going home: Thinking about a Parable

going home: Thinking about a Parable: Thinking about a Parable Every time I read the Parable of the Lost Son, I’m always amazed at the grace and generosity displayed by th...

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FLOATING AXEHEADS

                                                                        

It was a shitty Sunday morning and I was on my way to church. “Who the heck comes to such conclusions?” I asked myself after seeing a bill board that screamed “Life is beautiful”. I should have felt ashamed for conceding to the fact that I felt a Sunday morning was shitty but that was how I felt. My heart was heavier than an anvil made of lead. Life, like a swarm of angry bees, had stung me into exhaustion and as I went to church, I did not feel like being in church. Reeling but standing, it was like Mike Tyson had pummeled me with sledge-hammer blows. The only thing that kept me going that morning was that I had to be somewhere away from the house, so I thought I might as well go and kneel before my King.

My dad was so ill in the hospital that the general consensus was that he was going to die. My wife had a couple of miscarriages in the past year. The theme of the year for my church was enlargement. Based on that, I took giant steps in faith by expanding my business. However, the suppliers of my goods decided they did not want to do business in Nigeria anymore due to infrequent power amongst other things. The loan I had borrowed for the expansion had gone under. I had invested methodically in stocks which the recession wiped out completely. The two plots of land I had bought in Lekki were under litigation. My youngest and favourite sister was nearly going crazy; her fiancé of ten years had broken up with her and was making arrangements to marry another. I empathized with her pain. Relationships take a lot out of us and to be thrown aside like dirt after investing so much time, emotion and finances into one was excruciatingly agonizing. I was confused, frustrated and tired. My soul had been marinated in the sauce of worry, charred on the coals of anxiety and now wild dogs of fear fed voraciously on it. Haunted beyond belief, I felt like I had lost everything.

I was a member of the prayer team hence I went to pray before the service even though I didn’t feel like praying. My emotions were a jumble of contradictory feelings hence everything I did was by religious rote. I got into the prayer room and went off to one corner to kneel. I started feeling a bit better as the worship and prayers went on. To my surprise and chagrin, I was asked to lead prayers. Of all the days! God sure does have a sense of humour. Since I could not refuse, I decided to humor my prayer leader, all the while wondering what I was going to pray about. As I started speaking in tongues, I began to surf the pages of life, down the streams of time and found myself about six thousand years in the past…..

The room is cramped and suffused with sweet-smelling incense, burning touches in their sconces and lamps splintered and scattered shadows. I see a couple of men reading the Torah, others praying and some in deep meditation. The generic livery around here is some kind of priestly gown. Walking about, I realize I am in some kind of seminary. It is a prophetic school and not a rich one by any standard. The dormitories are so cramped that I feel claustrophobic. There are about seven students to one of these cubicles. I wonder how the students can pray and learn in such stuffy surroundings. However, as I pass one of the rooms, I discover that some of the students share my sentiments. A few of them decide to go and meet the Head Teacher, a renowned Prophet.

I follow them until they get to the room of the bald man. He has an intense personality and fervor burns in his eyes like undying fire. The students speak up. “Sir, our dormitories have become too small for us, we would like to build new quarters near the Jordan where there are plenty of logs”.

“Alright” he tells them, “go ahead”.

“Please Sir, come with us,” someone suggests.

“I will,” he says.

The next morning, they filed out in high spirits, singing and bound together by the twine of bonhomie. I follow them to the Jordan. The banks of the river are inundated with so much greenery; emerald adorned trees luxuriated majestically in the life-giving streams that lap at their feet. Their branches nod and acquiesce to the goodness of life. It is a beautiful place.

Then disaster strikes, as one of the students chop down the groaning trees, his axe head falls.

“Alas Sir, it was borrowed!” he cries to the Prophet.

From his patched robe; I can see he is about the most indigent of them all. I identify with his pain. It is amazing how things completely go awry in our lives sometimes, even with strong prophetic backing. The Prophet had given his word and also went with them, yet disaster occurred. The student is left holding a piece of useless stump while the most important thing he needed had drowned. It is reminiscent of my own life. It seems I am left holding nothing while my dreams and aspirations have been submerged in the roaring rivers of life. The brother feels useless and confused. He cannot work; he cannot buy another axe head. He is stuck like me. Losing that axe head is like losing everything. He and I are members of an incompetent fraternity.

I stand there mesmerized watching the unfolding scene before me while the river ripples and gurgles like a happy child, oblivious to the drama unfurling on its banks.

The Prophet goes to him with alacrity and asks, “Where did it fall?”

The absurdity of the question struck me as hilarious, what did it matter? It is not as if there is advanced technology and ultrasonic waves that can locate the metal and maybe retrieve it. I want to leave because the man is an eccentric but I am held by the fire in those eyes. The serious air with which he approached the issue held me spell-bound.

The student points to the location and the man of God throws a stick onto the water and the axe head floats. The axe head floats! Metals never float!

The Prophet tells the young man to grab the metal head. I am stunned. It is a miracle. By some supernatural intervention the laws of floatation were reversed. As the student hugged the Prophet in euphoric exuberance, I was hurled back to the present.

As I wondered what all that meant to my present condition, I heard the words screaming in my spirit, “Your axe head will float again”. I asked what that actually meant in the here and now and I heard “there shall be total restoration!!!”

As I prayed I got a revelatory knowledge that the Prophet applied the floating characteristic of the stick to the metal. There was some kind of supernatural transference.  Having that revelation made me apply the resurrected life of the Christ to my dead and buried situations. Boy! I prayed that morning!

Believe it or not, my axe heads floated and I grabbed them! My dad is doing well and uses a walker; he is still on the way to total recovery. My wife had a set of twin girls a couple of months back, IyanuniagbaraOluwa (miraculous is the power of God) and IteOluwakiisi (the throne of God can never be moved). Based on my dealings with my previous partners, a new line of business came up and I was made the major distributor in Africa. I was also able to link them to some major properties in Nigeria as a middle man. My sister got married down the line and has a beautiful child. That bill board was right. Life is indeed beautiful.

…And I will restore to you the years that the locusts hath eaten, the canker-worm and the caterpillar and the Palmer-worm…..and you shall eat in plenty and be satisfied and praise the name of the Lord your God that hath dealt wondrously with you and my people shall never be ashamed.  And you shall know that I am in the midst of Israel and that I am the Lord your God and none else and my people shall never be ashamed.

The story of the floating axe head is in 2 Kings 6.

© 2013 Ekpo Ezechinyere

THE BURDEN OF TALENT

                                                

Greek mythology has it that King Midas demanded for a supernatural gift from a god to have anything he touched turn to gold. He was overjoyed at first until his food, water and his daughter turned to gold. The gift became a burden he could not bear.

It is amazing how many talented people have committed suicide or died from drug overdose over the years. From Ernest Hemingway to Heath Ledger, it is mind-boggling. In the last one year, a number of sportsmen, musicians and thespians have joined this depressing list. Other talented people like Oscar Wilde did not commit suicide or die from drug overdose but came to a ruinous end. Most people would slit their throats to have the talents these stars have and the accoutrements that come with such gifts. Alas, it seems the load of their aptitude crushes and buries them in the dirt of death. For me it is quite a conundrum because you would think that these ones have everything, hence their lives should be quite rosy. One would think these celebrities would never want to die.

The answer to this brainteaser came to me a couple of days back as I was on my way to work listening to my favourite Christian band, Jesus Culture. The song was “Burning Ones”. One of the stanzas goes thus….

So let this love be like a fire

Let our lives be like a flame

Fill our souls with your desire

Let our passion bring you fame.

This I believe is the missing link to the puzzle and herein comes the X-men. The X-men and The Teen Titans are my favourite team of Super Heroes ever. However, I feel I have this special bond with the X-men, as whacky as that might sound.

The X-men are a collection of people with special gifts. There gifts were a yoke they would rather have dispensed with until they meet Professor Xavier who became their mentor. Prof. Xavier knew power without control guarantees disaster, therefore he taught them how to contain and control their power. For example, Cyclops, one of the X-men released an uncontrollable energy beam from his eyes but Professor Xavier gave him a visor to manage, target and focus the blasts. They surrendered their gifts and submitted to the leadership of their revered teacher. The Professor made them accept their natural gifts, maximize them and use them to save the world. That way, they attained a measure of peace that had eluded them before they met him.

God is much more than Professor Xavier. He put the gifts in us and until we release the gifts back to him, we are at risk of self destruction. He is the One that can help us deploy our gifts in a way that would be of the uttermost benefit to mankind. For example, Paul the Apostle was an immensely talented Juggernaut, unleashing destruction everywhere until he encountered God. His passion, zeal and talents were now focused towards giving life and not death.

Remember Lucifer? He was loaded with talent and was a celebrity in heaven. He was so gifted that he released music when he moved but he rebelled therefore committing professional and eternal suicide. His gift got to his head; he became a victim of pride. The dude wanted to play God and got thrown down to dirt for his hubris. What is happening to present day celebrities is what has been since time took its first tottering steps.

Truth is, when people are exceptionally talented it makes them tend towards becoming God; the paparazzi want to snap even their shadows, tons of writers are ready to pen down the nature of their fart in graphic details. Their self-importance makes them want to usurp their Maker and that makes them vulnerable to self-destruction. The person and position of the Almighty is one we do not have the capacity for. We were made to worship not to be worshiped. When this reversal happens we become like Icarus who flew too near the sun with wings of feathers and wax. He ignored the instructions his father gave him so his feathers melted and he crashed into the sea where he drowned.

For us to escape becoming victims of our gifts, the lyrics above become so essential. We must surrender all and become suffused with God’s love. Our lives must become filled with His desire and we must start living with the consciousness that our passions and talents should bring him fame.  Our gifts should be used to serve him. Paul did that! God must be the focus, the centre around which all revolves. It is not about the gift but the Giver!

We must be consumed with and by Him! I absolutely love the words Chris Quilala, one of Jesus Culture’s lead singers used to end the aforementioned song:

“Our hearts are burning, burning for You”.

…FOR WE HAVE THESE TREASURES IN EARTHEN VESSELS THAT THE EXCELLENCY OF THE GLORY MIGHT BE OF GOD AND NOT OF US……

© 2013 Ekpo Ezechinyere

THE AUDACITY OF FAITH 3

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As the sun started its weary descent down the western sky, the melodious notes from my harp filled the valley and bounced off the craggy faces of the ancient hills. Like fragrant smoke, they ascended up to Adonai’s throne. My worship flowed in cadence to the dancing currents of the gurgling brook. Peace washed over me in waves, joyous euphoria erupted within like a sweet storm. Finding a quiet place to connect with Adonai is something I do everywhere I go. Even at that, I needed the solace of His presence today more than ever. My heart longed for Him like a deer panting for water. The impending showdown made this imperative.

As I pondered on why He was so mindful of me, the brash guttural voice of the Philistine shattered the peace of the cool evening. Listening to him brag rekindled my righteous indignation and flames of burning wrath fired up my soul. It was time to have a go at him, the reason for my being here.

“Who was this uncircumcised Philistine that would defy the army of the Living God?” I had asked when I came into camp two days ago. For days on end he had harassed, tormented, taunted and bullied the army of Israel until they had all become shadows of themselves. Brave men had become cowardly ghosts. The burden of fear on their shoulders had bent their spirits. The yoke of dread made them shuffle their feet endlessly. They had been brow beaten into submission and were so ashamed that they could not look one another in the eye. The camp of God’s mighty men stank of the putrefaction of capitulation.

Goliath had them where he wanted. They had listened to his unending rants, drunk from the cup of his seeming impregnability until their senses were flooded with his power. They reeled from the imagined force of his might, staggered from the blow of his relentless words. The amount of psychological shellacking they had received had turned the bravest lion into the most timid lamb. The Philistine made my people forget who they were! Their eyes had deceived them hence making their hearts fail.

However, I was having none of it. I refused to accept his potential for destruction. I rebuffed his words. I shut my ear to his screams of rage. I blinded myself to his physical immensity. I did what Saul, Eliab and his cronies could not do. I engaged what they forgot.  It was not about how big, fearsome, or intimidating the enemy was. It was not about the enormity of the challenge. It was not about what or who I saw before me, it was about the differential advantage. It was about the covenant. We are circumcised, they are not.  Adonai Lives, Dagon is a lifeless statue of a god. From the time I laid my eyes on him I refused to acknowledge him. He was of no consequence, his threats meant nothing. To me, he was already a defeated apparition, dead meat for the vultures.

Thing is, the heathen deceived them, making my people feel the battle was theirs. That was what the King thought too, which was why he offered me his beautiful armour. I declined respectfully; knowing that the battle is the Lord’s and not mine to fight. I was not used to warring with human weapons. God does not rely on man’s instruments of war. The arm of flesh never prevails. The army of the Living God forgot its champion. However, I remembered Him. They trusted their chariots and horses; I remembered the name of the Lord, my God!

I bent down and picked five smooth stones which I put into my shepherd bag. I added my sling and took my shepherds’ staff. My time in Saul’s court had made me somewhat proficient with a sword but I wanted to disgrace the Philistine. I was going to put him down like a common bird, a crippled lizard. I was going to run down the flea infested mongrel for daring a chosen generation. Going toe to toe with him in a sword fight would be granting him too much honour. For insulting Adonai, he was going to taste the most ignominious dust of defeat in the history of human warfare. His people were going to see their champion die unceremoniously.

Humming a song to myself, I strode towards the hulk of a man. He saw me and was enraged; he could not believe the affront.  He was so angry that he played into my hands. He cursed me in the name of Dagon and turned the battle into a clash of deities. That made my work easier. He spoke against me, words of divination and curses of enchantment. The giant never knew that there is no divination against Israel, no enchantment against Jacob. Of course, I did not keep quiet; I talked right back at and against him. I countered the blade of his words with mine, verbal clangs that echoed in the silence that filled the Valley of Elah. I knew this was where the real battle was and I could not afford to lose here. I out-talked the bugger. I spoke so much that his words became a dirk to the long sword I wielded. He did not have a prayer. The bastard of Gath had been condemned to die!

I live by faith and not by sight, so I saw him go down in my mind’s eye. I pictured him fall like he was poleaxed. I told him his head was mine. I knew that a dream had to be visualized before it can be realized. I told him that I was going to cut off his head even though i did not have a sword.

I ran towards him, put a stone into my sling and shot at him. The fact that his shield was so large that another had to carry it for him counted against my foe (in battles of faith, someone else carrying your shield for you is a sure fire road to disaster). My stone went through the only uncovered spot on his body; the fore of his massive head. He crashed like a felled oak. With my stone i plucked him from the tree of the living and he fell like rotten fruit. The bigger they are, the harder they fall. The philistine champion was dead. I kept to my promise, took his sword and beheaded him.

His people were distraught with disappointment and the army of Israel was emboldened, running after them and shouting songs of victory. It was a massive rout.

Carrying Goliath’s head in my hand, I walked towards riches, royalty and a beautiful princess.

 …..The kingdom suffereth violence and the violent taketh it by force…

© 2013 Ekpo Ezechinyere

THE AUDACITY OF FAITH (2)

                                                  

By nature I am a ‘gusher’. When I like something I cannot just stop talking about it even if am gagged. I remember one night when I woke up early and felt like watching a movie. I felt I would just watch something for about an hour then go back to bed since I was going to work in the morning. That was the end of my sleep because I decided to watch ‘Avatar’ which I had been looking forward to seeing since it came out about two years before. I went to work high that morning, asking everyone whether they had seen ‘Avatar’. It was this overenthusiastic mood that made me meet a great friend (Obaro, do you still remember?). Recently, I was nearly flailed by kith and kin because I could not stop gushing about Sally Kenneth Dadzie of Moskedapages, the literary Queen of Nigeria’s blogging series.

With this background, I hope it would make it easier for you to bear with me as I am about to gush again. This time it is about ‘The Lord of the Rings’, a story monumental both in its written and screen forms. Till forever, I still wonder where the writer, J.R.R Tolkien got such inspiration from. Most times I would rather read than watch because I believe it is almost impossible to capture all the emotions of a book in a movie. For example, I nearly wept out of disappointment when I watched the “Eagle has landed”. The movie nearly made me puke which was unbelievable since I read the book standing up. The excitement could not just make me sit still. However, Peter Jackson, the director of the ‘Lord of the Rings’ trilogy was absolutely brilliant. Watching the trilogy takes you through all the colours of the human emotional spectrum. It is world-class!

The part of the movie where Gandalf had to face the balrog, a demon from the ancient world, is even way better than the book version. This bit eternally mesmerizes me. First time I saw it, I kept rewinding to this piece. It is full of inspiration and speaks to me no end.

The Fellowship of the Ring, a motley group of men, was on the way to carry out a destiny-impacting mission when the evil creature appeared to stop them. This is so reminiscent of life.

Thing is, in life we are all on a mission of purpose like the Fellowship of the Ring, whether we realize it or not.  For the discerning, the purpose is usually for the destruction of evil. Edward Jenner discovering the cure for smallpox is a leading example. Even as I write, everybody is on a mission. The mission might be that of a husband trying to preserve the fellowship of his wife and family, someone trying to get an educational qualification, another trying to put his finances in place, a mother trying to get pregnant, a bachelor who wants to get married to a good wife, a rebel who knows he is on a wrong track and wants to get back on the path of a divine mandate. Life is absolutely about fellowship (friends, marriage, etc) and purpose (our reason for being).

Then the balrogs come up on the path of life to derail our plans, to stop us in our tracks. Balrogs are purpose killers, dream destroyers. They stand on the way to frustrate and ensure we do not get to our destination. They bring pain and death. Balrogs are demons from the ancient world, challenges that have existed before we were born, situations that take the winds out of our sails, huge problems before which all our resources seem puny. When they come up, we are at our wits end. We do not know what to do, sometimes the horror they unleash (for example, cancer) petrify us.

Gandalf met the balrog at the bridge of Khazad-dum. This bridge in real life is where we are made or broken. It is at this point that victory or doom is determined.  This is the place we either slink away like cowardly hyenas into the arid lands of defeat or roar and fight like a wounded lion. It is where a couple having issues might go on to have a divorce or go on to a happily ever after fairy tale. This is where a struggling entrepreneur might jettison his dream or move on to millions and so on.

Question is what do we do when we get to the bridge of Khazad-dum? Gandalf provides the answer to this query. He shows that we must never keel over in a dead faint. We must stand our ground and fight. We must never capitulate but look the balrog square in the eyes and fight for everything we hold dear. Fight for our fellowship, fight for purpose, fight for destiny!

Gandalf told the others to run but he stood. He fought with all that was in him. He refused to be intimidated. He shouted out to the hellish messenger, “You cannot pass. I am a servant of the Secret Fire, wielder of the flame of Anor. You cannot pass. The dark fire will not avail you, flame of Udun. Go back to the shadow! You cannot pass."

He did not walk down the path of dejection wondering why fate dealt him a bad hand. Instead, he refused to have all his plans scuttled. I think in life, we cower easily most times while keeping mum hoping the issues of life will gently pass by. Not Gandalf!  The old man did not keep quiet. He kept saying what he wanted even though the odds were against him. He believed he could come out of the battle victorious.

Mind you, Gandalf was not just operating in a realm of bravado. He had faith in his master, what he believed (the Secret Fire) and who he was (wielder of the flame of Anor).  He was carrying something, o gbe ina sori, he was a fire carrier. To survive on earth, we need a force behind us, a Secret Power that others might not know about backing us (Psalm 91:1). Without it, we are sunk. Life preys on those who have no backing. Fortunately, our own lot is a whole lot better than Gandalf’s.  One, we have The Ancient of Days, who existed before any ancient demon. He is The One who existed before any pesky problem. Secondly, we are not servants, we are sons. Now are we the sons of God!  We are also fire carriers because He makes his angels spirits and his ministers flames of fire. To have a fighting chance in life, we must know who we are! Gandalf knew who he was. It is also imperative that we must talk. Talk at and against your adversaries. Silence means certain defeat! The surest way we can know who we are though, is by studying the living letters of God’s word. The dark fire cannot avail our own Fire, because our fire is the Light that shines through the darkness and cannot be withstood by any form of gloom.

Gandalf had a sword and a staff; we have the comforting rod of our Shepherd and the sword of the spirit. So take a stand on the gap and look that bugger of a balrog in the eye.  Tell it to go back to the shadows that it cannot pass. Stand for God, yourself, your family, your purpose, your world!

It is important to know that when you engage in such battles, you might get some hits but you will come out victorious. The balrog’s fiery whip caught Gandalf as he was falling and dragged him down with it but in part two of the trilogy, we saw Gandalf resurrected. He had evolved from Gandalf the grey to Gandalf the white, a stronger and better person with more powers. We can only come out better and stronger on the other side. We pass through fire and through water to emerge in a large place of great prosperity.

Be audacious against any kind of destiny destroyer, don’t back down for any reason. Tell that loathsome creature (whatever the balrog stands for in your case) that IT CANNOT PASS!!!

“…you are of God little children and have overcome them, for greater is He that is in you than he that is in the world…”

RE-WRITTEN 2

 

CONTINUED FROM RE-WRITTEN 1

 ....“Doctor, are you sure there is nothing we can do to save the leg? Without a limb, she is useless to me! I can never go out with a cripple, talk more of marrying one.”

The fates were unkind; for it was at that moment Kemi came to and heard Teddy talking to the doctor. She was utterly shocked at the disdain that filled his face when he said 'cripple'.

…the street lights on the way home were non-operational, a situation not strange for Nigerian roads. Teddy had been speeding like a bullet and it was all he could do to steer away from the hulking shadow that came rushing out of the darkness at them.  If he hadn't been drunk, he would have realized that the life threatening silhouette was a truck that had broken down in the middle of the road. There was no caution sign whatsoever to warn road users of its existence.

The truck was situated in such a way that the driver’s side would have taken the maximum hit on collision. However, Teddy, even though drunk, had enough presence of mind to swerve the car in such a way that the passenger’s side was the most affected.

As the Jeep rammed into the truck, the agony of screeching and screaming metal shattered the quiet night. Following the accident, silence pregnant with foreboding reigned again over the debris of broken bodies, burnt rubber and tortured metal. The car had become a match box crushed in the hands of a peevish giant and from its innards seeped blood. The blood was everywhere, a crimson tide that made the senses reel. The policemen who had gathered from a nearby check point shook their heads and snapped their fingers in melodramatic wonderment. They stood at the scene making no attempt to rescue the duo since they believed no one would come out of such horrific wreckage alive.

The wails of an ambulance siren soon filled the night with its lament, expressing grief over the spoils of a calamitous night. The medical crew managed to extricate the victims and everyone sighed in relief and amazement to see they were still breathing. The wounded couple were then rushed to a nearby hospital.

Teddy came out unscathed except for a deep gash on his forehead which was sutured. However, Kemi was in terrible shape. Her right leg was mangled and she had lost so much blood. To make matters worse, her blood group was O negative which was rare to find. She was going into shock but mercifully, the Doctor on call that night also had the same blood group as hers and donated freely.

While she was being resuscitated, Teddy placed a call to her mother.

“Ekaaro ma. Kemi ni accident l'aaro yi, she had an accident this morning". He always resorted to Yoruba, their native language when he spoke to Kemi’s mum. "She needs surgery and someone has to sign the consent form. She is at Lifegate Specialist Hospital". He said that in a very detached manner and left the hospital. He never went back!

Kemi’s mother gave a go ahead for the procedure which went successfully.

While recuperating, her world became black. Bats of depression flapped their wings continuously in the dark caverns of her soul, the shrieks of their ultrasonic cries bouncing off the walls of her mind. She thought she was going insane. Life was just about the motions now. All the juice had been wrung out, the sauce of living was bland, and she just existed. She felt lost, numb and dead especially when she thought about the aborted baby that the battery of tests had revealed. She had been pregnant! Her boyfriend was unmoved by this revelation, all he cared about was the crushed limb. He didn't want her hobbling beside him for the rest of her life, irrespective of her beautiful face.She felt like someone had ripped out a part of her heart.

Kemi was furious with herself. She had seen all the signs but kept a blind eye to them. She had always known Teddy was selfish. He had always been more interested in showing her off like one would a brand new custom made SUV. She was beautiful, intelligent and a social butterfly which made her fit easily into the circles he moved in. His friends after meeting Kemi always called him a lucky bastard for having a chic like her. Without a leg she was a SUV with a knocked engine. Her allure had diminished! She felt so foolish.

She built an impregnable cocoon around herself that no one could penetrate and kept all and sundry at bay. The day she completely lost it was when Gabby came to visit her with his wife and little baby. Even though he was genuinely concerned and did not spite her in anyway. The visit was the last straw that broke the camel’s back.

That night, the mistakes of the past wrestled her to the ground and put a stranglehold on her throat. She could not sleep as she thought of all that could have been. Desolation tore at her soul with the ferocity of a grizzly, a grizzly that swiped relentlessly at her until all her being became a mass of fresh weeping wounds.

 Her life reeled out before her. Her past was swiftly moving pictures of black and white while the future was blurred images with lots of static at the end. She saw that instead of the confetti she had waited feverishly for, it was sand that was going to be poured on her coffin. In place of the love songs that was supposed to accompany her steps down the aisle to the altar, she was going to be sent off on a barge of dirges. She was never going to wear the designer wedding dress she had always envisaged. Instead, her final journey was going to be in black unceremonious garments. She imagined how the medical staff would freak out when they came to discover her corpse, pale and without breath, swimming in the sheets of her own blood.

Diabo Culebra rubbed his hands together in a delightful flourish. Puffing furiously on the cigar dangling in his mouth, he took a sip of the cognac swilling in the glass beside his laptop. The ending of a dark story was what he lived for, what gave him orgasmic joy. For him, they didn’t get better than how the plot of “Life” was going to end. He started typing the conclusion.

Kemi grabbed a brand new razor blade and began to take it down, aiming for her wrists, a guillotine determinedly descending to sever the vessels carrying her life essence...

 The door to Diabo's study shattered with such fury, that he was frozen in place…

...As the blade descended, Kemi halted mid action.

He turned around to see the Author of “Life” walk in with some of his body guards and Eve. Eve was the disgruntled staff that he had gotten to betray her former boss. After she gave him the soft copies of the story that he had requested for, Diabo employed her as one of the assistants in his publishing firm. Eve discovered she had made the mistake of her life. The person that deduced that the grass always looks greener on the other side is profoundly wise. Mr. Diabo was a hard task master, he made you work weekends and public holidays without pay. He never forgave, gave queries at the slightest infraction and owed salaries. Furthermore, he was the father of liars and never made good on his words. She was still being owed for the betrayal she performed for him.

On the other hand, she realised that it was greed that made her disloyal to her former employer. He was kind and merciful and would pay every man his due but she wanted to rise up the ranks very quickly without going through the process. Secondly, her spending habit was appalling so she always owed which was why Diablo’s offer had been quite tempting.

Eve confessed to the Author of “Life”, who forgave her and gave her back her job. They went together to the Diabo's “Lair”, which was where the thief called his home and broke down his door.

The Author of 'Life' was usually a lamb but when crossed, he became a lion. He strode majestically to where Diabo was cowering and punched him hard on the jaw. Diabo fell like he had been struck by lightning. As he laid on the floor, he tried to work his mouth and knew his jaw was broken. That was the last thing on his mind though.  With the amount of offences he would be charged with in court, he knew his days were up because he would be locked up and the key thrown away.

The Author of “Life” retrieved his story and was wrathful at what Diabo had done with it. He took the story home, went up to his study and wrote and wrote…

Kemi glanced at the TV. Someone had changed the DSTV channel to 331, 1 Gospel and musical strums filled the room. She had always been a sucker for good music and this was heavenly. She saw a guy with a thick mop of curls strumming away and stomping his foot like there was no tomorrow and then the songs came and washed over her aching soul. She did not know the group but saw their name was Jesus Culture. They sang so lustily! The music was beautiful and the lyrics were healing.

Nothing can separate

Even if I ran away

Your love never fails

I know I still make mistakes

But You have new mercies for me everyday

Your love never fails

Chorus:

You stay the same through the ages

Your love never changes

There may be pain in the night but joy comes in the morning

And when the oceans rage

I don't have to be afraid

Because I know that You love me

Your love never fails

Verse 2:

The wind is strong and the water's deep

But I'm not alone here in these open seas

Cause Your love never fails

The chasm is far too wide

I never thought I'd reach the other side

But Your love never fails

Bridge:

You make all things work together for my good

The song was a hook that reeled her into an ocean of love she had not swum in ages. The essence of a God she had forgotten washed over her. In that sea, she dissolved until every cell in her body became tears that merged and fused with the Force of Life that bubbled in the living waters. The ocean, in which life was being baptized, cleansed and washed her so much she felt new. It was like being re-birthed.

She remembered how her grandma used to take her to Sunday school. The joy she used to experience when being regaled with the tales of David and Goliath, Noah and the ark, and other stories.  The sadness of the crucifixion, the euphoria of the resurrection, the sweetness of the Cabin biscuits and the Three Top drinks. The teachers usually ended up giving her extra biscuits because she usually answered most of the questions.

As she grew older, she had meandered away from those paths especially after she started going out with Teddy.  It went downhill from there onwards.

When the Doctor on call went to check on her that night, he saw Kemi on a personal mount where transfiguration was taking place. He knew he had happened on a very private moment and went out quietly. As he walked to the Doctor’s room, her rapturous image stayed with him and would not let go.

When he saw her the next morning, she was a new creature. The old Kemi seem to have passed away. She was radiant and friendly.

“Good morning, Miss. Olude,” greeted Dr. Timothy. “How are you doing this morning?”

“Good Morning, Doc, Please forgive me for my churlish attitude, you saved my life by your donation and I have not been good mannered enough to say thank you. I am so very sorry.”

“Pleasure’s all mine, Miss. Olude,” He said.

“Please call me, Kemi.”

“Since we are dispensing with formalities, you might as well call me Tim.”

She smiled and light poured from her eyes to fill the room, she had such limpid eyes. He was amazed that he had never noticed.  Since she had always been drenched in the rain of depression, they had been difficult to perceive. Her smile was accompanied by two playful dimples that danced merrily on her cheeks.

“Really?” she asked.

“Yup, try saying Tim, you will find out it doesn’t hurt at least not as much as the intramuscular shots you take anyway.”

“Hmm, a Doctor with a sense of humour, you are rare Tim. Anyone ever told you that?”

“I think someone has mentioned it. Has anyone ever told you that your mouth is like an exquisitely sculpted grotto with fine pearls decorating it and a river of rubies running through it?”

She giggled, “Tim, you are quite a flatterer.”

“Just calling a spade a spade, ma’am. However your own spade is diamond studded with a golden handle.”

That morning, Tim left late after handing over and came earlier than usual to resume his night duty.

There was something about Kemi that he found irresistible. He had been praying for a wife before he met her and the more he prayed, the more he was drawn to her.

One thing led to another and a year, six months after they met, they got married. The wedding was lovely but the only fireworks that exploded that day were the ones in her heart for her man.  It was also the first day she used her new prosthetic limb.

Tim had a brother working in a research and design company in America where prosthetic limbs that are almost as good as normal limbs were manufactured. Kemi had the privilege of being fitted with one.  

She got pregnant and finally delivered a beautiful baby boy. As she suckled him that day, his baby fragrance filled her being.  She absentmindedly ran her hand over his curls and felt such gratitude towards the Author of her Life.

She remembered one of her Grandma’s favourite scriptures and it struck her how true those words are.

I KNOW THE THOUGHTS THAT I THINK 

TOWARDS YOU. THOUGHTS OF GOOD AND 
NOT OF EVIL, TO GIVE YOU A FUTURE  

AND A HOPE..

© 2013 Ekpo Ezechinyere