DON’T TELL ME AM NOT SPIRITUAL

 (I promised some couple of friends that I was going to write a sequel to IT’S JUST A THOUGHT, so here is the sequel).

I grew up in a family where the scriptures were hammered into my ears from an early stage. Infact, my Sunday school teachers were very instrumental in my indoctrination. The countless fearful stories about the consequences of disobedience, of sin and all, got me. So I absolutely lived a life of fear during my childhood days. I was very active in the children department, I was in the choir, drama group, evangelism group (for the few times we did go out to evangelize). I would always be one of the kids to recite some passage of the scripture during our annual children’s day which was always celebrated in the adult department. I was one of the brightest.

You see, your environment and places you’ve been to, people you’ve associated with, your exposure to the world, it all helps shapen your beliefs spiritually and physically. It did mine.

So when I got newly admitted to the University of Nigeria, Nsukka, I had a very tough time adapting to the style of worship I met in the different school fellowships I saw. Till I left school, I knew a couple of brethren who would always look at me as the unbelieving believer (as we would always call people who hadn’t really grapsed the truth about Christ). I realised that since I wasn’t reading the same books they were reading at some point, I wasn’t spiritual or growing. I realised that because my cloths were always fitted to my size, because my shirts weren’t flapping when the Nsukka wind blows, I was termed as one who was in the church but still outside the church. That I was free with both the male folks and female folks alike, I was termed yoppie. That I didn’t pray long hours that others did, meant I wasn’t spiritual enough. That I don’t do everything you preach or say, that I don’t conform to every doctrine laid down, meant I still had a long way to go spiritually. I came to realize that in the Kingdom at large, certain brethren will always characterize spirituality as the way you dress (how many inches your skirt is below your knee; how flappy and bogus your shirt and trousers is respectively, how outrageous your make up is, etc), the way you talk and walk (at least am talking from a personal experience), how solemn you always are, etc.

I grew up in a different environment, got used to different style of worship; and like we all say: salvation is a personal race; I learnt how to worship my God in my own way; I might not have had the grace to pray 5hours at a stretch, but I had a place in God’s heart where my 1hour prayer got me tremendous results (though I’ve learnt to tarry in His presence longer, but that doesn’t mean that if I don’t, the way you do, that I ain’t growing); if I don’t cabash for hours you do, that doesn’t mean that I don’t have a relationship with my Father. Every father has a way he reaches out to his own child and how He gets the best out of him/her; my Father in heaven knows how He reaches out to me, He knows my strengths and weakness and so He gives me the grace to do better.

Please, don’t be too self righteous to tell another that he/she is not spiritual; you don’t know his/her walk with God; you don’t see them commune with God in the secret, you don’t know the lives the little light of theirs is lightning up; you don’t know how God sees them and how much value He places on them. That they don’t attend the same with you, or they have not been in church for the past 2 months or so, does not mean they’re less spiritual; infact, going to church is not the criteria for spiritual growth. We can merely inspire, motivate, encourage and advice, but we can never play God in anyone’s life.

PS: you out there thinking you ain’t good enough or you ain’t spiritual, read these words and know that the only one who can tell you such and it’s true is God. It’s between you and Him, and since He hasn’t said you’re not growing or ain’t spiritual enough, then you’re.

#Don’tTellMeAmNotSpiritual

#IKnowWhoIAm

#Gen. Sam

OLD FRIENDS

This is the piece I promised a senior friend of mine that I was going to write after I had concurred to his point of reasoning.

You see, people will always tell you “that’s the way I was created; that’s the way I am wired” as an excuse for a flaw they don’t want to admit. I thought I was the only one who noticed this habit in certain people, I didnt know there were other observant eyes too till my friend spoke up. I once told a friend that the reason why some people in your past are no longer in your present is because they no longer have any good role to play in your life; but in retrospect; I will like to state this fact, that some of your friends are no longer in your PRESENT doesn’t mean it was meant to be so; sometimes, we think some of this friends no longer have things offer, either because we moved out of that immediate vicinity, be it a club, school, church, neighborhood, office, be it anywhere, or any other reason we may conjure. Over the years, I’ve realised that there happens to be some of my  “friends” who we shared nice time, had serious fun, prayed together, ate together, shared dreams together too; some we even envisioned the future together, had big dreams and plans for it; friends I called brothers, friends I called sisters; friends that meant or should I say still means a great deal to me; but a pity I can’t say much about them now, not because I don’t want to, but because of the human nature. I know distance always has its toll on every relationship be it platonic or otherwise, I know communication always reduce it the absence of the communicating parties, but that doesn’t mean you should wait for the other party to say hi on whatsapp, bbm, Facebook, or any other social media or even a call or SMS; before you know you have to reciprocate; that doesn’t mean it should always be one party doing the calling and texting, that doesn’t mean that the burden of calling and remembering should always lay on one party. It’s becoming unbecoming; so many good friends who still have lots to offer ate gradually being lost and forgotten just because we were too busy to pick our phones and dial that number or even compose that message.

It’s a new year, and am sure your new year resolutions are already underway; but I beg you, please don’t forget old friends this year because you think you’ve outgrown them or you think they’ve outgrown their usefulness, please make that difference this year… Thanks.

 

#Gen. Sam

Don’t STOP!!!

When I first started writing on Facebook as an active writer, I would always jump off on my feet each time someone like my post or commented; and when nobody did, I would silently sulk in my corner. The good I’ve been doing over the years and I thought were unnoticed by people was actually infact, well acknowledged by observers.

You see, we work everyday with all our hearts, silently hoping that someone would notice and say at least a thank you. We burn ourselves out for the right cause hoping that someday, someone on earth (not until you’ve died and gone to heaven and Baba God will say well done my pikin), will acknowledge us; and so when nobody does, we sometimes feel we’ve been wasting our time, we feel it was useless trying to do something good for no personal gain. Well, recently, I’ve come to learn something about consistency.  Irrespective of the fact that we do what we do, not because we want anyone to applaud us; until we become very consistent at it, the fruit of our labour won’t really pay out. Don’t stop doing good because no one applauded your first work; don’t stop giving because no one gave you an award for philanthropy; don’t stop acting, singing and even writing because no one said you’re good at it; the world is watching, every other person around is observing; sometime very soon; someone will shock you with a statement, a public applauds, a recommendation for your consistency in that which you do. Don’t stop doing good because no one is appreciating you, don’t stop writing because no one clicked the like button or commented; don’t stop acting, singing or even dancing because no one gives you a thumps up; the truth of the matter is that there’re a lot of people who get ministered to, people who get blessed tremendously by that dance of yours, people who get motivated by those acts of yours, those articles of yours; that might not have the courage or opportunity to walk up to you and tell you that you’re doing a good deal of good.

Don’t stop doing good, you’re blessing and touching lives, even if they don’t tell you.

 

#You’reABlessingToSomeone

#Gen. Sam

Did I get It Wrong

I was meant to write something else, but my thoughts were on the meeting I had just finished from. My hands kept shaking as I typed the words that were fuming as thoughts in my mind. I couldn’t say a word but I knew all I just wanted to do was pour out my thoughts into letters.

Like they say, nobody is perfect, but that doesn’t stop us from doing more; from making an effort to be better. People around will never stop misunderstanding you, but that doesn’t mean you should keep doing what will make everyone misunderstand you. Feeling lost? Let me explain.

Sometimes, we do some certain things with good intentions, hoping to pass a message or create a certain impact, but the result turns out to be the opposite, and so, the people who we do this for tend to hit at us for that action. When you notice a particular occurrence that has become a norm in your life, probably, your big mouth which doesn’t hold words together, or your tongue which can’t present words in a civil manner, or the air of haughtiness which discourages everyone from advising or calling you to order, or your extravagant lifestyle which from all indication is leading you to doom, or whatever it is that people keep complaining about (please note that there’s a difference btw people envying you and people who love you and wish you to change a certain act); it’s an indication that that part of you, that occurrence is what is pushing people away. You cry to God, you ask people why do people hate me so much, why can’t I just keep steady friends, why can’t I just be loved like other people; take a pause, and see that which everyone is pointing at; it might be the “shit” that has stained your white linen and scaring everyone away because of its foul smell.

We all are working towards perfection, listen when people tell you THIS is a fault which you should work on. You never can tell if it’s what is stopping you from being employed, whether it’s what is keeping that dream husband from coming near, whether it’s what is keeping you from growing and maturing into what and who you’re meant to be. Not everyone hates you. Please listen and take correction.

#ListenAndGetItRight

#Gen. Sam

Letter to the Fathers

To the fathers who would come back home drunk and abuse their children with words and blows. To the fathers who would come back home and beat up their wives just because they dared to say the truth. To the fathers who would insult and disgrace the mother of their children in public just because He wants to show that He is the man. To the fathers who have never been there for their sons and daughters, who would prefer to spend more time with his friends outside in the bar, than come home to his wife and kids. To the fathers who never even knew when their daughters became women, and their sons, men. To the fathers who after they have lost their jobs would come home drunk and beat up everybody at home. To the fathers who were strangers to their kids until they grew up and left home. To the fathers who are never home to answer their kids call them ‘daddy’ and ‘papa’. To the fathers who never did their homework and so let their sons and daughters pay the price in brothels and prisons. To the fathers who were never able to say I’m sorry to their kids. To the fathers who became enemies to their kids even after they left home. To the fathers who their wives were the so-called witches that denied them of their much-wanted progress. To the fathers who left home and never turned back, leaving the kids to be catered for by their mother. To the fathers who denied and walked out on their kids because of their mothers, even when they needed them most. To all fathers, this is a letter from your sons and daughters:
“We want to be the best we can be in the future, but we need a guide if we will make it. We don’t want our faces to end up on the ‘Crime Fighter’ scenes, so we beg you to groom us well. We are tired of the names they call the girls hanging by roadsides, the disgusting name they call the boys in the hood, so we plead that you teach us well. We know the economy is bad, but it should not stop you from loving us and respecting our mothers. Don’t beat us up in your frustration, lest we grow up to be like you. We might be naughty today, but if you will spoil the rod and spare the child, we promise to make you proud tomorrow. So please, don’t let us down today”.

Responsibility

My eyes were glued to the disturbing scene even as I watched from my seat beside the window. I watched as the angry mob in fury, descended on the innocent looking boy for an act he had just perpetuated few minutes ago. He begged and cried for mercy, pleading that it was his first time and actually blamed the devil for leading him into the act, yet the blows and punches kept on landing on him like heavy balls of snow. What was his crime! He snatched an old woman’s phone. I was moved to tears as I watched the angry mob transfer their age-long frustration on him, and believe me, I was already alighting from the bus to see if I could dissuade some members of the mob from causing more harm. Luckily for him, some concerned onlookers beat me to it and started pleading on his behalf. Few drops of tears escaped my eyelids as I thought about what must have pushed this young man who was barely 20years old to be a pick pocket. I wonder whose fault it was, who was to blame for him being on the streets. As I thought about all these, my worry took a different turn.

They say we are who we are today because of the choices we made yesterday; but I ask, who influences this choice most?

The family is the first unit/institution responsible for a child’s upbringing and not the school, but as I write this, I can’t vouch that the ‘family sector’ has been up to task in this present dispensation. We watch our parents fight in front of us, exchange blows as if we aren’t even there, we watch as our fathers come home drunk and spent; as our mothers insult the living daylights out of our fathers in the street. We bear the brunt, the heat at home whenever there’s a friction between our parents. We are now pressured and cajoled into being productive as our peers who flaunt their latest collection of clothes, accessories and rides around the neighbourhood. While trying to sort out their own differences, our parents most times pay less attention to how we go about this struggle. The society expects us to be productive and responsible, but like I said, little attention is paid to how we do that.

Walking through the streets in the night, I see different girls or would I call them ladies standing by posts and piers whistling at passer-by with the intention of marketing/selling their wares, and this leaves me wondering, how did it get this bad? Were our mothers too busy in the kitchen that they forgot to keep an eye on their daughters? What were they doing when these daughters left the house for the life on the streets? Or was there no longer a “house” a “home” to shield them? Or was it the only choice left?

I also observe the movement of some boys/men whose eyes continue to dart around parks and shady corners of the street looking for their next victim; so I get myself thinking, is this the way forward to been better fathers of tomorrow? You know, fathers have refused to man up, to take up the responsibility of making better sons; mothers have refused to take the bull by the horns squarely and make better ladies out of their daughters and keep them off the street; sons have refused to take the hustle slow, but the fastest and shortest way off the street, daughters have gone hay-wire trying to keep up with the latest trend such that they’ve forgotten they were made to be mothers. At this crossroad, I’m asking a question that is begging for an answer: “who are we to blame”? If we blame our parents for today, when tomorrow comes, and we start having issues with absent fatherhood and overbearing motherhood, who do we blame then?

#ThoughtForTodayFoodForTomorrow

#IChooseToBeResponsible