I’ve hungered and thirsted for expression;
Let Your manifest presence descend and remain,
Even as our worship ascends in harmony;
For You abide in the praises of Your people,
And are faithful and merciful, gracious and mighty.
To fathers – past and present.
To the past, a tribute; to the present, an ideal;
Because it would be a truly sad world,
When the best Dads are the dead ones.
“My father, my father, the chariots of Israel and its horsemen!”
A teacher whose words marked the path to the destinies of generations;
Fell along the way, leaving only a silent lifeless landmark
No more will I hear him whisper from behind, “This is the way. Walk in it.”
I refuse to recall the dirge about ‘how the mighty have fallen’;
When I cannot find your trusted well-oiled shield’s protection.
There’s a song – wordless;
It haunts me at odd hours,
And brings tears to my eyes;
It wrestles reason to the ground,
And dances all over my emotions;
‘How beautiful it is for brethren to live together in harmony’;
A beauty unmarred by offenses, unbroken by distance,
Unforgotten through time, to be desired the harder it is to maintain;
It is like the sound of heaven’s choir with perfect harmonies;
It is the song of victory of the saints separated by times,
Sang across generations, eras, dispensations, and covenants.
“To those who question their birth and decry this life and its troubles, and say that it might have been better not to have been born: Well, this life isn’t much, taken on its own merit, but what about eternity? Narrow-mindedness is a dangerous affliction; If you’re not born to this life, you have no chance at eternity. Is it worth it? This life might not be, but eternity is definitely worth it.” – Makafui.
According to my Mom, when I was born, I was weak to the point that the doctors thought I hadn’t made it. They later found out that I had a congenital heart defect (hole in heart, with an enlarged heart), and announced to my Mom that I wouldn’t make it past two months. That was twenty-nine years and a few months ago. This report came from doctors in the best hospital in the country (KBTH-Ghana), but at a time when not much could be done about it realistically. Long story short, she was devastated, but she brought me home, put my medical files with the diagnosis and prognosis to flames, prayed, and put her faith in God.
“The worst kind of scars are those that cover unhealed wounds; Scars that are still painful to touch, reacting to even the gentlest of caresses with reflexive responses that spit in the faces of good-will and love. But there’s hope for tomorrow and today; Scars must tell their stories, but they should not control destiny.” – Makafui.