Author: emmanuelonimisi

TASER | Episode 1: The Cop

Title Block

It’s a dark room. So dark. And silent. Ceiling lights flicker overhead. And that’s when he sees them.

Bodies. Lying side by side along a wall. Lifeless.

Dead.

Not a single one moves. Propped against the wall, their heads sagging, their eyes shut.

Dead.

And then he sees a familiar face. Dried skin. Unmoving. The resemblance was striking … is striking … It was … it is …

It is him.

Dead.

Jerry sat bolt upright in his bed, panting. The clock glowed red in the darkness of his room. 02:39AM. Somewhere in the distance a dog howled. It was just a dream.

He shut his eyes and sank back into his bed. Not that silly dream again, not now. Please, not now.

It was roughly another thirty minutes before he finally settled in to anything close to a nice sleep.

The Cop

6:03PM

 Russell Road in Towne

Evenings on the Russell thoroughfare were usually calm despite the bustle of shop owners closing for the day. It was not unusual for one or two persons to be running across the road at that time, since most children still played around. But a police chase was out of the ordinary. A young man in jeans and a hoodie ran across the road with a burly policeman hot on his tail, drawing beeps from vehicles that stopped abruptly on both lanes.

The policeman keyed his radio. “Jenson, you got my back?”

The radio squawked. “What’s your ten-twenty?”

“We’re uh…” he paused to take a breath. “He’s heading up the Ramp.” His sides ached. He knew he should’ve taken those morning jogs more seriously.

“That’ll put you guys on Carlyle. He’s headed for the old ghetto. I’ll cut him off.”

“I still think we need more back-up!”

“No! We’ve got this, Clint! Don’t lose him.”

You’re one to talk, he mused. Ahead, the teenager slipped into an alley behind a building, setting a couple of other kids running off. If Clint knew that place well enough, it was surely a dead-end. He halted for a moment, but the kid did not come out. He either thought he’d found a good hiding spot, or was planning to spring him. I’m getting too old for this. Clint placed a hand over his gun.

“Alright! Show’s over, kid!” Clint called out as he approached. Suddenly overcome by a foul odour, he covered his nose and mouth. The alley was strewn with newsprint, mostly littered around the dumpster along the wall on the right. Cigarette smoke still hung in the air. His shadow extended before him into the alley, urged on by the rays of the setting sun. It was all quiet. Too quiet.

Clint sauntered in, wary of the shadows. “Okay,” he muttered in a nasal voice, his hand still covering his nose and mouth. “We can do this the hard way or the easy way.” The fire escapes ran up high to the roofs of the adjoining buildings. He could have climbed up there. But he’d have to have been extremely fast to…

Something scurried behind him. In a flash, Clint turned with his gun raised before a fist hit him flush in the face. He landed with a grunt on the ground, his gun sliding away. A cold blade pressed gently on his neck. “Don’t move!” the kid rasped.

Now crouched and on his knees, Clint’s pulse thumped in his ears. “It’s OK! Don’t do anything hasty!” It was all rushing from his mouth. Where are ya, Jenson? He tried to reach for his radio, but the move would have been too obvious. His best play was to be calm.

“Don’t make me kill ya!” the kid said with a slight whimper in his voice.

Clint’s experience in the force was enough to tell him that the kid was visibly scared. He had not killed anyone before, and he clearly wasn’t about to start now. Still, riling him up would be dangerous, tense as he already was. “That was a mean swing. But it’s OK, we don’t have to—“

“No! It’s NOT OK!” That blade was pressing a little bit too hard now. “I’m not a criminal. I-it was an accident!”

C’mon, Jenson… “Hey,” Clint tried to be calm, but kneeling and crouching on the hard ground was becoming more uncomfortable. And that horrible smell from the dumpster … ugh. “It’s up to the courts to decide now, kid. But what we saw you doing was illegal.”

“I was just selling the stuff. It’s…you’ve got nothing on me, man—“

“Newsflash, son: Dope is illegal! Selling it is a crime. And so is evading arrest.”

“I don’t even do the drugs, man. This is the only way I get any dough.”

This kid wouldn’t stab a stop sign!  He was concentrating more on talking than on threatening Clint. This was to Clint’s advantage.  “And this is what, your way of pulling your weight, proving you’re a man now? What do you think your parents feel about you hanging with that crowd? Or paying your bail?”

A pause. “They’re dead. I got no one.”

Clint was stuck there. Well, you’re not the first one. “I’m sorry, kid. Really. But … how’d you end up with these guys? You’re not like all the others. You seem like a smart kid.”

“This was supposed to be my last run. I wasn’t gonna do this no more. Now that he’s let me go.” He suddenly gasped. “I know why you guys are after me. He sent you, didn’t he? The Big Guy?”

Clint was going to say something but he was suddenly interrupted by a buzz followed by a gut-wrenching scream. The blade dropped to the ground and the kid fell to the pavement, yelping. Clint scampered toward his gun and turned. There behind the screaming kid stood Jerry Jenson, all six-feet and over 250 pounds of him.

“Now he shows up!” Clint said.

“It burns!” the kid wailed, grabbing for his back. “It HURTS, maaan!”

Jenson replaced the stun gun in its holster as he stooped. “Kid, by order of the Towne Police Department, you’re under arrest. You have the right to remain silent—“ the kid was still screaming “—and anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law.”

“Seriously?!” Clint squinted at him.

“You also have the right to legal counsel during questioning, but in the event that you are unable to afford one, an attorney will be provided for you by the—“

“So that’s it?” Clint asked, getting to his feet. “You show up late, and now you’re just gonna ignore me now?” The kid was still writhing in pain. Some citizens peered through the windows overhead. “And what did you do to this kid?!”

Jenson was busy placing the kid’s hands in cuffs. “What’s it look like I did?”

“You tazed him?” The kid still lay on the ground, and Jenson was still avoiding his eyes. “Why’s he screaming like that?”

Jenson inhaled. “Junkies have high pain thresholds. Had to up the voltage a bit. My bad.” He reached into the kid’s pocket and pulled out a big white ball of dope wrapped in a bag. “Are you kidding me? You didn’t even think of ditching this along the way?”

“I’m not going to jail!” the kid cried. “I’m not a criminal!”

Jenson pulled him to his feet. “Yeah, and I’m the queen of England. Hey, if you can’t do the time, don’t do the crime.”

Clint arched a brow. “That’s a little cliché, don’t you think?”

“Let’s go.” And Jenson single-handedly bundled the struggling kid to the squad car. The rage that fueled that man…

“So no apology?” Clint asked as Jenson thrust the kid into the backseat and slammed the door. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

The crowd that gathered watched as they pulled away from the scene.

“I hate cops!” the kid mumbled in the backseat.

Clint turned in his seat. “Oh really?” But the kid just stared at him with cold eyes. Clint ignored him and turned when the kid continued.

“You’re phonies! Hypos! Cons…”

“Hippos?” Jenson arched a brow.

“Hypocrites…” Clint explained.

“…they call you the law but you’re all as rotten as the rest of us!”

Jenson had had it. “Will you SHUT IT back there?!”

“Easy, Jerry,” Clint gave him a look.

“This kid will drive me nuts!”

“You can’t take me back to the Big Guy,” the kid screamed. “I’m not going back…”

“Yeah, the Big Guy,” Clint turned to Jenson. “He keeps saying that.”

“You think I’m a felon,” the kid’s rant continued. “At least I’m trying to change! While you, cops, break the very laws you—“

“I’m gonna hit that kid!” Jenson said, fuming by the wheel.

“Easy, Jerry! Hey, kid, who’s the Big Guy?”

“The Big Guy?” Jenson turned. “He say that?”

“Weren’t you listening?”

“All I heard was blah-blah-blah-hippos-blah-blah-annoying junk-blah blah…”

“Yeah, I get it. Blah. Duh.”

“That’s what their Inner Circle calls Moore. The Big Guy.”

“Kraven Moore?”

“I wasn’t really gonna skip town,” the kid cried. “I wasn’t gonna. I’m solid.”

Clint cocked his head. “But I thought you told me that this was your last run…”

“He thinks we work for Moore,” Jenson surmised. “He’s covering his tracks.”

“It’s OK, kid. We’re the good guys.”

“Yeah, and I’m the Easter Bunny,” the kid muttered.

Clint gave him a look. “What’s your name, kid?”

The kid paused. “Jamie.”

“Well, Jamie,” Jenson said. “Whether you like it or not, you’re going to jail. And you’re gonna regret it, too. Momma’s gonna have to pay for bail. Oh no, wait I forgot … she’s dead. Boo-hoo, get used to it.”

The car was silent for a moment. Clint squinted at him. “You didn’t have to do that, Jenson. That was just mean.”

Under his breath, Jenson muttered, “Story of my life.”

Jamie Gustav refused to say anymore about ‘the Big Guy’ even at the precinct. Fair enough, their stream of ‘info gathering’ had ended three arrests ago. The more recent ones kept spilling out the same things. Jamie was booked and placed in a cell until trial. Tired and already working after-hours, they spent the rest of the evening watching the news in the pub across the street, over doughnuts and coffee.

“Chief will not be pleased,” Clint Barker said, referring to the chief of police. “Soon as he gets back, he’s gonna whip our behinds.”

Jerry Jenson shrugged. “Won’t be the first time he’s been peeved. I really think we’re on to something here, Clint.”

“No, you’re on to something. I’m just the mascot. Going after them drug pushers was a wild goose chase from the very beginning, and you know it.”

Jenson’s cell beeped. He stared at the screen and shut it. He lowered his voice. “Look, Clint, I need you to trust me on this one. Kraven Moore’s guilty. Once we get all the evidence we need to bury him—“

“What more do we need? And what makes you think we’ll make it out alive? Wake up and smell the Starbucks, man. Haven’t you been listening to the witnesses we’ve been gathering?”

“Clint –“

“I don’t know about this. Moore’s syndicate may have more influence than we can even imagine. We may be getting in too deep.”

“We expected this right from the ‘git-go’, Clint. This was what we signed up for.”

“Haven’t you noticed that we’re the only ones following this case? Hey, you may be reckless all you want, good luck. I got a family to pro…” His voice trailed off. His face registered his shock at his mistake. “…tect…”

Jerry took a sip from his coffee. Yes, he had no family. Not anymore, at least. The only family he had had died two years earlier. But he was not going to think about it now. He would not hold it against Clint for bringing this up again, however unintentional his bringing it up had been, in context.

“Bro, I’m sorry. That came out wrong.”

Jerry held up a hand. “It’s all good. You don’t have to keep apologizing every time you talk about it…”

“No, I mean it. I was … that was insensitive and uncalled for—“

“Hey! Let it go.” Clint still winced. “Really.”

They ate in silence, watching the news. This was the part Jenson dreaded, the awkward-silence bit. No one wanted to say the wrong thing at that moment. Perhaps it was best to keep quiet then. Besides, some said it was alright for friends to have occasional quiet moments. But they could not remain silent. Jenson never liked awkward pauses. Time for a save, Jerry.

He sighed. “You know … sometimes I wonder why our founding fathers just called this town … ‘Towne’?” Jenson said, trying to lighten the mood. “I mean, couldn’t they come up with a better name? A real name?”

Clint chuckled, still wary. “Towne, huh?” The TNN news correspondent on TV was now introducing the weather segment.

“Yeah? I mean, they might as well have called the country ‘The Country’? Or they could just call us … what, ‘Metropolis’?” Now Clint laughed. “Like they just wanted to get on with the story they wanted to tell.”

Jerry’s cell beeped again. This time he simply clicked it off.

Just then the door chimed as the big Edgar ‘Eddie’ Maxwell bounced in. “Hey, Jerry! Clint, my man!”

“Here comes the bulldozer,” Jerry muttered in a sing-song voice. He never liked Eddie’s knack for long pointless conversations. They pumped knuckles with Eddie, just before he grabbed Jerry’s last doughnut. “And now he’s got my dinner.”

Eddie grinned and held the remaining crescent up in thanks. “I hear you guys pulled another one in today.”

Jerry sighed. Yeah, like I need an announcement anytime you hear something new. He avoided Clint’s side-glance. “You never miss a thing, Eddie.” He took a sip from his cup of coffee.

“I’m not trying to be nosey or anything, but the rest of the guys have been talking,” Eddie said, leaning closer. “You two should be careful out there.”

Clint jumped on that one. “Wait, what’re the guys saying?” But Eddie was already walking towards the counter.

“Just be careful,” he called back.

Jenson knew Eddie had a point. He really had reason to be careful. Kraven Moore’s monopoly on the market for narcotics gave him a lot of influence, especially in the criminal underworld. And out in the open, he was the wealthy philanthropist donating to charities, dedicating monuments, and kissing babies. But in the intelligence community where it mattered, everyone knew he was the drug baron of Towne. Many said that he held his customers by a form of mind control. Jenson just assumed it was the drug dependence of his customers that kept them beholden to him. With Kraven, no one knew where the facts ended and where rumors began. But the only thing Jenson was sure of was that Kraven was a criminal, the type of person that must be brought to justice.

  He knew he was being reckless here. But he had to do this. He stared up and caught Clint staring at him. He sighed. “Go ahead. You can’t keep tip-toeing around me.”

Clint kept his voice low. “Is this about Marty?” Yup, he was going to bring that up sooner or later. “You can’t keep beating yourself up because of that.”

“I’ve gotta redeem myself, Clint.” That was the most he had said about his situation to anyone. Clint paused as he held his gaze.

“You’ve done enough already.” Jerry’s phone beeped again. “And don’t cut that call. Could be a good girl, you never know.”

Jerry didn’t bat an eye as he punched the ‘Silence’ button. “It is. And I know. And I’m not looking for a girl now.” He ran a hand through his hair. “It’s my sister.”

Clint’s eyes widened. “Gigi? The amazing sister you never stop talking about?”

He held up his cup, but the coffee was finished. “Yeah, well she’s in Towne for the weekend. Wants us to meet up tonight. For dinner.”

“You need a dinner to talk with your sister?”

“That’s her idea, apparently. And I don’t ‘need’ to talk with her.”

Clint gave him that look again. “You haven’t talked with her in a long time, have you?” Jenson only shrugged. “C’mon, this is your sister we’re talking about, Jerry. I’ve never met her before, but if all the stories you keep telling me from when you were young are something, then this is what you need.”

“No.”

“Look, we’ve both had a long week. I have no idea what you’re going through like you do. But a return to normalcy is what you need right now.” He held up a hand to shut Jerry up. Like that would work.

“There is no normalcy to return to.”

“Hey, just trust me on this one,” Clint said with a smile. “Go, meet your sister tonight. Call her. You need this more than you know.”

“Clint, I … I’m not the guy she thinks I am. Not anymore.”

“Jerry, you’re a cop. You’re a decent man. Haven’t seen you with a bottle in months now. You always wanna do what’s right. You’re a father … trying to honor the memory of his daughter. Don’t you want Gigi to see the man you’ve become?”

That’s what I’m afraid of.

 

Jerry knew Clint was right.

But the truth was he also knew the man that he had become, and he was not proud of it.

After his wife had died during labour, Marty had been the only ray of comfort in his life. Growing up without a mother had not been easy for her, Jerry knew, but he had not been the best of fathers either. He had focused on his job in the force, and spent much time away from Marty and her teenage angst. Way too much time, he realized in hindsight. But then, he felt he had pushed her out into the big bad world outside. Clueless, he had misinterpreted her preference for dark clothes, tattoos and cutting and stuff, as simple adolescent rebellion. Later perusal of her diary opened up her world of gloom and pain to Jerry. How had all of this happened without him seeing? She had been hanging out with druggies, and had done some experimentation herself. He would never forget the day her fifteen year old body was found in a gutter, the result of an overdose.

Drowning in depression, Jerry had sunk into his old habits of drinking and smoking. As much as he denied it to his colleagues, he had also gotten into the drug scene. He had felt like a mess. He did things he tried really hard to forget. It had taken months for him to return to the man he was today. But some of the pain still haunted him.

He had never really gotten over the drugs, but he still never got relieved of depression. In his frequent low times, he got high and drowned himself in a bottle. But that usually left him feeling high and dry, the ecstasy gone. Alone, feeling like a ‘hypo’, as Jamie called it. He fought and fought to come out of this, but he always returned to the lows.

Maybe that was why he wanted to deal with Kraven Moore. If he was really the drug baron everyone talked about, then he was Jerry’s enemy. Everything he was fighting against was embodied by that man. Kraven.

  What would Gigi think of the man you’ve become? He thought as he drove through the streets, headed home.

And in all that time, Gigi had never stopped trying to reach him. While he avoided her deliberately, her messages of encouragement never ceased on voicemail, texts, even on Facebook. Gigi…how do you do that?

He was now at an intersection. He could either continue home on the right lane or turn left down to Quigley’s, where Gigi said she would be waiting.

They were not related by blood, actually. They had both grown up at the Irene Williams Home for Orphans. But with no other family, Gigi had become the closest thing to a sister he could ever have. She was so nice to all that everyone liked her. She was always there to defend Jerry— who was older— whenever he was bullied. And, oh, he was bullied more often than not as a kid. Not every young boy with a pot belly survived the jokes from the bullies back then. Maybe that was why he had always wanted to be a cop in the first place, to deal with the bullies of the world.

But now, he was simply an organ in the system, living in reaction to whatever happened around him. He was neither deep nor superficial, keeping others at arm’s length. Sometimes, some would consider him mean. But none of them really cared what was going on with him.

  What would Gigi think of the man I’ve become?

He was just a man fighting for his peace. Fighting to live.

He parked outside the Quigley’s Diner. Better get this over with. He stepped out of his car, locked it, and made his way to the door. Ok, how do I say it? I’m sorry for not picking your call? Yeah, that’ll do. If she won’t accept it, I’ll just shrug…I’ll just…

An old man in rags held up a can by the door. A sign by his feet read ‘FEED THE HUNGRY KIDS’.  Jerry rolled his eyes as he approached him.  “Oi there, guv. Drop a li’l coin for the young-uns tonight, eh mate?”

“Out of the way, gramps,” Jerry pushed past him, leaving the man stunned.

Now, you don’t have to be like that. While Jerry was not used to giving to causes, he most definitely didn’t like people shoving cans in his face; especially those with bogus British accents. He knew the man meant well, and did not deserve to be treated badly. Why do I do these things?

But he was not prepared for the sight that met him as soon as he entered the diner.

All around there were tables with people seated. But Gigi’s was not hard to miss. Her table had a very prominent cake in the centre, and was decorated with red ribbons. And there she sat, her eyes twinkling as she flashed that impossible smile at him.

“Happy birthday, bro!” she exulted. Everyone turned to see who it was, and as one the diner applauded the man whose birthday Gigi was celebrating. Me?

Jerry’s mouth was suddenly dry. It’s my birthday…my…  He had stopped celebrating anything ever since Marty died. There just never seemed to be a point to celebrate. But here he was, having forgotten that this was his birthday. Gigi would not let the day pass. Gigi, how do you do all this?

  The fact that someone still cared about him to celebrate his birthday, to remember this … when he had even forgotten it, made his eyes water. He blinked the tears away. He was a cop, after all. In his mind, at least.

Gigi stood and hurried over to him, her silky black hair flowing down to her neck. Beautiful as ever. He embraced his sister, but he could not speak. What could he say?

“Thanks for coming, bro,” she whispered in his ear. That did it. The sobs came.

Thank me? Thank YOU!!! But nothing came out of his mouth.

How could he thank Gigi for this? He did not deserve this, after shutting her out for so long.

Somehow, he knew Clint had been right. This had been what he needed.

In one small way, he felt like he was home.

Later that night, a couple of police officers stumbled out of a pub. It had been another Friday night rave. Who cared that they would be driving drunk? They were the law; deal with it! As they entered their cars, one of them stopped.

“Hey, guys, come check this out!” He pointed his flashlight up the side wall of the pub. It was not unusual for them to see graffiti on walls in Towne, but this was different.

For a moment the policemen were silent. It couldn’t be…

“This fits his M.O.,” another cop commented.

“Anyone see this when they were coming in?”

“Nuh-uh. This one’s fresh.”

“We’d better call it in.”

“You sure? Could just be some kids messing around.

“Too risky. Killers of his type don’t tolerate copycats.”

Up on the wall was a big T with one word written underneath.

TONIGHT!

    “Better spread the word. This is gonna be a long night.”

He keyed his radio. “Dispatch, we have a scribbled threat on Twenty-Fourth and Downey, Uptown Pub, west wall. Fits the M.O. of the vigilante.“

He was interrupted by another transmission. “We got the same thing over here on Yak Avenue. Big T with the word ‘TONIGHT’ scribbled under.” The cops exchanged glances.

The dispatcher’s voice came over the radio. “Dispatch to Unit on Yak. Are you certain?”

“Affirmative.”

“Downey?”

“Ten-four.”

A third report came over the radio. The dispatcher asked for clarification. An awkward pause followed.

One of the cops blinked. “What’s going on?”

The dispatcher came back on. “All units be at alert. Code Red. We are at full-scale security tonight. A possible attack is imminent. I repeat, the Taser might strike tonight.”

And somewhere in Towne, the one they called the Taser was smiling. The message was out.

TO BE CONTINUED…in THE TRAP

Tune in for the continuing drama of TASER.

If you’re new to this site, you might as well check on some of the other amazing stories here, filled with humor and unforgettable lessons. They include Bill’s Car, Unchurch, The Elevator, and many more articles. You might also want to check up on the first feature presentation on this site, The Love Revolution Trilogy. You’re gonna love ’em.

Please don’t hesitate to leave a comment.

God bless ya!

TASER

Title Block

SYNOPSIS
As the elusive vigilante known as ‘the Taser’ comes to a small town, the police are suddenly riled up. In the midst of ever-changing stakes and an investigation that goes awry, one man is brought face-to-face with questions he never thought he would ever consider.

Written in the tone of a TV  serial, this 6-episode story of grace and redemption in the midst of gloom and darkness is sure to rock your world.

Episode 1: The Cop

Episode 2: The Trap

Episode 3: The Ultimatum

Episode 4: The Alternative

Episode 5: The Real World

The Finale: A New Story

In this world, nothing is what it seems.

UNCHURCH

(Photo Credits: www.inimagine.com)
(Photo Credits: http://www.inimagine.com)

From Tobi’s Journal

I didn’t like going to Church.
OK, I know that must sound like a backslider’s swansong as he sinks slowly back into the dark and sinful world. But here, in my journal where no one can judge me, I can be honest. To me, Church was just … boring. This comes from growing up in a church family. But don’t worry, this story gets better along the way. Just stay with me.
My most dreaded day of the week was Sunday, ‘cause that’s when we’d all have to wake up by 6 am so we can leave the house and be in church by 7 am (I mean, who wakes up that early … on a weekend?). It didn’t matter that we hurried to church because we’d still be a few minutes late for the Workers’ Meeting so we’d all remain standing ‘till morning service began at 8 am. In all this time, we hadn’t eaten. It all felt rushed to me, and quite unsettling. Why couldn’t I just sleep in or play games or watch movies all morning, like other folks did? I wasn’t even a ‘worker’ in church, my parents were!
Anyway, we’d then start the Morning Service (and that’s another thing, I wondered why they called it ‘service’. It’s a ‘programme’, not a delivery service or anything) with Praise and Worship. I can recite the entire church programme by heart; any church kid can. Praise and Worship a system of slow songs, then fast jumpy songs, and then more slow songs, with or without the raising of hands. One of the deacons would then come up to take the Opening Prayer (the older the deacon, the longer the prayer, just saying), followed by the Testimonies (people telling us what God’s done for them) and/or a Hymn (really old songs in old books written by old people long gone before our grandpas were born). The choir would then take what they called the ‘Choir Ministration’, a special song they figured we’d either not heard before or that they thought we’d like. Pastor Dan would then come on stage and give a long teaching from the Bible called a Sermon. And don’t you dare take a nap or the ushers would tap you, exposing you and ruining your chances with anyone you secretly admire. Too bad if you haven’t got a wristwatch either, because they deliberately keep the big clock on the wall at the back facing the front, so that only the pastor can know how long he’s spending, and can choose to keep you seated for as long as he wants. After the Sermon, you know it is almost time to get home, so you listen through the Announcements and wait for the Closing Prayer and Benediction (‘May the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ…’). Another Church Service is over. That is, unless there’s another meeting after.
Maybe I was a little too hard back there. It wasn’t so bad, you know. Perhaps it was just my perspective that needed changing. Either way, here’s what happened one Sunday.
The first warning signs I should have noticed was my father’s constant snicker anytime he talked about the coming Sunday’s service. “Don’t forget to invite your friends,” he said. Yeah right, like I’d bring my friends over to my church. As in my church?
“They’re already going to theirs,” I said.
“It’s just one Sunday. They can tell their parents that I’ll pick them up. It’s going to be special, trust me.” My father and mother teach in Bible Study classes.
I smiled sheepishly. My Mom suddenly put in. “What about the family across the road? The Oluwoles?”
Uh-oh. “Haven’t they got a boy your age?” Dad added. “I think his name’s Tosin?”
I nodded slowly, thinking of why this would not work. Tosin was not what you’d call ‘church’-material. He was one of the ‘big boys’ in school, who always seemed to have a lot of stuff, and hung out with other guys who did. His father worked in an oil company in the South-South. Girls like those kinds of guys; you learn that pretty quickly. Other guys like me just knew we were out of his league. Why would he come to my church? “Yyyyeeeeesss, but I don’t think he’ll wanna come.”
“It’s worth a try,” Mom said. “I’ve seen his mother in our church once. Besides it’s not far from this neighbourhood.”
“I think I’ll talk to his father,” Dad said. “He’s back from Port Harcourt.”
“Just try, Tobi,” Mom said. “Hmm?”
I didn’t. But this is not about how I did or did not tell him, because in the end he turned up in church with his mother, father, and his little baby sister. I did not go up to meet them, no way. How could I let him see me in my church clothes: tucked in t-shirt and trousers? He looked cool in his Lakers jersey and jeans. Man, I felt jealous that morning. Gotta work on myself. But, moving on.
The choir came on stage to lead us in Praise and Worship, all dressed in their ceremonial gowns. Another Sunday service about to begin. The handsome choir leader who many of the girls had a crush on (if my sister’s comments are anything to go by) came up in front and took the microphone. “Let’s lift our hands as we sing,” he said. Hands went up all around the sanctuary. I wondered what someone like Tosin was thinking about all this.
And he blew us away.
With just the right instruments, the guitars and drums blared in an awesome blend as the tenors sang,

We are the Champions, my friends!
And we’ll keep on fighting ‘til the end
We are the Champions
We are the Champions
No time for losers
For we are the Champions
Of the World!

My jaw fell open. What in the world was going on? That was not a gospel song … was it? I could not hear the rest because it was drowned out by the screams of the young people in the auditorium. For the sake of the older ones, the lyrics were displayed on the projector screens. I knew the choir surely had something up their sleeves. But that was not the end of it.
And as the refrain ended, the fast beats came. As one the choir jumped with the rhythm. And they just kept it going. It was not over.

I will never say never (I will fight)
I will fight till forever
Whenever you knock me down
I will not stay on the ground…

I was surprised these songs were being sung in church. In my church. I was more surprised to hear the screams and to see many of the ‘church kids’ singing along enthusiastically. So girls in my church also listened to Bieber, hmm. It was clear that they felt nervous at first, but then they just shrugged it off. Hey, if they were singing it in church it must be alright, right?
Some of the songs, I did not really recognize. They were mainly mainstream songs that many people knew. I even saw my Mom singing along to ‘Ain’t No Mountain High Enough’, a Diana Ross hit from the ‘70s. The congregation was ecstatic that morning. It was all weird, but fun. And then the final blast came, and we all cheered. The instrumentals were amazing; I had to give it to them. I wondered how long they had been preparing for this.
“Now, time for the slow songs,” the leader said. I blinked. No, he didn’t just say that…

Heal the world
Make it a better place
For you and for me…

Oh no, what was going on here? This was funny, but it just felt weird around here.

Iwe kiko (Yoruba translation: Education)
L’aisi oko (without the hoe)
Ati ada (and cutlass … just a Yoruba expression for ‘farming’)
Ko ipe o (is not enough)
Ko ipe o (is definitely not enough)

Soon he was done, and everyone cheered as they took their seats, wondering what would happen next. Clearly, this was all staged. Deacon Olasope came up on stage. “Welcome to another beautiful Sunday, everyone. I’m sure we’ve all had quite an interesting past week. We’ve had some good times, some not-so-good times, and some of the…” he winced. “So-sos.” That elicited giggles.
“So if anybody wants to tell us some of the good things that happened to them in the last week, please come up on stage.” In our church, people with testimonies to share registered with the pastor before the service. Today there were six up on stage. The first person announced that he did not get arrested for speeding beyond the speed limit. We laughed. The second was grateful that we’d had no earthquakes. The third announced that he’d got a new videogame. The other ‘testimonies’ were equally weird.
OK, by this point I was feeling totally weirded out. None of this made sense in any way. Thankfully, Pastor Dan came up to set things right again. As he stopped up on stage in his polo shirt and jeans, the moments that followed would be one of the most solemn moments I would ever remember in our church.
“We’ve had quite an interesting programme today, haven’t we?”There were murmurs of affirmation, but then it was clear that others felt the same way. If this all was an attempt to get people to enjoy church, it was lame. “I know everyone is wondering what’s been going on. Some unconventional things have happened here today. In the next few minutes, let’s talk about it together, shall we?”
There was an awkward moment of silence as the pastor stared at us all. I pitied him for the moment, because this was church. No one wants to talk in church, as far as I’m concerned. We were simply OK with him ending each sentence with ‘Praise the Lord’ or ‘Amen’, and us responding with ‘Halleluiah’. No one was going to—
But then someone in front raised a hand. “Yes,” Pastor’s face lit up as he pointed at her. “Tell us, Joana.”
Joana was one of the kids in our youth forum, who was never afraid to speak her mind. Thankfully she’s the one that got everyone talking that day. “We sang secular songs in church today.”
“Secular?” one of the elderly woman exclaimed. “Those were worldly songs! They don’t minister life!”
That got many people talking over each other, as each side wanted to prove that the songs were either totally bad or not that bad. Music was just one of those topics that many people even in my church did not fully agree on.
When Pastor Dan finally got us all to calm down, he said, “OK, now we all want to talk. But we’ve gotten that point down. ‘Un-Christian songs in church … that don’t minister life’, is that good with everyone? We deliberately selected songs with morally-acceptable content for this exercise. That’ll be the last time we’ll sing those songs from here, don’t worry. Wonderful. Any other thing we noticed?”
Some people still muttered about the music. I could not put my finger on it, but there was something more to this Sunday service that made me feel uneasy. He was expecting us to talk about the order of programmes, but no one wanted to state the obvious.
Suddenly a stranger raised his hand. He was Tosin’s dad, the one that worked in Port Harcourt. He was a huge man, and this was his first time in our church. Uh-oh, I thought, Pastor’s in big trouble today.
“Good morning everyone,” he said. “I’ll make it brief. Uh… this is my first time in this church. I don’t go to church normally, except for special occasions like Christmas or Easter, or December 31st or funerals and memorial services. It’s just how I live. I would not have come today, had uh…my neighbour not invited me.” He was talking about my Dad. I just wished he remembered his name.
“I understand that what we’ve had here today was simply an act, for a discussion, and I’m glad. I really am, because … I don’t have anything against the songs. It’s just that, this is church. The few times I come to church, I get the opportunity to think about someone else for a change. To experience God in a different way, apart from the busyness of the rest of my week. I don’t know if anyone here understands me—“ there were nods all around “—but I come to church to be with God. I did not have any of that here today, Pastor. It felt no different than a hang out with friends, and nothing more. I came for the ‘more’. And I hope I’ll still get some of that today. Thank you.”
As he sat, we all applauded his statement. What he said gave me the courage to stand. “Yes, Tobi,” Pastor Dan encouraged me to speak.
“It was not only the songs,” I said. “But everything else was missing something. I did not feel … safe. I can’t put my finger on it, but I just did not feel safe.”
“Thank you, Tobi.”
More people spoke along the same lines. Some did not feel safe, some did not feel encouraged, and some were annoyed at some of the bogus testimonies praising their human ingenuity and all. Some blatantly said that they did not feel God. It did not feel like Church to any of us.
Pastor Dan got all of this down. “Thank you everyone. Without God, all that we do here every Sunday is empty. Beyond the order of programmes and activities, there is Someone calling to us through it all. We dedicate our songs to him in here, we praise him for his wonderful work and we thank Him for what He’s done for us. He is our God, and also our Father who has saved us and called us to Himself. We pray to Him. This is who we are, and it’s what we do here, folks. Without Him, our Sunday mornings here are nothing more than a waste of time.
“In giving the first morning of the week to the Lord, we are setting a template for the week ahead. I’m not saying you must start your day at your workplace with fifteen minutes of praise and worship … or fast songs and slow songs.” That made us laugh again. “And while we’re on the subject, you do understand that ‘praise’ does not necessarily mean a fast song, and ‘worship’ does not necessarily mean a slow song either, right?” We agreed. “Uh … Media Team, please put up Romans 12:1, from The Message, please? Thank you. Songs of praise are songs of adoration and sometimes thanksgiving to God for what He’s done for us, for who He is. Songs of Worship are, uh … they are an expression of the heart in love and worship to God. You know what, I don’t have the best definitions here, but that leads me to my next point. Media are we … ready?” He sighed as he stared at the screen, waiting for the projection to adjust.
Our Media Team was pretty awesome, but sometimes they got quite clumsy. I was going to join them someday. But today they first put up Romans 11:1 before the projection changed to 12:1.
I think Pastor Dan likes reading from The Message Bible sometimes because of its conversational tone. “Very good. Romans 12:1 says, and here, Brother Paul is speaking by the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, ‘So here’s what I want you to do, God helping you: Take your everyday, ordinary life—‘ now everyone listen closely to this, ‘—your sleeping, eating, going-to-work, and walking-around life—and place it before God as an offering. Embracing what God does for you is the best thing you can do for Him.’” He paused and stared back at us. “That’s Worship, friends. That’s what God expects from us every single day. Our offerings to Him are not a couple of notes and coins we place in the basket every Sunday, no. It’s our everyday lives, in the little things we do. Honouring Him, thanking Him for His faithfulness and goodness, and glorifying Him in all our ways. Living lives of integrity, of love. This is the most reasonable way to serve God.
“That’s what Worship means, people of God,” Pastor Dan said, slowly so that we all got it. “That’s what ‘Service’ means, to God. We’re serving Him by offering our lives to Him for His purpose. To be what He wants us to be, and to do what He wants us to do.” He stepped down from the podium and stood among the congregation. “Sunday is a platform; I could almost call it a ‘special excuse’, or an opportunity to pour out ourselves and our time as an offering to our Father. Surely, He will bless us as He has promised. But this is our part, to Worship. A book I read years ago defined ‘Worship’ as ‘Worth-ship’, giving the most worth to the One that deserves it the most. Not just in our songs, but specifically in our lives. What we do here is a product of that, unto God. That’s what makes us His house.”
In the moments that followed, we all let this sink in. He was right. It was not just the literal mentioning of ‘God’ in our programmes, but an outpouring of our hearts. That’s what made the programmes worthwhile, even if they were changed or re-ordered, or even if they remained monotonous. It’s the Lord we worship beyond all of this that makes it worthwhile.

“So now,” Pastor Dan said. “We’ve had quite a morning. Now let’s do some Service.” And Sister Sarah took her place at the grand piano. She is one of those elderly women who have been a blessing to our congregation for generations. I was told she started our choir when my Dad was still a boy, and that her children were successful pastors abroad. No one would have known that she was a doctor, for her musical skill was always a marvel and a blessing to us. Perhaps it was this new perspective I had just gotten that allowed me to see her and her gift as a gift from God that morning. For as we followed her in singing her song, we meant it with all we had.
All to Jesus I surrender
All to Him I freely give.
I will ever love and trust Him
In His presence daily live.
I surrender all.
I surrender all.
All to Thee, my Blessed Savior
I surrender all.
We spent the rest of the morning worshipping God in prayer and song. What a service that was. While we’ve not had that kind of service again, I kinda enjoyed it. I wonder what comments Pastor Dan got after.

So, what do I think about Church now? I still don’t enjoy rushing every Sunday morning, and the monotonous order sometimes just gives me a good laugh. But I understand that God deserves my best, and Sunday services in Church are an opportunity to do that. From the songs, to the prayers, to the testimonies, the Sermon, and even the rare projections on screen, I get to see God at work in these people. He’s much bigger than the box I make for Him in my mind, and He’s just … amazing. I’m encouraged in my walk with God. I don’t have all the answers. But I know there’s a good reason children of God gather together to meet and worship Him this way. Iron sharpens iron…

The other day I showed this piece to my friend, Emmanuel. He’s a weird guy, that one. He suggested that he’d like to post this article on his blog. I think he was just teasing. I just hope he didn’t do it. If this goes on his blog, the things I’ll do to that guy … I’ll … I’ll … oh well, I’ll just have to forgive him. Eventually.
Until next time, journal.

P.S.: Emmanuel here. I gotta apologise to Tobi for posting this up, though I warned him. Hey, to you readers out there, do NOT read other people’s journals without their permission … even if they are fictitious characters!

For those of you that waited behind for more, here’s a little teaser for a Feature Presentation coming soon …

A Feature Presentation coming soon on Emmanuel Presents
A Feature Presentation coming soon on Emmanuel Presents

The Elevator

As they entered the lobby, the woman and her little boy were overwhelmed by the crowd. Here and there, men and women walked back and forth, most definitely with a purpose in mind. Everyone was here for the company’s Grand Dinner at the Top Floor. But this woman had an edge over them:
Her husband was the C.E.O., and he had given her a special invite.
The boy clutched her hand tight. “Mom?”
“It’s OK, dear,” she said reassuringly. She still held her husband’s note in her other hand. “We’ll be fine. Stay close.”
It appeared many were taking the stairs at the other end of the room. But the note in her hand had given specific instructions.
“We’re supposed to look for a man…” she muttered to herself.
Her boy beat her to it. “Could it be that man over there?” He pointed at a man in a suit across the room. He was, apparently, already staring at them.
She shrugged. “Ok, let’s go ask him.” So, making their way through the sea of humanity, they approached the tall fellow, who was beaming.
“Hello,” he said.
“Hello, sir. I’m sorry, I’m looking for a, uh…” she checked the note in her hand. “Mr. J.C.?”
“That would be me,” he said. “And you must be Karen.”
“Why, yes,” she said, taking his hand. She ruffled her son’s hair. “Smart boy. How’d you know it was him?”
“He was the only one smiling,” he said. Karen smiled at that. Her boy was easily attracted to people that smiled.
The man bowed to his level. “And this must be Richie. Your father talks about you all the time. High five!” The boy smiled and gave him the high five.
“He said we should meet you,” Karen explained.
“Why yes,” J.C. said. “He wouldn’t want you to take the stairs. You would be much too tired before you got to the Top Floor. Here.” And with that, he tapped the wall behind him. It suddenly swung open to show what looked like a small room.
“An Elevator!” Richard said in wonder. “COOL!”
J.C. smiled. “You just type in the code in the panel on the right, and it’ll take you there.”
Karen nodded. “Thank you, sir. And the code…is…?”
“Faith,” he said. “F-A-I-T-H.”
Karen smirked as she tapped it out. “My husband has always got a knack for deep passcodes, hasn’t he?”
“Oh, you have no idea!” J.C. replied.
Richard was reading a word on the Elevator’s wall. “G-R-A-C-E? Mom, what’s ‘grace’?” He pronounced it as ‘grass-ay’.
She stared up at it. “It’s pronounced ‘grace’, dear.”
“Grace,” he repeated.
“That’s what we call the Elevator,” J.C. explained.
As Karen pressed ‘Enter’ the lights came on. “Thank you, Mr. J.C. I do hope we’ll meet again.”
“Oh, we will, Karen. You too, Richie.”
“Bye, Mr. J.C.,” Richard said, waving.
“Sir, I’m curious,” she said. “Why don’t the others just take the Elevator?”
Here J.C. looked visibly sad. “They don’t know it exists. But only I can tell them, and, frankly, they don’t want to come to me.”
“Can we tell them? To direct them to you? I can’t imagine leaving them to take the stairs.”
“That would be marvellous. I couldn’t ask for more. Now hurry along. Your husband’s waiting for you.”
So they waved as the Elevator lifted them and carried them towards the Top Floor. All through it all, Richie kept jumping in amazement. “We’re gonna meet Daddy!”
“Yes we are, dear. Yes we are.”

—

‘Through [our Lord Jesus Christ] … we have access by faith into this grace in which we stand, and rejoice in hope of the glory of God.’ Romans 5:2

The Glory of God is like the Top Floor. It’s where God is, and where He wants us to be. But because of our sins, we’ve been brought down to the ground (all have sinned and ‘fall short’ of THE GLORY OF GOD: Romans 3:23). But God still wants us to reach His glorious ideal.
The stairs are like the Law. While it was God that gave the Law, it can’t get us there. It’s based on our own efforts to do what’s right, and we just can’t measure up on our own. That’s what He gave the Law to us for, to show us that we really need God’s help. And He’s willing to give it!
And God sent His help, His Grace. It gets us there. But the only way to recieve His Grace is through faith in Jesus Christ. Then, in whatever situation, we can rejoice because we know that we are getting closer to that glorious ideal.
Not by our own strength, but by His own Strength at work in us.

His Grace.

“Go, hug the Transformer!”

Have you ever been told to ‘go to blazes?’ Sorry, someone probably spoke out of turn. But on my side of the globe, what people say is, “Go hug a transformer!” This conjures up pictures of Tom from TOM AND JERRY getting zapped with electricity. We get to laugh as Tom walks away in jerks of static, while Jerry runs off laughing. By the way, it’s been over thirty years. The sooner Tom realizes he’s never gonna get Jerry the better it’ll be for him.
So Tom is staticky, not the calm and conniving Tom we’re used to, for a moment. We could say he’s a different person … er, cat. A different cat. He’s ‘transformed’!
While it looks comical, electric shock is no joke. It’s death. So please don’t go hugging the transformer on your street, no matter what anyone says!
But then there’s another Transformer I think we all should hug and embrace. And while this one has many good perks, it will most assuredly KILL you! But that’s why we should embrace it.
OK, I’m not suicidal, in case you were wondering. This Transformer is different, trust me.
Romans 12:2 tells us “Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world but be transformed by the renewing of your mind, that you may be able to test and approve what God’s Will is, His good, pleasing and perfect will.”

So that we can know and do what pleases Him, God wants to change the way we think, changing our mindsets to become like His. A change in your mindset will change you. It is letting go of who we are so that we can hold on to who he wants us to be.
Remember the Hulk from Marvel comics and movies? He was originally a man called Dr. Bruce Banner, who was exposed to gamma radiation. This transforms him into a green hulking monstrousity anytime he’s exceedingly angry. The Hulk can do a lot of things that Bruce Banner can’t, such as having titanic strength and leaping to near-stratospheric heights. He was transformed by an exposure to radiation.
To be transformed, we need a spark. A jolt. Some electricity. Like hugging a Transformer?
It’ll be the death of whosoever dares to embrace it, but he or she will leave as a different person. Staticky, bursting with electricity.

For us to live the New Life in Christ we must let the old life with its mindsets die daily. We need some electricity. I think of the Grace of God as electricity (have you read my previous post, GRACE LIKE ELECTRICITY). While it has been made available to us, we need to deliberately recieve it. Embrace the source.

And the Source is JESUS, the Word of God Himself. He is the One we ought to embrace. He has made the Grace of God abound to us, but we need to recieve it.
Our minds are renewed as we interact with Him in studying the Bible and talking with Him. Just like interacting with a friend, soon we begin to think and talk like Him. We’re transformed as His grace fills us.
And we become more like Him, thinking His thoughts and doing His acts. We would have His heart, growing in love and abounding in it. We can’t do it on our own. We must recieve His electricity. His Grace.
Then, we are ready to get started, holding on to Him in all our ways.

Don’t you just wanna embrace the Transformer?

A not-so-major motion picture: TRANSFORMERS
A not-so-major motion picture: TRANSFORMERS
Part of a series of humorous movie posters I made for this blog.
That’s the transformer on my street. Who knows, it might actually be a robot from space! Go figure!

Watching my Tongue… Watching my Mind

I thought I was blessed with the knack for attracting embarrassing circumstances until I found out that others also had their own share. But really, I tend to get into some pretty weird circumstances. I used to feel bad about it until I learnt to laugh about them. No kidding, I think God knew what He was doing when He made me. Ha!
Whenever I got into these circumstances, my mind automatically ran through either of the following responses:
“You’re such an Idiot!”
“You’re a fool, Emmanuel. A big fat fool. You know that, don’t you?”
“Oh shut up! Shut up! You’re not an idiot.”
“But you know you are!”
Wow, it seemed to give me some comic relief to have these conversations in my head, keeping the pasted smile on my face. But I learnt that it was wrong. These words have their effect on me, be they funny or not.
The words we speak, as sons of God, had better be good because they are important. God has made me His child, and no matter what seems to happen around me, I gotta keep my mind focused on what He calls me.
I realised that the things I say are a product of whatever’s going on in my mind. What do I fill my mind with? Stuff from what people say around me or in the movies (however interesting they may be), or with the Word of God? The latter is the best, of course, because it always tells the Truth.
Someone once said that our hearts are like buckets filled to the brim with water. When the bucket is pushed even slightly, it’s the water that spills out.
When push comes to shove, when situations around try to push you off your centre, what spills out? What is your response? What do you say? Or think? Or do?
I’m learning to fill my mind, and align my mindset, with all God says I am. Letting God change the way I think. The Bible calls that ‘renewing your mind’ in Romans 12:2. We do that by constantly interacting with Him in prayer, and studying His Word. So if seemingly weird situations come up, I trust God to keep my response (in words, actions and thoughts) according to His own responses.

So do I still get into embarrassing stuff? You bet I do! But my response?
“You’re such an i…ntelligent child of God!”
“You’re a f…riend of God. A wonderful friend of God!”

And that’s who I am.

To Please my Commanding Officer

A couple of posts ago I hinted that I’d be joining the National Youth Service Corps (NYSC) here in my country. Just in case you were wondering, nah, it’s not the military. The NYSC is a program organised by the Nigerian Government (yeah, I’m Nigerian) to place graduates of universities and colleges into service for the nation, for one whole year. Some get to work in hospitals, some in industries, and some of us get to teach in schools (yup, I’m a teacher alright!)
During our 3-week orientation experience (aka bootcamp) one fact was constantly drilled into our heads: that for the next 12 months our lives belonged to the government. They would be responsible for us, but we were going to serve them. I mean we weren’t even given a choice! They gave us uniforms, and we were consistently indoctrinated on what service to the country means. It felt like they were trying to brainwash us! And that’s not the half of it. Everyday, from early in the morning till evening, we were drilled by military personnel: standing in formation under the hot sunshine for hours (some folks fainted), marching, standing at attention anytime the anthems were sung, discipline — it was like they were punishing us for being civilians! Ok, I’ll admit it was also fun, but I still felt like they were trying to turn us into mindless pawns, or robots!
But it gets better.
Now we’ve been deployed to our places of assignment across the country, and this writer’ll be teaching for the next 12 months (and he’s loving it! The kids are amazing, thank God!) I’ve noticed that wherever I go in my corps uniform, I’m respected. People bow to greet me, elderly folks see me and bless me with prayers (in my country, the blessings of elderly folks are placed in high esteem); it’s all been pretty cool. But you see, I can’t let it get to my head. It’s not me they respect. It’s the people I represent — the government — that they respect. But it’s still been fun to be a celebrity (hehe).
It’s all come at a price, though. We live by a strict code, barring us from living like others. For security reasons I’ve been seperated from my lovely laptop (sniff!) That may seem like a small price to you, but not to me. Besides, we have given up some other stuff such as the comfort of home, friends, the lives we’re used to, etc. We represent the government here, so we gotta be good.
It’s got a military ring to it.

But then, I also am of another military breed.
Paul wrote, “No one engaged in warfare entangles himself with the affairs of this life, that he may please him who enlisted him.” (2 Timothy 2:4).
Following Jesus is like being in His army. It means we’ll live only to please Him. Actually, that’s the best way to live, because it’s got a Great Reward.
It comes at a price too. We don’t just live like anyone else would. We don’t simply blab because We have the freedom to. We don’t simply do stuff because we can. If He doesn’t want us to, we don’t. On the other hand, we speak and do stuff if and when He wants us to.
In case you didn’t notice, let me lay it out for you: YOUR LIFE IS NOT YOUR OWN!
We were made to live for Him, to please Him. That’s what following Jesus means.
It’s not everytime that this is easy, I know. But He’s told us that to follow Him we must deny ourselves. It’s like He always says: to live for Him we must first die to ourselves. That’s the way to life. And the rewards here and beyond far outweigh the hardship of submitting to His leadership. There’s glory and honour involved, but remember, it’s still all for the One that called us here. He’s not a sadistic mind-controlling dictator. He’s crowned us with His glory because He loves us. Following Him is the best thing that could ever happen to us. Really.

I too am undergoing training in His Service. By submitting myself to the guidance of His Word and His Holy Spirit, I’m allowing myself to become what He wants me to be.
A soldier pleasing the One that enlisted me.

‘For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us.’
Romans 8:18

GRACE LIKE ELECTRICITY

Whenever there is electric power in your house, all you need is to plug your gadget into that socket, turn on the switch, and let the power stream in and bring it to life. The only limitation to the power received is the amount of electric current streaming in your house.

God’s grace is like electricity. It gives us the power and ability to do ALL THINGS, in an amazing way. All you need to do is to plug in to the socket. If you are not a son of God, your life is like a square plug that cannot enter into that round socket. But if you are a son of God, you are plugged in for Christ is the socket, the Door [for the sheep]. When you agree with God and His ability to do amazing things through you, you turn on the switch, and an amazing life powered by the grace of God springs forth.

And don’t worry about low voltage. You see, the Bible tells us that God has made His grace ‘abound’ (or gush out in large amounts) to us, in Ephesians 1. It also tells us that Jesus is the Grace of God to us. He is the One that empowers us to do all things. Jesus described it as ‘living water flowing from your innermost being’. David described it as a cup that overflows in Psalm 23. The supply never ends as long as we keep receiving.

I believe God’s intent is not for us to try to do things in our own strength, but through His. We can’t handle it all by ourselves. We weren’t made to. Just like your average electrical appliance. Say, a television? The television is made for viewing, but it is useless without electricity. Oh well, it could be used to block a hole in the wall or in the ground, to squash a bug, or to even play basketball! But that’ll only ruin your television, BADLY! But plug it in, and you are set up for the most amazing experience of your life … well, as far as televisions are concerned. Televisions work with electricity. You were made to live by the Grace of God, in the strength that He gives, and with the Life that He is.

Eternal Life. Abundant Life. Life to the Full.

And when we receive His Grace and allow it to empower our lives, we see who we really are made to be in Christ Jesus. So like Paul, you can boldly say, “By the Grace of God, I am what I am.”

“I can do all things through Christ Who strengthens me.” Philippians 4:13

His Grace is free for God’s sons.

Plug in.

 

 

The Shadows Prove the Light

An Artist’s impression of Light usually requires the depiction of shadow.
I think there’s a song about that by Switchfoot. I saw a picture that brought that fact to me on Ted Dekker’s facebook page some months ago. It seemed really cool to me. But it just seemed to become so real recently.

It came alive as I drew a sad man looking down, kneeling, facing away from Light. That’s how I felt back then. Alone. Cut off from all that was dear to me. Like I was stuck in a dark cavern. It didn’t matter that I was surrounded by people that day. What I felt was deep … hurting me inside. I was in the Shadow. And so I drew. I usually draw figures depicting how I feel. So the man was definitely a lot like me.
Anyway, this guy’s face was cloaked in shadow. He was oblivious to the fact that Light was shining behind him.
I figured that when we feel down, or lonely, like we’re walking in a place of deep gloom and shadows, we can choose to remain gloomy.

Or…

Or we can choose to look Up.
When the man looks up and turns to the Light, his face is illuminated. It doesn’t matter that there are shadows behind him. No! Heavens no!
His eyes are enlightened.
His heart is ignited.

So when I walk in the Shadows, I remember that the shadows prove there is Light. That’s what they tell me now. They only seem darker because the Light is shining…
BRIGHTER!

We can choose to look down and mope, complain, grumble and wallow in self-pity. But when we look in the Light, we can truly see that we have good reason to be thankful.

I learnt that. Looking into God’s Light, I found that I had friends and family to be thankful for, even though we were not together. I got to meet new friends, and… the Light got brighter and brighter.

David also learnt this, you know. In Psalm 23:4 he says, “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for You are with me; Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.”
God is with me. That makes all the difference in the world … and beyond. Ha!

He is the Light. He made both Light and Darkness. When I look to Him He gives me the strength and comfort to be the Light for someone else.

Why don’t you do the same? You can choose to look in the Light. I learnt to choose to be thankful.
NOTE: Looking up is a deliberate decision. Just look up.

And the Light still shines,
piercing the darkness,
replacing gloom with bliss
in its glorious glare.

Aaa…