirit child. (Reference and Source from WWW.SACRED-TEXTS.COM

Trials, As We Face Them

It’s been said to the brink of definite belief that God has an awful sense of humour. And unsurprisingly, it is hard to argue when you see God and his ways through the eyes of logic. More so, if you try to reason out the sense in seemingly undeserved trials that He allows to happen to us - trials that we’d all be more than happy to do without. 

However, the truth is, difficulties come to everyone of us, in different shades, for different reasons. Still, I think for many of us it isn’t just a matter of life not being a bed of roses; I believe that more than that, there is a purpose and a reason why God would permit trials in our lives. 

And it is God’s will that we rejoice in the face of those varying challenges by no other way but by the way of faith. For it is only through faith – not logic – that we can truly see His wisdom in the whole scheme of things.

"And we know that all things work together for good to those who love God, who have been called according to His purpose." - Romans 8:28

*Image from www.Heartlight.org

Though It Be As Scarlet

With God, it’s different. No matter how grievous the sin or how offensive the rebellion, He’s always eager to forgive us and love us no less than He did from the beginning. Unlike an aggrieved lover, He’s not interested in falling–out over whatever transgression we might have committed against Him. Instead, He’s excited and enthusiastic to reconcile and put to right our relationship with Him.

In fact, no wrongdoing on our part can be too high or wide to separate us from His love if only we’d waste no time and come to Him for his forgiveness. For His mercy born out of His love for us has no beginning or end. It abounds in excess; and why, because He loves us unconditionally. Yes, He loves us so, and it’s important we know and never forget that He does.

For a lot of us carry ourselves as though we have no hope, presumably, in the face of a God who’s awfully judgmental, with no understanding of our weaknesses or imperfections. On the contrary, God isn’t like that at all. Knowing Him helps to see that what He desires most importantly is not to judge or condemn us, but to deliver us from the chains of sin, so that we may be free to live the life of complete liberty and delight, found in His Son Jesus Christ.

Hear, in the first chapter of the Book of Isaiah, the Father says, *“Come now, let us reason together….Though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they are red as crimson, they shall be like wool.” Can you beat that? How uncomplicated our God is – He says, “Come now” let’s get it over with, let’s settle the matter and be done with it already. For all He wants is to be cool with us. So let’s not delay, but come to the throne of grace where mercy and love waits patiently, for us all.

*Scripture passage is from Isaiah 1:18

*Photo From Flickr

This Is Just A Misunderstanding

“A baboon laughs at the buttocks of another baboon.” – Kenyan Proverb

This place, a section of Kaduna’s prison, is where they keep me along with the ones they call the “civil lunatics”. In my own opinion, the state prison service couldn't have come up with a more admirable name for mad criminals.

Admirable too is the way Prison warder Jubril introduces the inmates whenever the politicians were visiting for inspection. With a prideful smile, capped with bushy whiskers, he would say, “You are very, very much welcome to The Prisons of the Civil Lunatics”. As though, with proper scrutiny, one couldn’t tell too quickly that the prison was not the same thing as the place for the gifted students of Kakuri Immaculate College. It wasn't a place to be proud of but a place for sick, crazy people, of which by God I do not belong.

My cellmate, Felix, feels the same way too, feels he doesn’t belong here. But the difference between us is that he is really mad. Yet in all his jabbering, he makes a good case – a case he's made to everyone by now. “I need help!” you'd hear him say coherently, and then in between he'd go on and on with a peculiar language that the rest of us still find hard to understand. But usually, the conclusion of his talk would bring, with some measure of clarity, the point of his argument, “I'm really not mad, this is just a misunderstanding”.

*Photo Courtesy of the BBC

Jealosi

From the beginning, it was quite clear where I was heading with my life. Like my mother, everyone thought I was sweet. I was the most lovable kid in Church, or so our Pastor would say. I guess he said so in a way to woo my widowed mother; but nonetheless, I think he was right, for my lovability abounded for all to see. For though I was the youngest choir member, and though learning the drums proved forever difficult, I was always the one who would come first to church to set up for rehearsals. I was that committed, I was that much of a Church Boy.

Happily, I was showered with much attention for being the last and only son. And for that, I was the envy of my three elder sisters. Particularly, Comfort, the eldest, would knock my head at any given chance, as if to remind me of my place. But mother would always come to the rescue, lessening the sting of my sister's abuse. She'd explain that my sister was suffering from a disease called jealosi. She reminded me that I was the one with a bright future and it was only natural for others to be green with envy. She said I had greatness inside of me, waiting to come out. “Just keep living your life to the glory of the good Lord”, she'd often say. I believed her, and I was truly inspired.

 As a result, I talked a great deal about how I wanted to become a chemical engineer and a doctor all at the same time. Chemical Engineering was going to be my passport into one of the oil companies in Nigeria – where the salaries were fat. As for becoming a doctor, I just wanted to be like Ben Carson, the world famous neurosurgeon who was black and successful. How I was going to achieve both feats was not my problem. I was just simply young and vibrant, and of course, mama's boy.

From A Man Against The World

With my pen and journal, I write not just for the sake of my sanity, but also for whoever may care to see from where I stand:

Right now, I should be in ABU Zaria attending to my studies.  I should be at my 5th and final year by now, top of my class, with the bright prospect of making everyone at home very proud on graduation day. But that’s not the case, for I’m in prison.

They’d like to say that I had it coming, that my ears were deliberately deaf to the sirens, that I ignored all the warnings that shouted, “Stop!, Stop!, Stop!” But they’d never care to hear my own side of the matter.

It all began when I exercised my freedom of speech, when I started preaching my WEED RELIGION: Marijuana is far safer than tobacco; In fact it's even medicinal; Yes, it has tar but so does cigarettes too; Nicotine, the evil, evil substance responsible for lung cancer is found only in legalized tobacco but not in my weed, so why can't a man get legally high, and in peace.

Well, it seems now that only my friends would agree with me. Of course, only those who’ve once shared the meaning and experience in a lighted stick would know. 

Squatting in a close circle, I can still recall Biggie passing me the joint when it was my turn to take a drag - long and slow - and then I'd pass it on to Shehu, Shehu would do the same and give Ijide, and from Ijide back to Biggie – and so the circle continues until the last puff. Those were the good times.

Anyhow, there's one thing I know: if the lawmakers, the police, and all those who opposed my reasoning would just take a chance and smoke my weed, I'm sure they'd consider changing their minds. If that ever happens, they'd be making, for the first time, a conscious effort in seeing the big picture. That's all I'm asking.

Sadly, who would understand? Here such arguments hardly hold water. Basket minds are what you'd find in the Nigerian courts and big parliamentary houses – makers and perpetuators of an ill-informed law. For with a mixture of their collective ignorance they've created a law that has made the streets quite unsavoury. Even in the nooks and crannies of my beloved Kakuri, the mere scent of pot would set the police against you as if you were the most wanted man in the land. They've even succeeded in making it out to be a noble cause: The War Against Cannabis.

However, I sometimes feel I should have kept my mouth shut. In this world, if the bulk of the population chooses a belief, false or not, one man should have no business carrying placards in full view that say: ME AND MY WEED DISAGREE WITH YOU. Then again, I guess I would have been a coward if I had not shouted in the streets, the joints and, in the university – where I woefully thought perceptive minds existed. Anyway, with the help of a good smoke, how can a man not speak – how can I not speak my mind, of the lovely hemp plant, Cannabis Sativa!

"There’s a reason why the other man thinks and acts as he does. Ferret out that reason – and you have the key to his actions, perhaps to his personality". – Dale Carnegie

I Am Like My Dog

Momo is gone. For four days now, he’s gone away. I don’t know how to find him or where to find him. He’d made certain to keep his whereabouts vague that no sniffing on my part would find his trail. North, east, west, south, I wouldn’t know. 

Still, I’d like to know why Momo would leave in the first place. For quite intentionally I had been a very, very understanding owner; I wasn’t like overprotective and controlling as the neighbors were to their own dog, Isis. I gave my dog more space and respect than Isis or any other dog in the neighborhood could ever wish for. I never even treated him like a pet dog, never cuddled him to the extent of shaming his manhood. Or neither did I put on his neck the forbidden leash. He had carte blanche, as Nana would say; absolute freedom from his duties of being a pet, a protector and a best friend. I also didn’t starve him, if I might add. All I asked was that he comes home as soon as it was fully dark – 8, or 9pm at the most.

Now he's gone, either dead or taken. And I am helpless to bring him back, even now that I feel I sent him away, that somehow it’s my fault, I think, for two reasons – the only explanations I have.

Less important of the two reasons, is that I was a little bit inadequate in keeping his waywardness in check. You see, Momo’s been gone many times through the wee hours, but many times he’d come back before the first light of dawn. And since he always did remember home, I wasn’t too strict. A little abandon won’t kill; and by the way, I myself wouldn’t like to be restricted and deprived of adventures. 

However, in that, lies the second, more important of the two reasons that I think it’s my fault: I treated Momo the way I wanted to be treated. Free, loose, with no inhibitions. To save myself the guilt of being hypocritical I had to be patient and understanding. But now he's gone, either dead or taken. And I wonder if this is a lesson for the two of us. 

“FOR THOSE WHOM THE LORD LOVES HE DISCIPLINES…” – Hebrews 12:6

*Photo courtsey of Curiousphotos.blogspot.com

The Sanctified Soldier

It’s been a while since I’ve had a blown–off–the–face–of–God’s–earth experience with a song. This track, “Conqueror”, did it for me. Rock mixed with deep lyrical rap! Are you kidding me? You’d love it, especially if you’re particularly big on asserting WHO YOU ARE in Christ. So give it up for Pastor J, The Sanctified Soldier:

INFO:   

Artiste: PASTOR JIMMY ODUKOYA aka PASTOR J

Genre: GOSPEL ROCK

Director: SESAN

                                                                                                                                                               

*Video Courtesy of Youtube.

Mr. Bash

I remember watching my good ol’ friend, Mr. Bash, stare at his telephone for an approximately good ten minutes. If you ask me, that’s a pretty long time, considering the fact that the object of his attention was a black boring electronic device and that he, Bash, stared with an eerie fixation in the presence of an intrigued me, seated alongside with him in a quiet room – except for the sounds of the whirling fan and the ticking clock.

We were in his sitting room, and from across where I sat I had a good view to tell, with good authority, that the communicating machine was not the slightest bit interesting, like ringing off the hook – in fact, it was obviously the blandest piece of equipment in the room. But, eventually, it all made sense when Bash looked up at me and asked, quite directly, “How come I never hear from God?” BAM!

Now, I can’t really say if the dude actually expected God to ring him up at that particular time via his telephone. And I don’t know if God would have communicated in such a way, but seeing all things are possible with God, who knows, He could have done it, with a sense of humour. However, there’s one thing I know, I can empathize and relate with Bash’s desperation over not being able to hear from God. 

I know it does suck to have just a one–way connection to the throne of grace and not have an actual exchange. You seemingly find yourself praying and not getting a reply.

It sucks even more to hear people close to you say that the Father speaks expressly to them – giving them guidance, encouragements, and even filling their hearts with the knowledge of His will, when you on the other hand hear nothing but zilch.

With Kate, I Know It’s Not Love

“Love…does not seek its own”

-1Cor 13:5

In my heart I know it’s not Love. Though it’s passionate, it’s surely not Love that I have for Kate when always I desire nothing less or more than to undress her, touch her and have sex with her, to my heart’s delight...and content.

Really I know it’s not Love – nothing to do with Love or the “making of Love”. It’s just sex, spelt L – U – S – T. That’s what I feel and it’s all about gratifying, satisfying and pleasuring ME - just ME. 

So it seems when I asked Kate out and got into this boyfriend–girlfriend thing it was really just sex to get. And get. And get. Not Love, to give - even once.

Now here we are, all messed up – Kate and I – wondering why I think we shouldn’t continue anymore. 

Well, I guess it’s a little clearer now. At least for me, it is clear enough: With Kate, I know it’s not love.

Love, Lust & Wisdom

So, so unwisely have I spent myself on many fields not my own. I have sown seeds that sprout nothing but nothingness. Nothing of love, sacred and beautiful - just of glands, of hormones fired in search of a thing that only lasted for a while and left me exhausted and empty, yet with greediness for more.

But now, I search for meaning! For the time has come, and it’s clear, in fact, clearer than any other thing that has ever dawned upon my heart. For I see now to forsake my lust and fix my mind on searching out my woman. I can no longer continue my youthful exuberant mediocrity. I cannot go round about anymore, spilling my streams on the streets – fornicating enough to earn the name, Don or Igwe, the King of Girls.

What is such a title, when somewhere out there my lady waits with a heart full of love – love far more precious than my aimless lust and yearnings marked with nothing more than a self-seeking streak? It was never about me, but about us, about our love. More so, it is of love versus my lascivious ways that the matter arises, my stringent quest for common sense: Which one would I live for? Is it to continue to gratify myself under the pretense of having a blast, or rather, the spending of time in finding the wife of my youth, my good wife, whose bosom and warmth I am deeply certain would satisfy me more than all my past sexual tomfoolery combined.

And not just for a while I know would she satisfy me, but always; and then, it would not be just sex, it would be the making of love, passionate and fervent. So I search for my heart’s content, for the one who alone is, for me, enough.

*Inspired By The Book Of Proverbs 5

  

Unveiled

The Word of God is not just the Truth and Will and Wisdom of God, but the mirror of our identity. It is the mirror that reflects who we are as individuals and as a people. And nothing else, in the whole wide world, can give us the complete meaning and definition of ourselves. For being all that we need for life and godliness, the Word is ultimately applicable to how, in full self-awareness, we take on the world. So, in “knowing thyself” the Word is most definitely our best bet. 

However, only in continued fixation on the realities of the Word, can we draw to the full realization of who we are – like realizing the powers and graces that we possess by inheritance as Kings and Queens.

Yes, we are of royalty, of a magnitude that far exceeds earthly crowns and sceptres. We are a light and a blessing of glorious influence to the world. We are God’s battle axe – a force of nature with limitless and incomparable power. And even most importantly, we are God’s instrument and expression of love.

That’s who we are. And of course, that’s just naming a few. Thus, *Anyone who listens to the Word but does not do what it says is like a man who looks at  his face in a mirror and, after looking at himself, goes away and immediately forgets what he looks like. But the man who looks intently in the perfect law that gives freedom, and continues to do this, not forgetting what he has heard, but doing it-he will be blessed in what he does.

*Scriptural Verse: James 1:23-25 (NIV)

How We Go Up, Up

Our ascension in life is principally dependent on what we know. By stark human experiences, I have come to terms with this old truth and realized that indeed, knowledge is power. For the weak, poor or worthless man is the way he is for lack of knowledge. He is destitute merely because he doesn’t know his way out of ignorance. So, whatever shackles that may hold him down, be it spells of witchcraft spawned from his village or the misfortune of being ruled by corrupt leaders, his only way out is to face squarely the “How?” of the matter, and then spend his time finding out the answer. And in finding the answer, would he, by his own hands, create the footholds for his climb out of the darkness, into the light.

Making Certain Our Dreams

Somewhere on the Lagos Island, near Race Course, you find a billboard with the message, “Make your dreams come true”. It is so big and bold in a way that no bystander with eyes can avoid seeing it.

It’s in ways such as this that this very message, so urgent and pressing, has been drummed repeatedly into our heads. It is the clarion call that says to us, “You cannot give up now, but make certain your dreams come true”.

For our own sakes, let’s not act as though we are deaf to this reasoning! For life, to every one of us, is but a short time between eternities. The time to rise to the occasion is now, not tomorrow. This time is when we stop letting dreams be nothing more than dreams.

Let a great measure of curiosity possess our minds. Let’s seek to know what latent power lies within us. Let’s bring to bear all that we are, so the world will have no doubt of having met us.

By will, by faith, by our heart and sinew and nerve, by all that is in us we must make it against all odds. Excuses must not and never be our defense.

And be it that when the years have well come upon us, our children should brim with pride when we tell of our journey’s tale. A tale of dreams accomplished.

Half Letter [A Silver Lining In Gaddafi’s Mess]

Dear Colonel Gaddafi,

Shoes don't come falling down for no reason. These shoes, embedded with the meaning, “we hate you and we want you to disappear from our lives forever,” were all along going to find your head eventually. You should have known you had it coming. You should have prepared, and saved yourself the pain of being stoned, loathed and insulted by your own people.

But that is not the issue. It is not the reason I have decided to write to you, my comrade and friend. I write to you for a bigger cause, and in the midst of your present crisis, I trust that what I have to say would cheer you up, lighten your mood, and at least, make all your vain attempts at controlling the Libyan uprising count for something. I'd like to call it the silver lining in all the mess and commotion you have created in Tripoli and the rest of Libya. 

As a fellow oppressor, I think I have learned a very meaningful lesson from your predicament. Thanks to the event of your woes, I wouldn't have seen it. It came to me like an epiphany, in three words: “Dictators Are Buffoons”.  Why, for the first time I realized the reason people revolted in spite of our efforts to contain them with fear and………

Okay, okay… I think now is a good time to stop writing this letter. If I continue I fear I might begin to mock too seriously. The man Gaddafi deserves some sympathy, at least….a little tiny bit. I confess I don't know the Colonel personally. I am not a despot like him, I am neither his friend nor comrade, and most importantly, I wouldn't want to treat his difficulties too lightly. However, if I were truly his friend, I might have sent a letter to him in such a fashion as written, of course, without the ridicule and malice – for I would be but a true comrade.

For the purpose of the letter, I would have said the obvious to him: “domination is never foolproof”, especially against the enduring power of the human spirit. For never has cruelty and oppression lasted well with humans - who like birds want nothing more than to be free.

If only Gaddafi had sought to inspire his people rather than oppress them over his four decades as head of state, I think his leadership would have ended well with a legacy to be proud of – one of love and respect. Now, for his methods and ways, he has lost all credibility and influence as a leader.

I point to this because I believe it cuts across every form of leadership and influence in human relations. In the story of Muammar Gaddafi, I think we all have a lesson to learn. I'd bet on it that we'd all prefer and choose the love of our families, friends and influences over their shoes.  For a true and lasting legacy lies not in things, but in our relationships, in the hearts of those we love and care for. 

*Cartoon by Liza Donnelly 

IN THIS ONE, CURIOUSITY SAVED THE CAT

Much like a scientist, I once had a deep interest in  practical experiments. In my case, my test subjects were never other humans (or animals) but my very dear self. It is I, so to speak, you'd find sprawled on the dissecting table, at the mercy of my own poking and scrutiny. Curiosity was essentially my middle name, and I did seek experience with the singular purpose of taking the ride for myself -  experimenting on everything that tickled my fancy. 

So in light of this, I'd like to beg the reader's indulgence in regarding me, even if for just this moment, as an authority on the subject of “Trying It Out For Yourself”.

You know, firsthand knowledge is always the best, far much better than any other means of getting to know about a thing. For instance, I wouldn't have fully grasped the high-marijuana­- induced-feeling expressed by the nameless protagonist in the book, The Beautiful Ones Are Not Yet Born, if I hadn't tried it out for myself. Though his arguments were quite convincing about the benefits of smoking weed, I still had to get high to know exactly what he meant…as intimately as possible. 

In like manner, I have tested and explored the flagrant life of a Casanova. With exuberance and with much, much alacrity I have dated many different girls, particularly based on their geographical representation - all in the name of sampling. And the reason was simply that I wanted to know: like, how does the Tiv girl differ from the Calabar, the Hausa from the Yoruba? Bad, bad I know, but wait... I didn't stop there, for  against my better judgment, I have even tried out what it would feel like to be a drunkard within a testing period of six months. Even the thrill of gambling didn't fall below my radar; for all the betting joints knew me very well. And at the end of all my shenanigans, I genuinely could say that “I had been there and done it all”.

However, in spite of my debauched tendencies, the goodness in me also cried out for some adventure. I wanted to take the trip to know God for myself. And although my interest was inspired by the words of the preacher, I wasn't - as usual - contented in just being told how it's like. Instead, I wanted to prove with my own eyes and mind all that the pastors claimed in their Sunday sermons. Was it truly possible for me to live a life of liberty – a life free from the corruption of this world? Could I really possess powers qualified as incomparable? And most tantalizing of all, is there a chance under heaven I'd actually get to know a spirit God on a personal level? Such were the questions that rambled in my head. But they all remained bull (of course, without the “shit”) as long as it all ended with what the pastors said.