THE CROSS ✝

Scene of reckoning;
Calvary's painted in a bloody slaughterous hue -
O, the mood of anarchy,
Dark as the pool of sin mortals wallow in,
Yet compellingly touching,
As the saviour's love-filled lamb-like sacrifice,
Offering no resistance to the casts of injustice well orchestrated by the Sanhedrin,
Turning Jesus over to Pilate while cunningly modifying their religious charges,
To political ones - sedition and claiming Him to be a king in opposition to Caesar;
And gaining from the Roman Empire, a capital sentence..

How cowardly it would have been,
If Christ hadn't committed himself to His words:

" Greater love has no one than this,
than to lay down one's life for his friends .. " 

He never wanted this course!
But what is happiness,
If our course,
No matter how dangerous,
Fails to consist in the perfectly woven strands of responsibility!

(Talk about the knot in our stomach)

Would His character have been completely,
Out of character?
Wanting to do what is pleasing to the spirit,
But being flagged down by the weakness housing it!
How cowardly it would have been,
If He had chosen to act in rebellion,
Develop cold feet halfway down Calvary -
His rightful path to greatness,
What if he had sneered at the script,
Mock the nobility of his role,
Betray his part,
And slur all his lines!
Would that have ruefully distort,
Not just the frequency of His workmanship,
But also the motives behind his rhetorics,

" ... to seek and save the lost ..."

Would you have played along with this half-hearted fiasco,
The snub of a Savior- in -fugitive!

I know I wouldn't!

And neither my silence nor my speech,
Would have been written down,
But if idly asked to speak,
My speech would obviously not disguise my thoughts!
Our freedom right now would have been at the bottom of a very dark pit,
Sniffling the dust of shame -
What a dishonourable name -
Soliciting mercy at the feet of the law which presumably,
We were supposed to be delivered from,
As grace muddled in a hopeless state of terror!
Our freedom would not even be in existence;
In fact, the law would put on a smirk,
While delivering countless scourge,
At our delectable body of sin!
Our current state : ABANDONED!
Abandoned by the 'runaway redeemer',
Left to grapple with the weight of sin,
And the rich color of its stain!

" What can wash away my stain,
Nothing but the blood of Jesus ... "
(🎶) 

Our freedom consisted,
In His ability to selflessly choose death,
And just as easily extinguishing His hot embered mortal desires,
Then committing to this decision :

" My father if there's no other way, then I must suffer ... " He sorrowfully expressed.

A crown of thorns on His head -
When He had nothing more to loose,
He became the labyrinth of the universe,
The soul of everything :

"... that at His feet all knee will bow ..."

When He ceased to be who He was -
The flogging made him a canvas,
The whip like an artistic brush on His heaving back,
Skillfully damaging,
Rather meticulously painting, His earthen body,
With the vigour of Leonardo da Vinci,
And the unparalled mastery of Mia tavonatti's,
13-foot stained-glass mosaic of the crucifixion -
That the canvas of our lives,
May remain engraved in His passionately skilled hands;
When He experienced great sadness -
Betrayed by a stray lamb from his fold,
As the rest scatter away into hiding,
Then to be denied at close quarters with His prayer partner;
I wonder,
How quick did "Hosanna in the Highest",
Turn to acrimonious chants  :

" Crucify Him! " 

" Crucify Him! " 

Where were the 5000 men He fed,
And all the innumerable, pitiable souls He healed?
Hadn't all His spiritual food not fattened hope for their lives?
You would have thought all this miraculous workings sharpened His purpose for them!

" No health in your bones because of your sin "

Still He soldiered on to fateful Golgotha,
Putting on a determined front,
Swallowing hard as wood can be,
As if to make believe the destination ahead was brighter ...
He understood that He was free to choose His destiny,
But He couldn't disown His purpose,
He had to lose that I may gain,
He had to bleed that I may live -
No matter how sin-ridden I was,
He had to be broken that I may be made whole.

What a scene of reckoning!
A naked bloodied man hanging on a tree,
Housing cold rusty steel nails driven into guiltless hands -
The most abominable form of punishment ..

So that man lost,
In all mortal frailty,
Might be reconciled to God,
In one body,
Through the Cross.


Silentdreamer💭

CHRONICLES - Eric Mwangi

"Emotions are like wild horses and reason can not entirely master them ... " 

- Paulo Coelho

 " ... and something in us dies or breaks or snaps. The realization maybe instant like the breaking of a twig but the process takes time. It is the culmination of small events, the compounding of love withheld.

And he sat, like Robin Hood (covered) and you could capture the weight of life on his shoulders. He was not handsome, not the kind that could be spotted in a crowd. He was jinxed. The kind of err that is graceful; that sweet symphony of a broken tuba. He wore a maroon hoodie.

The weight of life lay over him like a perpetual drunk that keeps returning for another swig. Such intensity in one so young; so foreign yet so surreal. He had glossed through life, unapologetic.

I took another shot at depth psychology (that unit in my first year that I disdained), to bring out whatever lay behind those windows to the soul. Was that a dart in his eye? Then another? And yet another?! Little torrents were showing, a deluge was coming.

From the corner of his eye I could see a tear. He brushed it with the knuckle of his index finger and looked at it a tad longer. Who knows the last time he shed tears? The last time he leaked?

The key to crying was looking at the same spot till thy kingdom come, but that too was failing. Waning.

I was beginning to get uncomfortable, the pain in knowing one so fragile is hurting yet it is beyond your power is defeatist.

His lips parted as though to gasp, then came…

'I wish I was allowed to be a child!'

No withholding, no prejudice. Just let it all out.

I wish I was able to go through the rigorous of teenage hood, which did a number on our faces with all the acne and weird hormones gushing through our system, without depressing suicidal thoughts

I wish I was allowed to jump on the back of a man I call father and laugh to the smell of smoking chapatis.

I wish I could rush home to the face of an impeccable with a report card in hand: though there are days, many of them which I better not do that for the conflagration that happens forthwith is immense

I now wish I could fail in that math test. I know how crazy that may sound, but I wish I did. Not for the joy of it (though there was seemingly more fun among the drongos than the nerds),but to be told one more time that it’s okay. It didn’t define who I was.

'I wish I pursued that writing, I wish … '

I wish I worked harder at that construction site even though I was only 14.

I wish I wasn’t forced between buying mandazis and replacing that torn trouser.

I wish I was allowed to love a girl without the shrill fear of what dialect you speak or how many millions you have, when you are barely 30(though having money is spice),or what mistakes and wrong tiles you might have stepped on. Or even age

I wish when I looked across the mahogany table I couldn’t see a young student take a few minutes to cry, wipe his face then carry on with his Cunningham’s manual

I wish she didn’t hang herself. Her sisters and brothers cried. Bite their heads off their neck wondering what they did wrong.

Love withheld ...

I wish the world wasn’t spinning this fast, maybe we would linger in the before; now the after is imminent.

I wish you hadn’t dried those tears so fast at the knock on my door.

I wish you hadn’t grown your heart so cold. Won’t you look at the veneer now covering your soul? That coat of dust.

Suddenly he grabbed his back pack and just as fast, out of reach ... "

#they called me young, with a derogatory connotation.

 

Eric Mwangi

THE MAN WITH THE SLING - Lulu Mwakuwona

Extract (1 Samuel 17)

There are times in life when, no matter what profession you are in you get to feel like you have a routine. I bet even the president, occasionally feels trapped. Dealing with the same thing repeatedly can be wearisome. During these low days you might get an invite from one of your peers and they take turns around the coffee table heralding the highlights of their lives. It is in good faith. You asked how they are faring after all.

This got me thinking of David and his brothers. His brothers were soldiers and him well, ‘just a shepherd.’ You can only imagine if they had one of those family get together gatherings and someone asked how their day was. He had to be first; otherwise, he would not be able to live up to the adventurous episodes of his brothers.

Maybe one time he joined in later, when his brothers had already started narrating their intriguing rendezvous. “Were the Philistines sloppy this time or is it just me who sensed it?” they could have nodded in unison. “Especially that one time when Eliab threw a spear and it distracted 10 of their soldiers. That was an amazing victory guys”

Noticing how quiet David was, probably Jesse would point the question directly to him. I imagine him saying something like, “well, I just had to lead one sheep and the rest followed, you know how sheep are.” Or maybe “One sheep I call Billy got trapped in the bush and I had to get him out. I rubbed my hand on the shrubs and got an allergic reaction. I came home early today.” On very ‘good’ days, he would kill a lion but I guess with the kind of demeanor his brothers radiated, the story was just as mundane as my days in the house doing a mani and pedi.

His day came, on this very day his father sends him to check on his brothers in the battlefield as he takes food to them. Something less that his normal job but it would break the monotony, get a walk through nature: beautiful flowers, smell of grass and trees while humming to a song he was listening to(Okay that is me not David) and he would get to watch the battle as well (at least that is what Eliab thought.)

It turned out to be his best day. The battle field had this giant called Goliath that no one dared to face except him. I can imagine the thoughts in his head, “with all that training they can’t beat this guy?” It took a lot of convincing to get a chance to face Goliath. On second thought though they had nothing to lose, everyone was afraid so they might as well just get the party (oh, I mean fight) started. Those lions and bears he killed turned out to be exercise and built his confidence.  When he stood before Goliath, Goliath thought it was a joke and couldn’t stop laughing (picture the grim laugh) but seconds later he did not know what hit him, quite literally.  David just picked up his sling and killed him with one shot and the bully Goliath was no more. A sling! (Feya -  if you grew up in my hood)

So, when you are in a group of friends and you are probably fueling stories about them hoping they do not ask anything about your life because at the time you cannot keep up and the green monster is slowly invading your soul just the same spot where Love and genuine happiness for other people should be, take a deep breath and talk to the heart. “What’s up bruh? What are you aching for? Don’t you know you are the man with the sling? Keep calm! Enjoy the walk towards Goliath, smell those flowers as you guard the sheep because once you hit Goliath, Billy will need a new shepherd.”

 

Jesus said to her, "Did i not tell you that if you believed, you would see the glory of God?" - John 11: 40

THE RAIN SPOILED MY BROTH - Brenda Gamonde

 When coming down to the physical world makes you uneasy, just relax and enjoy your moments here on earth - Jenda Lovelylady Poet

“Mum, it is Meru,” I told my mum very excited about the email I received from G-United. All night long I dreamed of the new life and experience I was going to live. A new culture, new environment and strange people I would call family for the rest of the year.

I was more excited than fearful of what awaited me in Meru County.

“You are fearless, you are going to make it,” my brother’s words kept ringing in my head as my new family welcomed me to their home.

Like in my family back at home, I was the first born to my new family, with five brothers and two sisters, all looking at me yearning to hear the words I’d say to them.

We talked through the night as the rain poured mercilessly. It felt like home.

Just then, dinner time arrived. As a good guest I waited to be served though I was dying inside to serve them, I mean, it is always the responsibility for the first kid in the house to ensure others are served and okay.

The culture that blew me off about Meru people is their ways of preparing food. I was stunned on how they were able to mix kales, beans with maize flour.

“It is called Mokinde,” my little brother, Muthuma told me when I asked what it was.

In two weeks I hadn’t gathered the courage to cook because I feared my style of cooking might be met with different reactions.

After a couple of days I finally gathered strength I had and told my new mom that I would help her cook.

The smile on her face motivated me even more to cook for my big family.

Dark clouds outside had gathered spreading the reign of darkness yet it was not night.

Quickly I gathered what I considered enough firewood to cook for the family, both dinner and dessert.

My little sisters were also excited and after school they came straight to the kitchen. We talked, laughed as I got busy with preparing Githeri meal for the family.

No sooner had I placed the cooking pot on the fire than, the rain started to pour as it did on almost all daily basis.

This night though the rain poured more and more as time went by. The meal was on its final preparation when the worst happened.

Suddenly, I noticed rain water entering the kitchen. I thought to myself, maybe the water will stop entering the kitchen. But no, water started getting into the kitchen from every corner.

My worst fear was confirmed when the water was looking for its way into my cooking fire. I watched helplessly as the raging water made its way to my fire with my broth sitting majestically on the three cooking stones.

Yes, the water did put out my fire; my meal was not fully prepared as I hoped it would be.

Defeated by the water, I removed my firewood and placed them aside. The rain had not shown any signs to stop, it kept pouring through out.

I couldn’t bring myself to face my host mom of the rain spoiling my broth. I sat in the dark listening to the rain tune on the roof.

My thoughts raced, it was not my fault, I knew but somehow I felt guilty. I was determined to blow everyone’s mind with my cooking skills. Yes, I am a good cook, I have been told more than enough.

Meekly, I made my way to the main house and narrated my ordeal to my mom with the help of my two sisters who were laughing at the incident; at least it was funny to someone else.

“Oh Brenda, pole, I will ask dad to dig trenches around the kitchen so that water does not spoil your mood again,” she replied lovingly with concern written all over her face.

I sighed, served the meal to the family as we listened to the heavy down pour. My eyes were hovering around my family members face to see their reaction as they ate the half cooked meal.

When my little brothers took the first bite and whispered to each other I knew something was up. My sister exclaimed out loud, “Mum, Brenda should be cooking more. Hii food ni tamu,” she said.

My siblings chipped in praising my not fully cooked meal.

“Brenda, unapika vizuri, nani alikufunza?” my mother asked.

I could feel my lips smiling uncontorobly, my soul was jumping up and down dancing at its own music.

My heart was beating very fast, and my ears were touching the tips of the smiling lips.

“Its my mother back at home,” I replied shyly.

Just then, my new dad came in soaking from the rain. He explained that the rain was not going to stop and decided to come home.

“The food smells good,” he commented when the aroma from the meal hit his nose.

“Brenda has cooked for us today,” Muthuma told him.

“And the rain water put out the fire before she could finish cooking,” added my mum.

We all laughed about it, and it felt so good.

The rain had spoiled the fire place and we had to eat dinner without dessert, which is tea.

As soon as we had finished the evening meal, the rain decreased and stopped after a few minutes.

As I cleaned up after the family I noticed all plates were ‘clean’ and no food remained in the pot, which is odd than usual.

I went to bed angry at the rain but my heart and mind were smiling.

“Too much rain, too much love,” I whispered to myself before sleeping.

 Brenda Gamonde.