To Father.

When life’s pendulum lingers near
With it’s churning waves rattling my sail,
It’s thorn and edges
Scaring my view,
When my compass fail
And I lose sight of the shore.
Show me thy star,
Be my guide.

When my sun loses heat
And photosynthesis deems me unfit,
When my eyes grow dim
And I lose sight of my dreams,
When my steps fail me
And my fear becomes king.
Put my feet in the Jordan
Propel me with thy wind.

When I lose my ropes
And my sanity flees,
When expectations mock me
And I lose my place,
When my world becomes crazy.
Be my rehab in view
Help me know you to be true.

When the love I cooked comes undone,
And its taste sprouts bile from my very form,
When my fear truncates my strength
And from the cup of shame I drink,
When my ruder betrays me
And in the sea of doubt I drown.
Show me thy light,
Show me hope.

Dear Father,
Be my guide.

©lifeasChristy

Inspired by John Keats’ Poem (To Hope)

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Where I come from

ūüĆćūüĆć

(Sometimes when a child is born, they say a relation has come back or they just name the child after a relation that once was.

Remember that time when Zechariah and Elisabeth said their child would be named John (The Baptist) and people around kept telling them that it wasn’t meant to be so since they had no John among their kins.

So this thing is everywhere. )

.
Where I come from.
.
.
I am from that part of Africa where ancestors come back from time to time;
Where children may be parents and parents parents parent;
Where Iyabo’s, Tatyum’s, Kayum’s, Nnanna’s and Enem’s reign.
Sometimes they come bearing their names so they are never forgotten, like Onma, my Mother’s Mother.
Gender is not a thing; my sister is my Mother’s Father.

From where I come from,
I am my Father’s Mother,
My Mother’s Mother
And sometimes her husband.
I am them, they are me.
Legacy?
Rememberance!
Complexity?
Blood!
Memories!
We would never be forgotten. .

©lifeasChristy

Once every three months

Once every three months
I feel it’s waves,
Like a flood is in it’s wake;
A tsunami
Wrecking my reasoning
Tossing caution in the wind.
Once every three months
I feel it’s heat,
Like fire and breeze
I bask in it’s Sun.
My senses renew speed,
Colours seem more coloured
As I become antigravity.
Once every three months
I come alive
Like a chandelier I cast light,
I hit the eureka at every turn
I could run a marathon on and on
Once every three months
I fall in love
And i love how the Grammy feels.

Wordsmith

My dear Wordsmith
Break this barrier of silence,
Let your utterance spring life.
Tell me our story,
The future your mind creates,
The mysteries we would unravel,
Lands that would make Columbus marvel.
Tell me about touches;
Touches that untangles answers
And awakens ambers,
Moments that unveils clarity
And dispels obscurity.
My dear Wordsmith,
Put an end to this curse your silence brings.
©LifeasChristy

Bethesda

Father,
Have you seen your child?
She stands stranded on life’s way,
Stumbling with dreams too heavy to lift
As Asclepius hides his face .

Father,
Have you seen your child?
She sits at Hygieia’s gate,
Crutched, crouched and cramping
Hoping to find her home.

Father,
Have you seen your child?
She sits and waits,
Sekhet trails this route they say.
Bethesda,
He who tumbles in lays safe.

                    ©LifeasChristy

Redemption

The beauty in channeling,
The inflow of peace.
I made a pact with him
Now i feel divine.
Cosmic energy
The Waves of divinity
An Illusion that breeds insanity.

Then they came for me
Just me, a felon,
Reckless heavenly hosts!
What an army!
Propelled by love they said.
Wings,
Swords,
Darkness and light,
I’m never alone,
I’m followed.
©lifeasChristy

(Inspired by “Piercing the darkness” by Frank Peretti)

Let’s Do 8thMile Again

Last week i swam in love, love so deep i came alive.
Oka autonomous community in Isiala Mbano Imo state was where 8th mile held.
On reaching the residence for volunteers i was in awe, prior to that i envisioned that since we were going to a village, we would probably get to sleep in a “village looking” house or community hall (like we always did on geological field trips), we didn’t.

I remember the cool Doctors i met on my way to the village; the begining of an amazing friendship.
Throughout the love-outreach, i was a Doctor, ūüėé

Literally,

Okay, fine i served with the Vitals team. I felt like a Doctor, i mean i got to check blood sugar, BP. The name “Dr” got dropped on me here and there by the locals so i picked it up. ūüėé

Love was in the air, love so thick i could cut it if i tried.

From the laughter that sprinted from a local’s mouth when Joy said; “Ba Igbo” to a woman who kept speaking Igbo to her to Nono helping a woman walk towards a Doctor.

I saw wonder mixed with contentment in the smile of some of the local’s when they got treated and issued glasses, it was as though they saw the world for the very first time.
I remember loving the patience in Dr Ogo’s eyes, readily listening and the humor in Dr Ada’s eyes ready to burst with laughter, the fire in Dr Williams eyes ready to set diseases ablaze, the compassion in Dr Emma’s eyes, spelling hope.
I remember trying to fill a form for a 78years old man and i asked if he was married, he started laughing and kept laughing telling me it was impossible for a 78yrs old man to be single.
I can still feel the joy that poured in with testimonies from young folks in the school stepping forward and making Jesus their all.
It was a total love experience for me, everything seemed to fit, every step generated the next like organs relating in unison from my roommates, three to be precise ( A talker, a gist partner and an untroubled water) to the rest of the volunteers, different characters coming together to spread love.

8th mile was like a solved puzzle, each act leading to another act of love.

Let’s do 8thMile again for that woman who dropped her brokenness and sorrows at the feet of Jesus, i tell you there are more like her.
Let’s do 8thMile again for the kids that got drugs,

Let’s do 8thMile again for the 786 persons that were treated,

Let’s do 8thMile again for the 544 people that made Jesus their all.

Let’s do 8th again,

Please,

let’s do 8thMile again.

*( The YWAP (Youth With A Purpose) 8th Mile Project is built on the foundation of practical love of Jesus Christ in Matthew 25:35-36. We make available tokens of free medical, surgical care and welfare relief materials for residents in rural areas as well as urban slums in Nigeria and Africa.

Www.ywap.org )

GOD’S BRUSH STROKES.

You are,
A painter’s touch
The spring of existence
A sculptor’s hand
The root of creation
A poet’s word
The psalm of David.

You are,
The beauty of a broken branch;
The mockery of perfection.

You are,
The courage in Daniel;
The bravery in David,
The strength of a thousand warriors,
A ray in the rain,
The dance in Jehoshaphat.

You are the reason the sun meets the Earth in an endless horizon.

You are God’s brush strokes.
@LifeasChristy

Start Again.

‚ÄčWe had moments that took to the wind,

We had laughter’s that got lost in the storm,

We had aspirations that sunk beneath the currents

We took to the waves in the wrong direction

We made choices that pushed the shores further away

Now we drown in our doubts as our lungs struggles to hold unto life. 

If we could float up to the surface and just start all over again,

That would make a difference.