Forgetfulness

Forgetfulness should be a sin.

There are times when I think that if it were, people(me inclusive) wouldn't find it so easy to complain, murmur, be mean etc.

I look over this past year of my life. My dreams are coming true, even much better than I dreamed. I am in a good place. People laud my writing everyday. My family is well, I am well. I have amazing people cheering for me in the stands, people I don't know why they even like me. I know people i can call up and they will come to my aid in a heartbeat. I wake up everyday in a comfortable bed, small but comfortable. On my wall are pictures of people I love that love me back. In my bank account is more money than some people dream of ever having (yes it dwindles everyday but what the heck). I get to live in a land that is free and rich. I can pay my bills. I speak and people stop to listen. I write and people hold their breath to read. I smile and the sun shines even brighter. I eat what I want. I can live, worship, dance, sing...all of it freely

A year and some months back, I would never have imagined I would be all this. I wasn't even sure I wanted to live. Today I am here and it is all by God's grace. Yet when something happens, do i remember whither i come from? Do I remember that the God who has brought me thus far is still alive? Do I remember to trust this God? Do I remember to smile even when my heart is heavy, knowing fully well that sorrow endures only for the night and my joy will show up as surely as the sun rises?

No! To my eternal shame, I don't. I forget so easily, every time, all the time. I can't even imagine how hurt i would be if i were in God's shoes and I had this ungrateful and forgetful child who shakes her fist at me whenever i guide her as carefully as i can over the rough patches and potholes in this road called life.

It is almost 10am here and my stomach is beginning to growl and complain. I silence it with promises of my pancake recipe. It stops immediately, trusting my skills in the kitchen.  

Today I am going to shut the hell up and stop whimpering. I am going to be still and know that my God is still in the business of turning plain water into wine. Batch after batch, the pancakes will turn out just right. I will sit still in the corner and sing His praises while He does what He does best. A couple of times I will stand up and dance for Him. I will tell thank Him for His mercies, His Love, His grace and everything in between. When the kitchen gets too hot, I will thank Him because the winds blow at His will and the heat is but temporary. When it gets too cold, I will lift my gloved hands in worship of the God that does not die. When the kitchen of life is just unbearable, I will bless His name for the good times that will be sure to return

I am done forgetting. This is my testimony.

Song of the day: Marvin Sapp - Never would have made it

Nimota

She is the one that lingers at the theatres when everyone else is gone. She is sitting in those empty seats and dreaming up a new end to the movie she just saw.

She is the one who blends in with trees. You have to look a little harder to see that she is there.

She is the one who has been broken by life and yet stops to smell the thorny roses by the path.

She is the one you look at and can see through. And yet, you are all she sees, all she wants to see.

Her name is Mota.

Some people call her Daughter, some others, Sister.

She longs for when you will call her, Love.

She has been there all your life, waiting in the shadows, ready to break your fall.

The little girl holding your hand while your mother packs up and gets ready to leave your drunken father.

The teenager squinting through her glasses as she applies balm to the bruises you have suffered from the relentless bullies in high school.

The ‘almost’ woman with tiny breasts hanging onto your every word and laughing at your dry jokes.

The person you ask for advice on where best to buy an engagement ring for your current girlfriend…

Her name is Mota.

It takes you 32 years, one failed marriage, packed suitcases, the pieces of your broken heart, two tear-filled eyes, to finally see what has been there all along.

Mota.

It was the packed suitcases that did it. You watched the woman you married pick up her suitcases and walk out the front door. It was like you had walked back in time; to a couple of years before when you had watched your mother walk away from you. Only Mota's hand on yours had kept you from running after the taxi that took your mother away. 

Mota.

She is the one that lingers at the theatres when everyone else is gone. She is sitting in those empty seats and dreaming up a new end to the movie she just saw.

This is where you find her when you finally know what it is you have been searching for all your life.

You sit beside her.

‘Hey.’

‘Hey babe!’

‘The movie is over, you know.’

‘No it isn’t. There is always room for a sequel.’

You take her hand in yours and join her in staring at the dark screen.

‘Maybe we can be the major characters in that one.’ You finally say.

She squeezes your hand a little tighter.

Nimota.

© Damilola Ashaolu 2012

hahaha...i think of how as children, we used to laugh at that name 'Nimota'. i am older now and wiser and think it is a beautiful unique name. For all the Nimotas, Godswills, Rukayats, in the world that suffered from teasing kids, this one is for you :)

Beautiful Mess

I am probably Jason Mraz's long lost soul mate. I know this because he sings all the words i want to say, to write, to dream...

I have this song on replay. 

It makes me think of my life. I am really a beautiful mess. The beautiful is God, the mess is me-my mistakes, my scars, my past, the many, far too many dark days i have had in my few years here on earth.

I am a storyteller. I accept that title but there is one story I am fine not telling, one tale I am more than willing to let Someone else script. The blank sheaves of paper that will someday tell of my life...

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I am supposed to write a story for a blog series about not believing in God. I have written only five words and my deadline is in a few days. I almost want to tell the organisers that I cannot do this and how much of a mess I have made of every story line that has come to mind since i got assigned this job of telling what it must be like to not believe in God. I don't know why i am still hanging in there. I should just give up and let someone else write this.

But somehow, I am still holding on, looking at a blank screen and the five words on my otherwise blank Word document. I need God to fill this blankness, to make this mess and emptiness into something beautiful...

And through timeless words and priceless pictures

We'll fly like birds not of this earth

And tides they turn and hearts disfigure

But that's no concern when we're wounded together

And we tore our dresses and stained our shirts

But it's nice today, oh the wait was so worth it

Song of the day: Jason Mraz- A Beautiful Mess.

Trying too hard

I am intense. 

I know this.

Therefore I should know better.

But do I? Sadly not. 

This is my reality check. 

My wake up call

There are some stories I will never be able to write

Some lives i will never be able to live.

Some 'losses' i will never be able to find.

I need to stop trying.

Happy September people....too many people close to my heart were born this month. So it is my next favorite  month after August. It is only fitting that it follows August on the calendar.

Song of the day:  Ben Harper and the Innocent Criminals - Steal my Kisses