The Rising (Fathers)

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?
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Welcome

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.
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Relapse

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.
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Quote

Quote #49

“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.

#John 1:12
#Romans 8:14-17
#John 15:15

I Want You; Come To Me (II)

“Come to Me, with all your cares and burdens;
I am able, and desire to give you rest from all shackles;
To take away the stained wrinkled rags that cloth with shame;
These chains you carry do not befit My bride.

Draw close to Me; Abide in My presence patiently;
I want to share secrets and mysteries with you;
Wait on me to receive all that I have for you,
Gifts I’d prepared since the foundations of the earth.
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Fathers

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.
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