Matthew 18:7

I’d begin this blog post with the words of Jesus, “Woe unto the world because of offenses! for it must be that offenses come.” If He says that surely offenses must come, who are we to say otherwise.

I had a friend, in the previous year, who was always known to be very bitter. You dared not step on her wrong foot and not apologize, she had the ability to hold hurt for as long as a sponge has the ability to retain lather.

But as usual, she loved to pray, and when I mean pray, I mean pray long – longer than the average Christian. So when you come to church, she’s the person who opens the door for you, and when you need a seat, she gleefully gives you her seat. She’s the usher with the offering basket, back-up to the choir leader, and the chief protocol to the Pastor’s wife. She’s everything to everybody, and when service is over, she’s among the counselors for the new converts, in the hospitality team for first timers, and among the cooks who give guest ministers something to take home.

You’d find her at the door of the church, on the church’s podium, in the Pastor’s office, in the children’s church, in the toilet, in the car park, in the Pastor’s house, in your house, in my house, in everybody’s house. She’s like the proverbial harlot whose husband had gone on a long journey, who was begging for a one night stand from a straying stranger, who had prepared her bed graciously with everything good you could think of. She was calling, with the energy of a child on the playground, running with the vigor of a horse set in battle array.

She was in the air, in the water, in everything. She’d morph herself into everything called life, trying to get into our very being, to make her home within. She was my friend, and we did not have some little memories together. She accompanied me to school, to church, to birthdays and anniversaries, to weddings and funerals, to art exhibitions and on long walks. She was on my Instagram posts, Facebook stories, and WhatsApp status. I mean, she was everywhere: my friend, sister, wife, mother, everything.

But she was offence. And she still is. And with everything I let go in the past year, she was one of them. I’m learning to forgive: myself – for being so undisciplined, for playing too close to depression and sadness, and all the bad energy frustration throws at you; my neighbor – for harboring thoughts not peculiar to a Christian, for not being forgiving enough, for not even trying to make amends; God – like I had the power to be angry at the one who created me. It’ll be a long journey, but now I’m glad I have gratitude, and forgiveness with me.

– Fabian O.

That Friend Called Pain

We should sue pain for breaking and entering

for coming in unannounced, without using the doorbell;
without taking off his shoes at the door, or bringing wine and
flowers at his visits;
for letting him tell me everything I was scared to hear, for
bringing up past memories and future cares;
for telling me how I caused my Father’s death, and how I
couldn’t even help my mom;
for giving me bills unending, and medical reports no one
wanted to read;
for closing the wine bottle and carrying its glasses away,
so I could stand before his majesty and look him in the face;
for exercising omnipotent rights, and for telling me how no one
could stop him from coming in;
for a billion things, two billion if the judge won’t mind

We should sue pain for breaking and entering

for letting our hearts knit, and for watching me fall in love with him;
for the chocolates, and jewelries, and all things too shiny;
for the cake at the bake shop, music at the open mic, dinner on roof tops,
and love in Paris;
for perfuming the beddings with verbena, and expensive lavenders shipped
from the Mediterranean;
for adorning the bedside with endless lilies, and cassia too numerous
to count;
for uncovering me at first chance, and luring me into a closed spiral;
for breathing upon my neck, those promises and endless tales, and for
holding me down till the morn;
for leaving me uncovered and breathlessly ashamed;
for leaving unannounced just as he came

Fabian Godwin O.

…enter his gates…

“You can pass through his open gates with the password of praise. Come right into his presence with thanksgiving. Come bring your thank offering to him and affectionately bless his beautiful name!”

Psalms 100:4 TPT

Over the past month, I’ve been extremely weighed down by so much. My vision had become blur, I couldn’t even see the goodness of God. And it’s not a very good place to be in.
There were days I doubted God over the tiniest things, tiny things a man can do without the supernatural. This unbelief had grown to become a tree whose branches had covered the sunlight from my path.
Sadly, I decided to stop hearing God, because He seemed like a liar, and that He was unfair. I wanted Him to do something big in my life, something noticeable. Something that couldn’t be hidden. Something worth thanking Him for.

I spoke with a dear friend about my problems, and he asked me why I wanted God to do something big? “Is there any big thing for God?” He asked me. “Why differentiate the blessings in your life into ‘big things’ and ‘small things’, like as though some things were big for God, and some others, small for Him?” He said “Why not be grateful for everything? Why would you box your blessings into small and big, into worth testifying about, and worth saying a quick ‘thank-you’ in your mind just to pacify consience? Why not be thankful, regardless of how the concept of big and small play ping-pong in your mind? Why not bring your mind up to pace with how God thinks?”

“And let the peace of God rule in your hearts, ……., and be ye thankful.”

Colossians 3:15 KJV

My friend said so much to me. Things worth pondering about. He finally said, “Keep a Thanksgiving Journal. Documents everything. Whether you deem them big or not, write it down. And over time, you’d accumulate the goodness of God in your notepad. You’d see how every small blessing led to the big one, or would eventually lead to the big one. Write down everything, and practice thanksgiving.”

-Anon