‘Guard your heart with all dilligence for out of it is the well spring of life’ – Proverbs 4:23
    
     Everything about life begins in your heart… İts inevitable.

‘To the pure in heart all things are pure, but to the defiled and unbeleiving, nothing is pure’ – Titus 1:15

The actions and reactions that you protray come out the way they do because that is exactly how your heart is… Kill the excuses.

‘ Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God’ – Mattew 5:8

God is attracted to a heart that desires true purity… Just be honest.

‘İt is not enough to clean up your act on the outside, God is concerned about our heart’ – John Piper.

There is no need to pretend. We can fool people with our outward acts, but God knows what we are really hiding. He wants us to be real with him.

       ————————-
İt sounds right to judge people by what they say or do to us without realising that we judge people right from our heart… the very seat of our personal thoughts.

They say things but we hear them and interprete from our thoughts, this often leads to misunderstanding.

The bibe says that faith comes by Hearing and Hearing the word of God. The first hearing has to do with our own reasoning while the second hearing is the actual word speaking or in this case, the other person speaking. İn other words we must hear twice in every situation. This is where the fruit of patience formed in you manifests in a behaviour called ‘ Listening’.

İt is true that we can be genuinly offended but we must Love first before we judge.  Listening is Love.

‘make every effort to keep the unity of the spirit in the bond of peace’ – Ephisiens 4:3

To believe in Christs sacrifice is to understand that we all are fatally flawed but for His grace, we too would not deserve forgiveness but for his grace we wouldnt be able to forgive ourselves… A true conviction of this truth weakens you, it humbles you, it leaves nothing else but forgiveness and understanding in your heart… yes in your heart, right back at the start.    #Grace&PeaceFamily

It is in the mountains and in the air,

I see it everywhere: the trees, at school, and out and about on the trail

the heathen see power in everything, they see themselves as being in control

harnessing that power and using it for their selfish desire

Lord keep me from being a heathen

Do I make my own desires?

My Lord protects me, and My Lord does what The Father is doing

He puts His power where it is needed

He loves me when I am astray

and He loves me when I am away

He loves me right in His arms

and When I am on the path and in The Way

The Truth, The Life.

Do I make my own desires?

When I see a woman is it up to me if I want her or not?

When I see a boat for sale is it my choice to desire it?

Lord, you give me strength

You give ability and an eye that sees the world as your creation

a creation where I can bring others closer to You

Do I make my own desires?

I don’t just like the pictures that the movie industries paint on the single and whole woman, Nollywood for one, I am not saying that Hollywood is doing any better, but then what can I say? Well, don’t bother asking me to quit judging and show my own stuff, because that is my very objective in engaging you in this ‘slipper talk’ in the first place. So, let me do my thing, the ‘me’ pro way.

MY WHOLE WOMAN

Favouromeje, 0’16

Dedicated to every man and woman who has accepted a poorly done portrait by a ‘six months old professional artist’, cooing in a daycare and peeing into his nappy, and who is unfortunately planning to give such a piece to his/her beloved for a present.

“You might prefer a masterpiece done by an artist trained in the right use of paints and brushes- the Word, over that of an artist who paints with poop, wee, and a ‘tit-drag’ of inspiration from the content of a milk bottle”

My whole woman is not made whole and complete simply because she has a high tech well-paying job, a good ride, a pretty-as-she apartment, a fleet of interested males, a major Adekunle Gold giving her the Sade attention, a beautiful skin and always groomed hair, a strong clique of friends and of course a little dash of sass-mercy me! And oh, I forgot to add ‘plus a good spiritual life’!

My whole woman is not made whole by the things she has, but by the very stuff she is made of.

Mathematically speaking,

0.1 + 0.2 + 0.3 + 0.4 ≠ 1;

1=1. Period!

My whole woman is not made whole by the job she does, but on the contrary, her job is made whole simply because she is the one doing it. Similarly, she never receives her value from anything however huge, but she confers value on anything however small, as long as she has laid her hands on it. The same thing goes to anything car you find her riding.

Her apartment need not be large or fancy, but you can be guaranteed that she is the only one who is able to turn a man’s little corner into a castle without having to change its dimensions. Her amorous presence, and gracious touches would do much more magic than all that the best home makeover artists could offer you. And while she is doing that, you will come to realize and enjoy your own royal kingdom, where she is both your queen and your most loyal subject from the comfort of your humble-place- turned- palace.

She may or may not have a great band of interested males but just know that either way, she hardly ever notices because she is so taken by her Father’s business.

She need not run her relationships from the desk of any clique but you must bear in mind that if you ever come her way as a woman, you’ll walk by with a gem lesson to live by, and if you decide to be a man the day you came her way, then you’ll never have to forget the positive and right perspectives she would evoke, plus a good bite of encouragement to chew on as you till the ground. And if you were little the day you came her way, you’ll have a treasured seed to spend your days growing and eating from. And if you were her Abba Daddy, then you’ll know that she is the worship, and the son you’ve sort for from the beginning.

My whole woman doesn’t merely have a spiritual life unfortunately, but she lives the Spirit life, the love life coded for by the Spirit Gene. She is the 100% woman, the Theo-Sapiens woman, totally God, totally man.

My whole woman is therefore that woman who is, who knows that she is 100% God 100% man, and who allows this truth to be beneficial to both herself and the people who come her way every day.

When I was much younger than I am now, I enrolled into the Boys’ Brigade, a paramilitary church organization for boys and men. It was the custom with our family. Grandpa and my elder brother were members; all the older boys who stayed with us were  members. Only dad was not a member. So it was simply traditional for me to join as soon as I came of age. So the year I turned four, I joined the Anchor Boys’ rank of the 17^th Benue Company and later would be promoted to the rank of an NCO. I would stay on that rank until I grew older and attended several camps and then I’d be promoted and become an officer. However, I did not stay that long.  My activities with the Boys’ Brigade ended when I was eleven and had to leave for my secondary education.

During my seven years with the Boys’ Brigade, we engaged in lots of paramilitary activities. We were taught discipline. We attended camps, went for rallies and on few occasions had to go for funeral services and ceremonies of our members. It was on one of such funerals that something unique happened to me. We had lost a member, a young boy of my age. A very painful one! We had gone camping in Makurdi very close to the Benue River and the first instruction we had received was to stay away from the river. It was dangerous. A lot of people had died in there.  But how could we? Young, exuberant, high-spirited  and highly adventurous boys not play with the river water? Was it not River Benue afterall? Our river? We had heard so much about it and we would be foolish not to have a feel of it. So we decided we’d wait till a day to the close of camp and pay the river a visit. And a visit did we pay.  We went seven but returned six. One of us (I can’t recall his name, he was from a different battalion) had drowned. The fire alarm sounded but little could be done to save him. He had drowned in the vast waters. His turgid body would be recovered two days later close to the north bank of the river. I’ll save you the reader all the details.

Two weeks later we were gathered in a small village, Mkar in Gboko, Benue State for his funeral. The wake keep was dreadful. I guess it must have been normal for others but dreadful for me. I had dreaded it right from when the burial was fixed. At night, I was sorely afraid of everything. The unexpected start of the brigade drums, the piercing silence afterwards, the thick wall of darkness. I saw his face when my eyes closed and when I opened them, he stood somewhere in the dark corner, sad, smiling. At times, he was the one sitting next to me and when I felt the urge to urinate, I dared not stand for he’d be waiting for me in the darkness. I knew though that all of these were simply my imaginations yet I was so stricken by fear and I wouldn’t take chances. Did I want him to pull me away and drown me in the sea of darkness that enveloped us? I’d rather pee in my pants.

A little while before dawn we were awoken to get set. Those who could have their bath did while some of us, especially the junior boys who needed no bathing simply dressed up in our uniforms. The ceremony had begun and all the procession had taken place peacefully.  There was so much going on around and in my head that I really paid attention to nothing. Then finally, the Commanding Officer gave the command for the bugler to blow the tune, the last post. I had heard it a couple of times. That solemn tune that reminded people to cry, for they cried more after it had ended than ever before. However, this last post began with a shrill in my body. I shook. I had been expecting it, but I shook all the same. It sounded more solemn and ominous than all the others I’ve ever heard. It was the sound of sorrow. A sorrow that I was very much involved in; a sorrow I’d very much played a part in, my sorrow.  It was here, that the real essence of the last post came to me. So later when it would be played again at my grandfather’s funeral, I’d read more meaning to it than anyone else. Grandpa’s funeral would be the last brigade funeral I attended up till now, and there again, the last post sounded.

Whenever they played the last post, everyone stood still. It was the last honour given to the dead. When the last post had sounded, the coffin would be lowered six feet beneath the earth. That would be the end. So the last post served as a reminder that truly this person was gone, never to be seen among the living again. If you had nursed any hopes before that something miraculous would happen, the last post seemed to dash all of such hopes. The last post brought reality upon many.  So immediately after the last post, wails and screams poured in from different parts of the compound where the grave was. But the last post had come to mean much more than tears to me. It had become a question.

Is the last post really the end of it all? It’s been eleven years since when I last renewed my membership with the boys’ brigade. But I hope to, and will certainly renew it before I die. Then would the last post be sounded at my funeral. Would it be the end? Certainly not! Fifteen years ago the last post seemed to me a reminder of the brevity of life and the certainty of death if Jesus tarried. But now, as I look through the years, I’ve come to see that death is only a beginning, an opening to a new world just like birth. If you are reading this and you do not believe in life after death, please hold on. Don’t stop yet. I’m still coming to that. So for me, when my last post has been blown, what next? That became a question that troubled my soul for several years. And I’m glad now that as I write, I’ve found answers, several answers to that question.  When and if my last post sounds, I’d be in paradise watching the events on earth. There I’d await the end of the age when My Lord Himself will come down from heaven, with a loud command, with the voice of the archangel and with the trumpet call of God and I, dead in Christ and many others like me, will rise first. After that, those who are still alive and are left will be caught up together with us in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air. That’s for me because I believe in God, the Father almighty, creator of heaven and earth. I believe in Jesus Christ, God’s only begotten Son, our Lord, who was conceived by the Holy Spirit, born of the Virgin Mary, suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died, and was buried; He descended to the dead. On the third day He rose again; He ascended into heaven, He is seated at the right hand of the Father, and He will come to judge the living and the dead. I believe in the Holy Spirit, the holy catholic and apostolic Church, the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and the life everlasting.

Hold on if you don’t believe in any of these things. At least you believe in the certainty of death. To deny death would be to deny your very existence, to deny science. You remember MR NIGER D? The D is constant. Whether it be the last post or some kind of solemn hymn or speech, there’d be a last something in your honour even if you’ve lived the most worthless of lives. Where would you be when that last something is going on in your honour? If you’ve ever believed that you are made up of more than your body (flesh and bones and blood), then where would the rest of you be when your body is lowered six feet beneath? Do you ever actively remember death? The reason why most people live as they do is because they hardly ever actively remember that they’ll die. Think again and again.

If you believe in resurrection and life after death then think of eternity. Think of the seven year marriage ceremony with the lamb. Think of the millennial reign with Christ and endeavor to be in paradise when your last post sounds.

We raised tangerines in our little orchard, and oranges too. Towards evening, when the dusk had enveloped the atmosphere, the orchardsphere was full of citric smell. The kind of scent that is peculiar to pregnant orange plants whose pollinated stigma has just begun to form seeds. It was that kind of scent that made me wonder the awesomeness of nature and how God was careful and meticulous about every fabric that wove into what we have as earth today. Yet a new thought fascinates me more. If God spent six days in making earth and it’s this beautiful and awesome, then how awesome would a world still under construction after two thousand years look? Jesus told me in John. 14: 1-3 that He’s gone to prepare a place for me. And when He’s done, would come to take me there. He has been preparing that place for the past two thousand years. If there are gonna be orchards with tangerines and oranges filling the heavensphere with their scents then, wow!, that scent is going to be magnificent. Nevertheless, it’s not all about the plants. What of the buildings?; The technology, the art, the science, the poetry, the choir? What of the ice-cream and eggs (if I’m to take my Sunday School teacher seriously) and all that we can imagine? Awe, what of the water? What colour would the rivers be? Would they be pinkish blue or silvery gold? Ah! The stones, would they be transparent like glass? If we planted trees there, would they grow and blossom and bear fruits immediately, because a thousand years are like a day to God? What will it feel like walking on the streets of gold? Would I ever wanna put on shoes? How would PENSPEAK in heaven look? When Beulah Speaks his poetry, Cindy Dike, her mellifluous niche of words, UC TRUTH reciting the book of Ruth. Would Jedidiah need to walk round and share PENSPEAK fliers or would she just look at people and they’ll know place, time, venue and come? What is it gonna be like worshiping God forever, singing poetry and rhymes into His ear? Oh, is He really gonna hear us all if we said our various poems at the same time? I can’t wait to find out how heaven is and how PENSPEAK would be. It’s not gonna be PENSPEAK 2016 or PENSPEAK 2017, it’s gonna be PENSPEAK ad infinitum. You are invited. Please don’t miss it.