Sing me a song that sounds like the cry of my soul.
I don’t have the voice or the skill,
But I’ll like to hear my soul’s song outside the confines of my being;
So please, If you can, sing me that song, that keeps stirring me up.
I don’t want to be the only one with these goosebumps,
Or the euphoria and the resonating sympathies of these chords.
“There is never a right or appropriate time to halt the building up of faith; to walk with God is to walk by faith; to stop building up your faith would be dangerously close to halting your walk with God.” – Makafui.
I’m unqualified to write about fatherhood,
I have enough trouble just being a son;
Yet the thought is one that weighs heavily on the mind…
I realise I’m caught in a cycle where sons become fathers:
How would it feel to have a son today,
Who treats me like I treated my father yesterday,
And treats his son tomorrow like I treat him today – blessing or curse?
“We are in a time and season where ‘wearing a mask’ is no longer just a philosophical or psychological or social euphemism, but a socio-medical necessity and in some places a legal injunction. What a transformation there would be though, if the putting on of physical masks connoted the taking off of the invisible masks that men have been known to wear to hide insecurities and cover-up hurts and propagate cruelties. Then maybe we would see each other for who we are, get the help we need, and heal; Then maybe we would all see that we are all not that different from each other – that we are all frail and insecure by ourselves, and that our masks, irrespective of size or design, have done nothing but deceive us – giving us false security and offering us up to vain gods; Then maybe we will all learn that only by baring ourselves before He who made us, are we made whole.” – Makafui.
Take me to the Place where the saints gather,
To the convention of the just made perfect;
Where the clouds of glory settle and tongues of fire dance;
To the atmosphere so pure that I come undone to be refined.
It is where David dances and Solomon sits to be taught;
A place whose gates Sampson’s strength does not qualify him to guard.
When the past, long thought dead, suddenly becomes the present…
Of course, it’s usually the unwanted past that creeps up – go figure…
So sly, playing possum, waiting for that atmosphere – the crack in the psyche.
For it knows, that with the pressures of life come cracks and fractures;
And oftentimes the more rigid the structures, the deeper the damage,
The louder the snaps, and the more forceful the bursts.
“Is it not amazing, that He who was once God of the fathers of old, has become our Father? A drastic re-adjustment of privileges seemingly too awesome for most to fully come to terms with. So we have the sorry situation of children of God floundering about at a loss about their responsibilities and abilities. If only we would take the time to study the legal document which spells out the intricacies and implications of the change in identity….” – Makafui.
“Encountering God in His Word is beautiful, but can be scary sometimes. He has the tendency to turn your mind and worldview inside out…I think He enjoys it – re-educating His little children.” – Makafui.
#Job 38, 39
I’ve taken on an ambitious project;-
To paint a picture of ‘Motherhood’
With as few words as possible,
And from an already limited vocabulary.
Obviously I got stumped even before I began,
Because I was faced with a simple question:
‘When does it begin, and where does it end?’
Thank You for touching me
When I’d grown numb from disappointments;
For pulling me up from the pit of depression;
For cutting me out of the belly of hopelessness;
For wrestling me from the arms of despair.