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.