Pushed Out Of The Way

Now, even though I do spoken word, there’s this experience I had whilst doing my thing today that I’ve never had before, and I just felt that I’d write about it.

Now, before today, I hadn’t done anything spoken word-related for two and a half months, so throughout the week, I was extremely nervous. Not that I was facing an unknown congregation, but just doing my thing and goofing up.

Such an irritating fear. But one thing’s for sure: it reminded me of my need for the Mighty One to take control. After all, I wasn’t doing it to be dope or gain applause for myself, but to be a mouthpiece of God to that soul in the building that felt less than loved, to be a voice of assurance that God has accepted that person in the Beloved.

So throughout the rest of last evening to this morning, I kept praying for the Spirit to take over when I ministered, that I’d be set aside and the congregation would see Him instead.

So this morning, I defied those fears (and a threat of ‘running stomach’) and made it to church, ready to do my thing. So as I mounted that stage and set up the mic, I delivered it pretty flawlessly, to the glory of God.

That was for second service.

For third service, even though I had already done it, there was still a tingling feeling of nervousness within. When the time was up, though, I certainly wasn’t going to chicken out. I mounted that stage once again. But the next five minutes were significantly different from the other five I had spent in the other service.

If I tell you I know exactly how to describe how I felt, I’m a horrible liar. But let me see how well I can put it.

At a point, it almost felt like I was being carried through the poem. I had to remember the words all right, but it felt like I wasn’t the one speaking anymore. It was as if I was just being used, almost like the words were coming out of my mouth without my express permission.

Thinking about it later, there’s only one explanation.

The Holy Spirit was taking center stage. The Lord answered my request and pushed me aside, simply making me a tool to proclaim His message.

I’m so grateful. God made Himself so real to me today, in a way I never expected. It really is a joy to be used by Him. it’s better than the applause you’d get for putting in some dope punchlines (I did put in some for this, though. Some you’ll only understand if you’re a football, or specifically, EPL fan!). I pray that my life will continually be surrendered to Him, not just in this spoken word ministry, but in every aspect of life. This has shown me that indeed, this thing I’m doing is all part of a mission that is far greater than my selfish desires, and my life is better off laboring in His vineyard whilst diligently seeking Him.

Anyway, in case you haven’t seen the video, check it out here. This was the one for the second service, and I pray it blesses you the way it surely must have blessed someone in that congregation!

When Love Doesn’t Work Out

Another old thing I wrote a while back. How interesting that I wrote this on the back of what was the most painful relationship attempts. Anyways, there’s still a lot of truth in it… 

It is always a painful situation when you find yourself in a break-up or a failed relationship attempt. The causes in the first case are uncountable; from unfaithfulness to incompatibility, anything that led to the relationship ending on a sour note. In the second case, the one pursuing his/her interest may have been rejected harshly or led into a nasty shock, or something else. Either way, bitterness, anger, hurt and pain are just a few emotions that take over. Believe me, they are not pleasant feelings at all. All you wish is that you may, somehow, get back at the one who hurt you, even if he/she is going through the pain as you. Sometimes, you wish things would turn around and all those fantasies would become reality again. It can even cause you to develop an inferiority complex, making you think you’re never going to be successful in a relationship; no girl/boy is ever going to fall in love with you, and the like. It can make you look down on relationships in general (Some people don’t say “LOVE SUCKS” for nothing). No doubt, a failed attempt at love can cause emotional and mental damage. People have gone mad, even committed suicide because of love gone bad.
An unsuccessful chance at love shouldn’t bring you down so low, though. You never know why things didn’t work out. Your partner or love interest, most likely, just wasn’t the right one for you. One step you need to take is to do stuff that will make you think less and less about the other person. Go out with your other friends. Read books. Watch movies. Play games. Listen to music. Anything that will take your mind off that person. Just do it. Make the attempt to move on with your life. It will never be easy, but with time, it will work. You’ll never do yourself any favours by brooding over the issue. All you’ll do is probably develop a negative impression about yourself and keep those harmful feelings within, which will eventually destroy you.
But, most importantly, commit it all into the hands of God Almighty. He knows the plan for your life, and He knows exactly why things didn’t go as you had wished. He knows that there’s something much, much better in store for you. Besides, only He can clear you of all negative feelings, because without His intervention, that tint of bitterness towards the person will forever remain in your heart. Hate it or love it, there’ll come a time you’ll think it’s totally behind you, but… there’s still that little wish, that things could work out, or that you could get revenge. Just ask Jesus to help you let the pain and anger go. And always remember, the guy/girl you fell in love with may not love you back, but your friends do. Your family does. And most of all, GOD LOVES YOU! That’s a love greater than any kind of love your boyfriend/girlfriend will ever have for you.

Don’t forget to pass by the new website! Visit Qwamena’s Space now!

The Tragedy of Archibald Firtizwald

This right here is definitely one of my favourites ever. My personal favourites. Riveting, touching, and I was just plain cruel to the boy. Smh at myself. lol, well, this is one of my oldies. A really sad story…

 

Seventeen years old. That’s how old Archibald Firtizwald (actually known as Benjamin Dolpyhne McCann) was.

A young, turbulent, trouble-filled and ultimately sad life ended so suddenly.

It all started at birth.

He was born to young parents. He was something like the result of an unplanned pregnancy, with the father demanding he be aborted, only for his mother to refuse. Eventually, his father relented and accepted responsibility.

Poor as they were, they couldn’t afford to go to the hospital, so they blessed their stars when a friend, who happened to be a midwife, was around when his mother went into labour. So he was brought forth with no problems.

And that’s when things got really hard for Benjamin’s parents.

His father had been without a job for about two years, and his mother had never really completed high school, so her chances of being employed were close to impossible. So getting proper care and nutrition was a big issue, and the source of many fights between the young couple. His father had to sell so many of his personal items just so Benjamin could be okay.

A year later, though, he was fed up. He told his ‘wife’ he was sick and tired of giving up his livelihood for a baby. That brought about another huge fight, and despite all she did, he abandoned them.

The selfish man was found dead two weeks later. Shot to death because of a drug-related scuffle.

So now Benjamin’s poor mother was left alone to cater for her baby. Totally handicapped job-wise, she had no other option but to turn to begging.

Of course, some gave, some didn’t, but she managed to gather up enough to cater for herself and the child. But her luck shined on her one day, when some relatives, the McAdamses, came across her on the street and took her and Benjamin in.

So for the next five years, Benjamin grew up in good conditions, and was looking quite handsome as he became older. But at the age of six, tragedy struck.

His mother went out with some friends to a concert one Wednesday night, and never came back. Her untimely demise resulting from the car she sat in with her friends colliding head-on with an oncoming, speeding truck.

Losing his father hadn’t been so painful, considering he hadn’t really gotten to know him, but losing his mum was a huge, devastating blow. His smile disappeared. His countenance changed. Even at that young age, the happy Benjamin was gone, and present was a moody and unhappy little boy.

His uncle, auntie and two cousins, Robert and Victoria, did all they could to try and help the lad move on. But as time passed, and the reality that his mother was well and truly gone began to sink in, there was very little they, or anybody else, could do as he turned into a temperamental, unpleasant person.

At the age of twelve, he decided he was sick of living with the McAdamses, because being with them only conjured images of his dear mother. So one night, he packed a few belongings in his school bags, stole some of his uncle’s money, and set off while everyone was fast asleep.

He ended up leaving Scotland completely.

Through bus, ship and train, the second of which he somehow managed to board and get off without getting caught, he made his way to Ireland.

In this new and cruel world, Benjamin Dolphyne McCann knew he had to struggle to survive. So he tried begging for a while, then realised he might be recognised and taken back to the McAdamses, so he went into hiding. Finding some fellow street boys, he went with them to raid some houses and take whatever food they found.

But on one particular mission, disaster’s ugly head popped up.

The owner had left some soup on his gas cooker overnight, thus making it cold. Benjamin, the self-imposed leader of his new group, thought he might get the soup a little warm before they took their fill. Turning the knob, he realised there were no matches around, so he went out of the kitchen to get a box of them, forgetting to turn it off.

When he returned with the matches, telling his squad outside he’d be with them in a jiffy, he struck the matchstick against the side of the box.

The result: his face got terribly burned.

The sight of the fire and the screams of agony that followed scared some of the boys, inciting them to run away. Two of them, however, went in and recovered the badly burned Benjamin. Carrying him a few metres, they realised there was little they could do to help him, so they dumped him in a gutter.

A good Samaritan saw him and immediately sent him to the hospital. His face had been so badly damaged; he needed reconstructive surgery to repair his face. When asked for his name, Benjamin, fully aware that the hospital might know of the fact that he had been declared ‘Missing’ in Scotland, gave the name Archibald Firtizwald. That and his age, now thirteen. Nothing else.

So the surgery was done, paid for by the Samaritan, and Archibald’s face looked significantly different. He took this as a ‘blessing in disguise’. Now his relatives would never find him.

The person offered to let him stay with him, and Archibald agreed.

So he moved into Mr. McAteer’s house, had himself registered in a school, and seemed to getting back to proper life.

However, Archibald’s problems were far from over. He still wasn’t a happy person deep within; it had been seven years since his mother passed away, yet he still couldn’t get over it. And he had no friends.

At school, everybody saw him as a weird, dirty kid. The boys mocked him on a regular basis, and the girls avoided him like a tarantula. Nobody to talk to, and although Mr. McAteer was good to him, he was almost always unavailable, with business meetings and trips taking up his time.

Unfortunately for his current guardian, some guys had taken notice of his affluence, and one night, after three years of having Archibald around, they broke into his residence, and after forcing him to show them his money, they shot him right between the eyes.

Archibald saw what happened and ran away before the armed robbers took notice.

He left that city and came to a quieter town, where peace seemed to be the order of the day.

Now sixteen, yet to turn seventeen, Archibald had faced more troubles than most teenagers his age could imagine. It had all turned him into a very withdrawn person, extremely hard to reach out to. That’s what the next family to have him realised. The girl in the house, the only child, tried to get close, but once he resisted, she chose to act like he didn’t exist at all.

At his new school, it was the same. Whilst everybody had a friend he or she walked with, Archibald kept to himself. The boys dismissed him as ‘gay’, and most of the girls just saw him as plain weird. He often got pushed around by some of the bigger boys, but he just resisted the urge to fight back. Even when he thought of loosening up and participating in some extra-curricular activities, some people managed to make him look stupid. From playing football to learning to playing a musical instrument, someone had to make him mess up, thus discouraging him from doing anything.

Academically speaking, he was  poor. Very poor. His teachers constantly complained about his inability to answer the simplest of questions in class, as well as his constant failures in assignments and class tests. Archibald was even more miserable this time round, with teachers and students putting him in their bad books.

There were a few girls, however, who saw a troubled young man who needed help and love. One of them was called Golda.

One afternoon, after class, she met Archibald at his locker and tried to talk to him. Even though he tried to ignore her, one mean guy, Bill, who was known to have a thing for Golda, didn’t take kindly to seeing the ‘gay boy’ near her.

A tough, well-built guy, he beat up poor Archibald, right in front of most of the students. Archie threw a few punches here and there, but he ended up with a black eye and a broken nose. With a number of the students laughing at him, he trudged home, not only hurt, but unhappily equipped with the news that he had failed a few tests and would have to rewrite them the next week.

Typical of him, he refused to mention who beat him when his new guardians found out. They asked and asked, but he just wouldn’t answer. They threw up their hands in frustration and declared that he could do whatever he wanted. They were tired of his silence.

The next day, Archibald went to school as usual. But after being pounded by Bill the previous day, he was faced with giggles and pointing fingers wherever he passed.

Golda tried to apologize for what happened, but Archibald, eager to prevent another beat-down, avoided her completely.

He ran into one of Bill’s close pals in the washroom, however, who said to him, “I see you’re happily bustling up and down the school, right? Well, as long as you keep your poofy, arse-loving self away from Golda, you’ll remain this way. Do you understand me?”

Archibald looked at him evilly. “All I know is that you’re a pathetic, poo-eating idiot. No wonder they strangled your mum to death. She must have begged them to, just to get away from you.”

This enraged the boy, who immediately threw a punch at Archibald. They fought for a minute, before, by a strange twist of fate, Bill and a few others entered. Upon seeing Archibald overpower their friend, they threw him off and began to brutally pummel him. He was coughing blood by the time they were done.

As if that wasn’t enough, they pissed on him, and laughing, they left him in the bathroom, lying there, smelling of urine.

By the time Archibald got home, he was fed up.

“I HATE MY SCHOOL AND THE PEOPLE IN IT!” he screamed to the empty room. “I HATE MY GUARDIANS! I HATE RITA! I HATE MY REAL PARENTS! I HATE MY LIFE! AND IF THERE IS A GOD SOMEWHERE, I HATE HIM TOO!”

Night time arrived, and Archibald was thinking of how life had been so mean and vindictive to him. Losing both parents, getting burned, losing Mr. McAteer, and being tortured and mocked by his fellow students. It was far too much for him.

The next day came. He woke up and got ready for school as usual.

At breakfast, his male guardian told him reports had come of his academic performances being terribly poor. He just acknowledged he wasn’t studying hard enough. “But that won’t happen anymore,” was what he said before leaving for school.

Classes started at eight o’ clock, but Archibald just walked about town, doing nothing.

He arrived at nine o’ clock.

He went straight to the bathroom, entered one of the booths, and locked it.

He took out a piece of paper and started writing. He paused for a moment as two boys walked in. He listened to them talk about him, and didn’t react as they labelled him ‘useless’ and ‘stupid’. When they left, he continued writing.

When he was done, he folded the paper, put it in his pocket, and opened his bag.

In it was a pistol.

He shook his head, said to himself, “Finally, I’ll be free from this bloody world,” and placed it in his mouth, twisting it to let it point up to his brain.

No hesitation within, he pulled the trigger.

The sound was quite loud, thus attracting a number of people around. The first person to find his lifeless body was Bill.

The bully was petrified, and alerted the authorities.

In a matter of minutes, classes had been abruptly cut short, with many students in a state of shock over the awful incident that had just taken place.

Now all those who had been mean to him at any point in time were feeling terrible, seeing they had only deepened some hidden wounds within that poor boy and driven him to take his own life. You can guess the worst culprits.

As the appropriate authorities came to take his body away, they searched for a suicide note. They found it. And it pretty much summed up his life and feelings.

To whoever gives a crap,

                My real name is Benjamin Dolphyne McCann and my life has been messed up since the day I was born. My father, I was told, was too much of a b**** to man up and take responsibility. He died. My mother also died when I was six. I never recovered. I left Scotland to try and put it behind me, but it didn’t work. I had my face burned trying to get something in my stomach. I was abandoned. I was helped by somebody who took me in. Armed robbers came around and killed him. So I left. And found myself here. And nothing but torture and ridicule have I had since. Is this life worth living?

                I’m fucking tired of suffering. I’m tired of having people laugh and look at me with disgust. I’m sick of being treated like s***. I’m tired of this life. I’m better off six feet under. Don’t miss me. I’m not going to miss anyone, not in this f*****-up school. Not some motherf****** kids who call me useless and stupid, like Augustine and Zack did today when they came in here. Maybe I’m going to join my mother in heaven or hell. I don’t know. But I don’t care anyway. Any of them is better than this screwed-up earth.

                P.S.: Today is my seventeenth birthday.

                It drove a dagger through the hearts of all who had known him just before his death. If only some of them had pushed a little harder. They just might have been able to help him.

 

Archibald was buried a week later, the McAdamses around to finally know what had happened to their poor little Benjamin.

 

 

P.S. The website’s now got a mini-mall!! Amazon-powered! You can do your online shopping right there. And don’t forget to check out the other cool stuff on the site. You know the deal. Visit Qwamena’s Space now!!!

 

Website Update

Hey peeps!

Remember that website I mentioned a couple of months ago? Well, there’s been a slight shift somewhere. If you already visited it, there’s been some changes somewhere. Now the site name ends with info, not com. Still looks good, tho. The same pages are on. I’ve added a football page, where you can keep up to date with the latest scores and league standings. There’s also a ‘Life Changers’ page, where I share some scriptures and the impact they’ve had on my life. I trust those will bless you immensely.

Well, check it out. I’ll be sharing my musings (look out for that) where I talk about different, different stuff. All the latest updates on this blog will be communicated there. So head on over to http://qwamenasspace.info/

This Is Who I Speak Of…

This is one of the many poems I write with the intention of ministering, only for something to come up and cause a mind change. Well… I guess it happens to many poets every now and then. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this…

This is Who I speak about…

The Infinite, Eminent, Excellent One Who is ultimately perfect,

The Creator of the grass growing above the earth’s surface,

The Renewer and Restorer of all things once considered worthless,

The Gentle Loving One always near to those who are broken and hurting,

The Ultimate Master Who is worthy of all praise, glory, honour and worship,

His name is Jesus and I brag on Him because my life with His blood He has purchased.

Allow me to clear the air coz some of you have pathetic perceptions about this Person I pronounce as my Perfect Saviour,

You see, He is not just a ticket to heaven that you acquire and put in your back pocket after you’ve recited the sinner’s prayer,

He is not a holy bank that you only turn to when you need your wallets filled with some paper,

He is not a dumb deity that you can treat anyhow, like singing praises to His name is simply doing Him a favour,

No! He is not the means to an end, above all this, He is infinitely greater.

Greater than…

Your selfish ambition,

Your self-centered vision,

Your self-seeking mission,

Listen! Repent from those foolish ideologies, they’re nothing but a work of demonic fiction.

Listen and hear of who He really is,

He is… the Fountain of Living Waters, a Cup that will never run dry,

The Faithful Lover of our souls, even when we’re faithless, He will never leave our side,

The One who holds the record of every second, minute and hour, Yes, He is the Author of time,

Jehovah Rapha, He is the One Who opens the ears of the deaf and the eyes of the blind.

But wait, you know, I cannot brag on this Jesus without speaking of what He accomplished on Calvary’s cross,

When you and I racked up a debt called sin and He graciously stepped in to bear the cost,

Loving us too much to stand the thought that we could burn in hell forever and eternally be lost,

And so He stretched out on the cross, gave up His life and rose 3 days later to show that over death He is the Infinite Boss,

And I will shout of His fame because,

There is nobody greater,

Than the Alpha and Omega,

My Lord and personal Saviour,

My Redeemer and my Maker,

The One Who shows me favour,

Scatters the plans of all my haters,

And renders every counsel against me a failure.

Promised me a home in the heavens that stretches out over acres,

Holds me firm in His grip, He is an Anchor that is stable,

My hope is built on nothing less than the blood shed by the Son of David,

The Conqueror of death, hell, the grave and the enemy of our souls, Satan.

So you know this poem is anything but basic,

Because I’m talking about the Everlasting Rock of Ages,

The Immutable King who changes,

The Holy One of Israel Whose Shekinah glory is never fading,

You know what, ladies and gentlemen? Let’s be honest, let’s just face it,

Even with a 100,000 tongues, I’d never be able to appropriately praise Him,

So my prayer is…

That you will taste and see how good He is.

Taken For Granted

One of my oldest stories. I had so many of them, but crashing laptops and all have sadly ensured I won’t get them back. Ah well, enjoy this touching story...

I’d been the serious type all my life. I was never one who took my studies and work lightly if something needed to be done, I’d ensure I did it, and did it well. And I was a serious introvert. Not that I didn’t have time for friends and stuff like that, but eight out of ten times, I’d choose work over a party or something like that. That was how I was.

So I was in my office in Allianz Insurance, when one of my colleagues invited me to a little get-together he was having over the weekend. He really prepared himself to get me to go, because every little excuse I gave, he countered very easily. Within ten minutes, I gave up and agreed to go. 

The get-together, taking place at his residence, was on Saturday afternoon. Getting there, I saw a number of friends and started to loosen up. This wasn’t so bad, after all. Laughing with my colleagues and friends was a soothing thing, breaking up tension and stuff. Then my eyes fell on one young lady around. She kept smiling and waving at me.

She looked so familiar, but I couldn’t quite remember her. So I stepped up to her, and said, “Hi.” She said, “Hey, Ebbs, what’s up? I wasn’t expecting you here. It’s been ages since I saw you.”

What she called me triggered my memory. It was Sara Eshun, that girl every boy had had a crush on back in J.S.S.! What a pleasant surprise. We talked at length and exchanged contacts afterwards. Something sweet came out of crawling out of my shell after all.

Sara and I kept in touch constantly, her calling during work, I taking her out for lunch, that sort of thing. This went on for about a year, and at a point in time, I realized I thought about her a lot, I often spoke of her to my other colleagues… it became obvious I was falling for her.

So I proposed. And she accepted. I was one happy fella that day. Being one of the few boys who had been infatuated with her back in the day, my daydreams were now a reality.

Sara moved into my house two months after my proposal. She was the most wonderful lady a man could have by his side. Even though she had her own job, which kept her busy a lot, she always had time. Sara would always have my food ready whenever I came back from work. She always had a smile to welcome me. She was always ready to show me love, whatever mood I found myself in. 

She was everything a guy could ever want and need in a girlfriend and a potential wife.

You know where it all went wrong?

I didn’t show any appreciation.

I can’t count the number of times I got home and told Sara I wasn’t hungry, failing to see how the food had been prepared with TLC. Whenever Sara welcomed me with a big smile and sweet words, I just nodded, or gave her a quick, unemotional peck on the forehead. Whenever she sat down to talk to me, I just dozed off. 

Once I heard her cell phone ring. The ring tone was “Unappreciated” by Cherish, but it never clicked in my brain.

My belief was that Sara was happy with our relationship, because I was well-paid, thus enabling me to splash the cash on her whenever I thought it necessary. I took her out a couple of times to plush, expensive restaurants, but then, all I talked about was stuff like my work, politics and sports, which were of little interest to her. I mean, I spent money on her! Cars, jewellery, the like. So all of that convinced me Sara couldn’t be happier with me.

How wrong I was.

Three years passed, and nothing changed. I was still my dry and unappreciative self. Sara, amazingly, was still by my side. Despite the way I showed little concern for her emotional needs, she kept going by my side. She stayed, hoping I would somehow change, because she loved me so much.

8th November. I received great news from my boss. I was getting a promotion! Now this was what I had been working had for since I had joined the company four years ago. My head was spinning with joy, and I couldn’t wait to tell Sara the good news. Now I could save up enough for us to take a vacation to the United Arab Emirates.

I got home early, around six-fifteen, and met Sara just as she was about to start cooking. I ran and lifted her in my arms. “Baby, I’ve got wonderful news for you!”

Putting her down, she looked a little excited. “What is it, dear?”

“Sara, you wouldn’t believe this: I was called by my boss today, and he told me this: I’m going to get a promotion!” I waited for the excited scream and the big hug from her.

Didn’t happen. Instead, she muttered, “That’s great, Ebo. Congrats,” and turned to the stove.

I was furious. To think I’d left the office so early, just to hear an icy congratulation message from Sara of all people. “That’s great. Congrats? Sara, is that all you can say? This is my job I’m talking about here. I thought I’d get a louder ‘congrats’ and a hug, at least? I can’t believe you’re being so insensitive.”

Talk about the pot calling the kettle black.

That last word I used really struck a nerve. She dropped the knife she was holding, and slowly turned to face me. “Me? Insensitive? That’s an interesting thing to say, considering you’re the one who doesn’t show a tint of appreciation in this house.”

“What are you…”

“Oh, cut the crap, Ebo!” I had just set off a time bomb that had been kept secret for three good years. “Who’s more insensitive than you? How many times have you said a simple ‘thank you’ for the food I waste my time preparing for you? How many times have you sat down to talk with me, real talk, not the politics and stuff, because you know they don’t interest me? How many times have you kissed me? Ebo, if there’s anyone who shows no appreciation, it’s you, you, and YOU!”

Already annoyed, I countered, claiming the stuff I bought for her was enough. How many ladies could boast of the type of things I bought for her? “I work my ass off everyday to make you the happiest girl in the world, and now you’re turning around to say I don’t appreciate you?”

Things started to get emotional. Sara started screaming at me. “Do you think I needed all that stuff you buy me? I don’t need it, Ebo, I don’t need it! What I want is your love! Your love! For three years, I’ve stayed by your side, praying for the day you’ll come home and give me a real kiss, eat my food, and talk with me and make me feel like I really do matter to you. Do you have any idea how many times my family and friends have insulted me for not leaving you? I should have… Ebo,” she paused, wiping her tears, “do you know what day it is?”

I shrugged, taken aback by that question. “I don’t know where that’s coming from, but isn’t it Wednesday? Why, is there something about today that’s so special?”

“MY GOD, EBO, I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU!” Sara wailed, the tears running faster down her face. “Today is the third anniversary of our first kiss! That’s just it! You don’t care about me! You don’t even treasure our love!” She screamed unhappily at me, then threw down the cutlery and stormed out.

I was pissed. How could she show such ingratitude to me? After all I did for her, and all I was going to do for her, this is what I got in return. How irritating! What was supposed to be a great announcement and a little celebration had turned into a fight. I looked outside. She had opened the gate, and was backing out with her car. I yelled some obscenities to her, then walked out of the kitchen. What a selfish woman. I got out my laptop and got to work. 

Forty-five minutes into my work, and sleep took over.

9:00 pm. I got a call. Sara was in the hospital. She had run into a broken-down truck.

Thirty minutes later, and I was rushing to Lister Hospital, worried as hell. As I drove, all I hoped was that she’d be okay.

I got there. The doctor told me her condition was really bad. She was in intensive care, but had requested to see me should I come. So I was allowed to see her.

She looked in bad shape as I entered, but she was awake. She smiled at me as I dragged a chair towards her bed. I took her hand and kissed it. “What happened, honey?”

She told me of what happened. Apparently, the truck, as we all know happens in Ghana all the time, broke down on the road, but the idiot driver didn’t put any signal there to indicate. So she drove furiously, and by the time she realized there was a stationary vehicle around, it was too late.

As she lay on the bed, speaking to me, it hit me like a golf club across the forehead. For the first time in three years, I really took notice of how beautiful she was. I saw the beauty in her eyes, the loveliness of her rather weak smile. For the first time in ages, I felt a burn within me looking at her. That made me realize how right she had been. 

I had deceived myself thinking I was making her happy. I didn’t show any concern. I didn’t even act like I loved her. My real love was my work. At that moment, I felt so ashamed. I had this wonderful woman by my side, and I never showed a tint of appreciation. 

Tears in my eyes, I whispered to her, “Sara, I’m sorry. You were right. I’ve been a selfish, insensitive, unappreciative bastard. I’m so, so sorry. I haven’t been the man you wanted to be with. All I’ve done is put my work above you. But all that’s going to change. I promise… I love you, Sara.”

Tears formed in her eyes. “I love you too, Ebo.”

I moved towards her, ready to give her a real kiss. Not the dull, unloving type I’d given her for three years.

But the doctor came in and said it was time for me to leave, so she could rest and recover.

So I left, telling her I loved her, and I’d be back to see her tomorrow.

As I drove back home, I swore to myself that things would change for the better when she got back. This time round, I’d always be ready to listen to her whenever she wanted to talk. I’d tell her I loved her a dozen times. Hmm, the list of things I vowed to do was endless.

At home, I could feel it. Something special was missing. I knew what it was, but no worries, she’d be back in a few days, and we would start a new life together. A life of mutual respect, love and appreciation.

4:52 am. My phone woke me up. Sleepily, I reached for it and answered.

It was the doctor taking care of Sara.

Some serious complications had occurred later that evening. Very serious complications. The doctor and his team had had to work hard to get her condition a little stable. But it had only worsened. They had done all they could. They worked as hard as possible, but it just wasn’t enough.

She was dead.

I thought it was either a dream, or the doctor had called a wrong number. But he knew my name, and it was undoubtedly Sara’s name he had mentioned as well. I couldn’t believe it.

For three years, she had put up with my indifference, tolerated my icy attitude towards her. For three years, she had stayed with me even though I treated her worse than one could treat a dog. For three years, she had ignored her family and friends. All because of love.

And I, a selfish, heartless, cold bastard, had taken her love for granted.

I cried. I wept. I wailed. I screamed. Nothing and nobody could console me at that moment. My Sara was gone forever, and my dreams the previous night of treating her like the woman I loved would forever remain dreams.

I wasn’t seen at my workplace for about a fortnight. Colleagues called, my boss called, I didn’t care. Work seemed unattractive to me now. That promotion of mine even seemed bogus to me. Sara had been far more important than all that, yet I never even saw it.

It’s a nightmare I’ll never, ever wake up from. The wonder-woman given to me is six feet under now, and all I have is wishes and regrets. Wishes that I had treated her right, made her truly happy. Regrets that I denied her of my love and made her feel like a pair of worn-out shoes.

It’s 5:30 pm, and I’m in the Osu Cemetery, sitting in front of her tomb. As I continue to weep bitterly and wish in vain, please, I beg you, never take your lover for granted. Or loved ones, for that matter. Never fail to let them know you love them. Don’t be like me, who never got the chance to show my Sara I really did love her, much less say goodbye.

‘Sara, I’m so, so sorry I couldn’t make it up to you before you left me. My life is a mess without you. Forgive me, my love.’ (A tear-stained note left on Sara’s tomb)

3 Reasons You Shouldn’t Believe God Won’t Forgive You

If there’s anything torturous I’ve experienced in my lifetime, it’s the mindset that I’ve done something so bad, God will not forgive me. Maybe it’s a besetting sin that I continue to fall into, and I get to a point that I feel God is fed up with me and won’t forgive me anymore because He’s done it continuously.

 

That’s one tool the enemy loves to use against us believers; to get us to focus on our sins and eventually believe that God just won’t forgive us because He’s too holy to accept us with our faults.

 

But if you’re a believer, then please sit up and read! I want to present this to you. Do you know what you’re doing when you allow yourself to wallow in self-pity and self-condemnation?

 

One! Do you know what 1 John 1:9 says? If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to cleanse us from all unrighteousness. By believing the lie that you are too bad to be forgiven by God, you’re pretty much blotting out these precious words and in effect saying that God is NOT faithful and is NOT just.

 

How can that be possible when the psalmist declares that justice, along with righteousness, is the foundation of His throne? Paul told Timothy that even if we are faithless to Him, He remains faithful, because He cannot deny Himself. In other words, the moment God were to become unfaithful, He’d cease to be God!

 

Two! There’s a certain description of God that pinpoints His nature and is repeated throughout the Old Testament. It states that He is gracious and merciful, slow to anger and abounding in lovingkindness. You’ll find these words spoken by the likes of Jonah, Moses, David and Joel. Honestly, to believe this satan-inspired lie is to deny these beautiful attributes of God. Holding one’s wrong against him is hardly the sign of a gracious or merciful person, much less one who is slow to anger. And the words of scripture were all inspired by the Holy Spirit, so repetitions of certain phrases should always be taken very seriously. Please, this God is too gracious and too merciful to hold grudges.

 

Three! Most critically, by thinking you’ve gone too far to be forgiven, you know what else you’ve done? You’ve basically declared that the precious Blood of Jesus is not sufficient enough. That your sin is stronger than the power of the Blood.

 

I don’t know if you realize how terrible an insult that is to God. We don’t sing that song ‘The Blood that gives me strength from day to day; it will never lose its power’ for nothing. That was the Blood of the Eternal Son, Blood that can never become less effective. Once it is the Blood of the One Who does not have a beginning, has no end and has power over every single thing – especially sin – then it stands to reason that there is absolutely no sin that can be so big and impossible for God to forgive. Believe it or not, if Adolf Hitler, after causing that horrific massacre, had gone to Him with a broken heart, full of remorse and a readiness to repent, God certainly would have forgiven him.

 

Please, stop dissing God by magnifying your sin over Him. It does not matter what you’ve done. If you come before Him with a broken heart and a contrite spirit, ready to repent (and I don’t mean just feeling sorry, but actually turning away from your wicked ways) and follow Him, He surely will clean you up and take you  back in. let’s stop giving the devil leeway to deceive us and lead us to run away from the arms of our loving Father. If God were to be the type that gave up just like that, He certainly wouldn’t have wasted His time sending Christ to die for a people that were totally dead in their transgressions: us. He will forgive us, and will lead us to walk on the right path.