The Best Thing About Stepping into Poop
Without fail, in the last year, I've landed myself in at least 2 full, loads of glorious metaphorical shit. Pardon my French but if you knew what they were you'd say, "Oh Whao, Ike, crap!"
There I was, waist-deep, determined not to wade in this life-altering problems, because you know how these things work- wade, wade, trip, fall face-in, gurgle. In other words, moving and struggling would have landed me in deeper trouble. It could have gotten much, much worse. Right, where were we? I was in a huge poop pickle. Naturally, I panicked and then I told God, who calmed me down as always; then I told Ed, who is always very calm during the worst situations. We talked about these problems and then proceeded to find a solution-all three of us.
If you've even been in trouble before, you know how much you want to get out, right, and once you do, it's Sayōnara to that rubbish! That was exactly what I did; the moment I got out, I cleaned up quickly and I basked in the relief of the resolution of the problems and just kept going. Sigh, the delight of being free! And then one day, a metaphorical anvil fell on my head, in form of a bible verse. Here it is;
“And the Lord said, “Simon, Simon! Indeed, Satan has asked for you, that he may sift you as wheat. But I have prayed for you, that your faith should not fail...””
I don't know about you but whenever I see that scripture, I imagine Satan sitting on an apoti* sifting garri**. Lol!
That verse caused crazy questions to float through my mind, and if you have answers don't hesitate to comment: Why has Satan asked for Simon? He prayed specifically for one person? Why? Wait, Satan can make requests?! Satan prays?
In spite of all my query, one thing was clear; Peter was in deep shit. There's just no cute way of saying it. Satan had asked specifically for him. Thank God, for Jesus who prays for us all the time and rescues us from poopy-situations. Peter still had to go through the trial though, note.
The anvil bit of the verse comes at the end...
“...When you have come through the time of testing, when you have turned around, turn to your companions and strengthen them...”
The best thing about being in deep shit is getting people out of it once we are on safe ground. We win battles everyday. Every single day and one person is still caught in the struggle. After you catch your breath (which probably don't smell like roses), reach back and help some more people out.
If you've ever been rescued from the reluctance to forgive, from malice, envy, addiction, depression, poverty, abuse, please remember that people struggle with these trials everyday. Reach out, pray for them and draw them on to clean grounds! I'm certain someone was praying for me, somewhere, somehow.
Illustration by Mari Andrew
Every triumph is awarded with a trophy but instead of placing that on a mantle and beaming at it, like I did, please take it back to your site of victory, stretch it out until someone grabs hold of the other handle and help the person out of you-know-what.
Don't you just love the girl in this photo? I almost hugged her through the screen when I saw how her expression translates directly to the post title! Do you remember a time you were sure someone was praying for you? Do you have any answers to my questions about Peter? I'd love to read your thoughts and learn!
Page by Ike will be on a blogger's vacay in the month of September, we will be back on the 1st of October by God's grace! Great chance to catch up, right? I know, that's what I said too! See you soon!
Hey, Boo, Whatchu Got there in Your Hands?
I have been thinking about this blog post for a week now. I can't sleep until it's ready! Ok, here goes:
Every single one of us has something we must achieve on earth, something we are predestined to accomplish in life. Some of us know what it is, some of us don't. For those who do, please consider this: If there is something you are called to do, please do it. Forget the limitations. Forget the supposed inadequacies. Forget that you aren't as educated or trained as everyone else. Forget all the reasons you shouldn't try.
Last week Thursday, at about 11.45am, I'm flipping through my bible and for some reason I flip to the book of Judges. The only people I know from this book are Judge Deborah, Gideon and Samson. Anyway, in my flipping, I find this guy known as Shamgar. I know, never heard of him myself, until Thursday.
In my mind's eye, Shamgar has a stern, weathered face with a curly, shiny beard; happy, beady eyes which grow cold and gaga when he gets cranky. He got cranky, really cranky, a number of times. It's recorded that he killed 600 Philistines with an oxgoad.
If you just brushed over that like meh...you need to read it again.
Shamgar killed 600 men with an oxgoad.
An oxgoad is a farm instrument with a pointy end used to prod ox on their tushes to get them moving along. I want to imagine that this poky end is not particularly sharp enough to pierce through skin, because no one wants to hurt their livestock.
Mr. Shamgar-Gaga-eyes killed with it. 600 times. I'm not sure how.
A little background, during his time, Israel was hustle town. They were broke and constantly bullied at that time by whoever cared to be bothered by their existence. They were so broke and helpless, that they didn't even have ammunition to fight against their oppressors.
Judge Debbie mentions in Judges 5, that spears were rare during this time. Gear and kevlars were a little unavailable; there were no night-goggles, swords, arrows, nothing.
Meanwhile, this guy, Shamgar, without ammo, steps in on the scene and performs some world-class guerilla attack on the Philistines.
600 men with an oxgoad.
Moses crossed the Red Sea -not a river, a sea, using a raggedy, wooden shepherd's staff! *hello, goosebumps*
David killed a 9-foot terrorist with a sling and stones!
Here's the cute part. These tools are items they've always had with them, stuff they used everyday to do menial jobs! Shamgar poked tushes with his oxgoad; Moses grabbed stray, confused sheep with his staff, David caught pheasants for dinner with his sling and probably strolled down the road, flashing it, all wooden and rugged, to the uncontrollable swoon of several girls. (David was the Beiber of his time. Just in case you didn't know. That sling was arguably the best part of his game. Wink.)
They are right there, our game changers- instruments we use everyday, that lay carelessly on our desks, that sit idly on our dressers, that sit in the car boot; instruments we take for granted, stuff that we've had in our hands all along!
Don't despise your instruments and don't look down on your abilities. When God's power courses through those things we hold in our hands, we will achieve much more than we could even ever imagine or devise!
So hey boo, whatchu got there in your hand?
Written after a complete panic attack about my writing skills being completely inadequate. And then Shamgar happened! *grin* Do you ever feel this way? Do you ever get those panic attacks? What gets you through? Have you discovered your calling? How did it happen? I would love to hear your thoughts!
Foregone
Fiction
It is abominable, that which I do.
But I hurry to it anyway.
I follow the stream by the white light of the moon, stilling myself at every sound of crunching leaves or rustling bushes. I have wrapped myself in the darkest Ankara, on top of it, is my father’s hunting tunic, darker than night. I have smeared his tobacco and spice behind my ears to ward off any strangers or their dogs.
A traveling stranger is less interesting if she smells of tobacco and roots, than of hibiscus and lemons.
In my hand, is my shepherd’s crook. It whacks and chokes, whether it be sheep or person.
This is no man's land, distant from mother's watchful eye. Any assailant would be out of range of father’s arrow.
Now well into the forest, I hear the faint roar of the waters and my heart races. Quickly, I begin to climb the hill.
It is dark but I know where to place my feet, where to grip and brace, where to heave and lift. The darkness amplifies the thunder of the rushing waterfall of Arè. It surrounds, it terrifies. It is enough to fail a heart.
I remove my sandals and wade into the river, she welcomes me and draws me in along the current. I hold unto familiar stones, slippery and some tufty with growth, my feet find ground on the sandy bed. I feel for the rocks and climb out into a cave.
At last.
He is there waiting.
He rises to his feet. My heart thumps, my belly flutters.
Tórę..