Short stories – Emmanuel Onimisi

Pablo

A story about one dog’s journey home.

Three young dogs were milling about at the rubbish dump one morning, but it was the dump that was the main attraction to the Labrador that was watching from afar.

They called him Bones, and he was the toughest canine in the neighborhood. Whenever there was a fight for territory, once he came on the scene, the fight was over. His howl was the loudest at night, and other dogs could only hope to match his domineering influence. He especially loved rubbing it in their faces. And so, with a smirk on his face, he hurried over to the three and climbed up the dump.

“Now, now,” he said whimsically, “Argue all you want, dawgs, but you know who the real king of this hill is.”

Garr, a cross between an Alsatian and a Terrier, stared up at him. “Hiya, Bones,” he said dryly.

“Now, y’all be nice to me,” Bones continued. “And I’d even let you grab a bite or two from this here dump. I can imagine it must be tantalizing to your eyes right about now, eh?” He licked his lips, but they did not seem amused in the slightest.

“Um… thanks Bones,” Ruff the pug said. “But if Nada here is right, we might not need to come to this dump ever again.”

Bones was taken aback. “Huh?”

Nada was a Doberman, and she was the youngest of the pack. She nodded with glee. “Yeah! There’s this human you’ve gotta meet. He’s really nice and I think he likes me.”

Bones arched a brow. “You’ve got a human? But … but we’re strays. It’s who we are.”

“Yeah, I know,” Nada said, her tail wagging faster as she spoke. “But this guy treats me like I’m a … friend. Anytime he sees me, he pats me on the head and pets me.”

“I’ve never been petted before,” Garr said with a pout.

“Me neither,” Ruff added.

“And he sets out food for me too,” Nada said. “Like I’m his ‘person’. One day he even gave me a bath!”

“A what?!”

“No way! What’s that like?”

Bones watched in disbelief as Nada shared more stories about this human that had caught her fancy. It sounded too good to be true, and Bones knew that human-attachment was a road to heartbreak.

“I’m suspicious,” he said as he approached them. “He your former owner or something?”

“Nope,” Nada said. “I was born on the streets, Bones. I’ve never had an owner before.”

“What do you think, Bones?” Ruff asked.

“I think this is a load of hogwash,” Bones said. “We can never trust the humans. They think we’re pests.”

“This guy doesn’t,” Nada said.

“So what you gonna do?” Bones said, staring her down as he stood in her face. “Take us all over to your human friend so we can be begging for scraps?”

But Nada was not intimidated. “He gives me more than scraps. I think he’s—“

“I mean, look around, dawgs,” he said. “See the assortment of grub we’ve got in this dump. Food from yesterday, some from last week, some from last month – a variety of all kinds just waiting for you to take. And the search, oh, searching through the other garbage and stuff is the real adventure. Getting to taste and spit out the stuff that don’t taste good to your liking, and trying out new stuff. What could be better than that?”

“But it’s not good for you,” Nada said. “Some of it is spoilt. Some of it can kill you.”

“Why?” Bones snapped. “Cause your human’s gon’ give you something better?”

“Actually, yes. And I think he can give us all something better.”

“What if he stops? What if one day he don’t like you no more?”

Bones felt more and more humiliated as Nada extolled the virtues of her friend.

“What’s your damage, Bones?” Garr asked. “Why are you so against this human?”

Bones shook his head. “Trusting humans is dangerous,” he said. “You don’t want to go that route. Once you’re emotionally-invested…” As he spoke, he realized his eyes were getting misted as memories flooded his mind. “No. It’s a can of worms. Just trust me on this. You can’t trust them two-leggers.”

Ruff placed a paw on the ground. “Well I wanna see what Nada be talking about.”

“Me too,” Garr intoned.

“Then come along with me!” Nada said. “He usually has food ready around this time.”

“You’ll come back here!” Bones called after them as they hurried away. “You’ll all come back here. Just you wait and see. Y’all gon’ be back here, with your tails between your legs, begging me to let you come to this dump! You can count on it!”

But as they ran off, their tails wagging in hope, Bones felt defeated. He had had his own experience with a human, and he had seen the slippery slope of trusting a human being. But after the conversation they had just had, the dump was no longer appealing to him. Curiosity got the better of Bones, and he hurried after them, if only to watch from afar.

Nada, Garr and Ruff crossed into the backyard of a quaint house on the edge of the street. Bones hid behind a tree and watched as Nada called.

“Hey!!!” she called. “It’s me, your friend, Nada!”

Bones had to stifle a chuckle. Nada probably forgot that the human would only hear her barking, and not actually hear her words.

But sure enough, a human opened the door. Bones had not seen that coming.

“Ah, Nada!” he came down to his haunches, petting her, her tail wagging like it had a sense of its own. “You came back!” He looked at the other dogs, who were already stepping backwards already. “And you brought friends too!”

He beckoned to them and they sauntered cautiously as he pet them on the head. Sure enough, those tails began to wag like Nada’s. Bones felt sick of it.

The Human held a hand up. “Wait for me, alright. I’ve got food ready.” He hurried into the house and returned with a bag of treats which he poured into bowls for them. “You must be hungry. I’ve got enough to go around.”

Bones had not tasted doggie treats in a very long time. The sight turned his stomach and tugged on his heart. But it was at that moment that he realized that this scene was all too familiar. It dawned on him even more when the human looked his way.

The Human’s eyes widened as he took in Bones from afar. There was a scar on across his left eye.

Oh no… It can’t be.

Bones’ mouth felt dry as he realized that he had known this Human, and the Human knew him. Shame and regret clouded his heart as he took a step back.

Nada looked up and noticed the Human staring, only to turn and see—

“Bones?!” she said.

Bones gasped. I’m not supposed to be here!

He scampered off, blinking away the tears from his eyes. He only stopped to catch a breath behind a wall. Nada’s Human was the same Human he had known all those years ago. He couldn’t believe it. The memory brought nothing but pain.

“Bones?” He turned to see Nada peeking from behind the wall. She came over to him. “Are you okay?”

He wiped a paw across his eyes. “Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Were you crying?”

“Me, cry?” he chuckled. “Don’t be silly. Go on, back to your friends.”

But Nada would not be so easily shrugged off. “You knew him, didn’t you?”

Bones shrugged. “Maybe. I-it doesn’t matter. Just forget about it.”

“Bones, it’s okay. I won’t think of you less.” She sat beside him. “You were once his pet, weren’t you?”

He wanted to deny it once more, but he just couldn’t. He nodded silently.

“What happened?”

There was no pretending with Nada. “You see those scars on his left eye? That…” He lowered his head. “That was me.”

“What?”

He took a deep breath. “It was a different life, a very long time ago. I was his friend too. We played and went everywhere together. He used to call me Pablo, if you can believe it.”

She chuckled. “Pablo,” she whispered, trying it out.

“But one day I saw this dump. I saw all this grub with many scents that I’d never tried before and I knew I just had to get a taste. But he didn’t let me. He kept pulling me away, saying, ‘No, no, don’t go there!’ Until one day I snapped at him and…”

He shut his eyes as he wiped his paw in the air, re-enacting the moment he struck his Human’s face.

“I was stunned, seeing him bleeding that day. He was shocked too, crying on the ground. I didn’t know what to do. I had broken our bond and his trust. I’d drawn his blood. I couldn’t go back again. I had to run away and make a life of my own, far away from him.”

They sat in silence for a moment, staring into the horizon.

“And you’ve been a stray ever since,” she said.

He nodded.

“It wasn’t him that messed up,” Bones said. “It was me. There’s no way he can forgive me for that. He’s Human. They don’t forget stuff. I can never forget that day, myself. It’s why I can’t allow myself to trust a Human again, because I could break that trust one day.”

Nada stared up at him in stunned silence. She didn’t know what to say to that, too.

But in that moment, the Human came from behind the wall. “Pablo?” he called.

Bones gristled, becoming defensive in that moment. He took a step backwards.

“Hey,” the Human said, stretching a hand towards him. “It’s me. Your friend.”

Bones bared his fangs, growling in warning. “Stay away from me,” he said. “I may bite you again!” Of course he knew the Human wouldn’t hear his words, but the growl would pass it across.

“Bones, what’re you doing?” Nada asked.

“Stay out of this,” Bones snarled.

The Human was undeterred. “All these years I’ve been looking for you,” he said. “Thank God you’re still alive. My, what has happened to you, Pablo?”

“Stay back!” Bones warned, barking. “I’m warning you.”

But the Human still approached him cautiously. “I’ve wanted to protect you from the dangers around,” he said. “I want you to be my friend again, Pablo. I want to feed you to good health and take care of you. I don’t want you to be harmed ever again.”

“I’m doing fine all by myself!” Bones snapped. “I don’t need you!”

But the Human would not get the message. He still came closer, reaching out with his arms. “It’s okay, Pablo. I’m not going anywhere. It’s okay.”

Bones kept trying to retreat, growling, but as the Human’s hand touched his head something changed. Sensations he had not felt in a very long time coursed through his body. His resistance withered away as healing flooded his heart.

The Human embraced Bones, and Bones sank into his embrace. All the shame, pain, fear, pride and regret he’d carried all these years were dissolved in the pool of love and acceptance that he plunged into in that moment. His tail began to sway on its own accord.

Is this what it feels like to be loved? Bones mused.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, licking the Human’s facial wound. “I’m so very sorry for all I did.”

“I forgive you,” the Human said, tears in his eyes as well. “I forgave you, Pablo.”

They remained there for a while, as they made up for years of distance and estrangement in that hug. Bones was a baby once again, in the arms of the Human.

Garr and Ruff came around to Nada, shocked at the scene before their eyes.

“I don’t believe it.” Garr said in shock.

“Is that our Bones?” Ruff intoned.

“I’ve never seen his tail wag before.”

“Never knew it even had the capacity to do that.”

“Alright, guys,” Nada said with a smirk. “Let him have his moment.”

The Human looked up at them with joy in his eyes. “Can you believe it? Pablo has returned!”

“Pablo?” Ruff asked.

Nada sighed. “It’s a long story.”

Bones turned to them. “Don’t you tell anyone about this or else—“

“Go tell your friends,” the Human said, oblivious to what he had just said. “Bring them over. We’re gonna have a dog party to celebrate. Pablo has come home.”

Bones sighed. He was going to have to get used to this.

He was loving every second of it. He didn’t know what the future held, but all he knew was that the Human – his Human – loved him and forgave him.

And that was enough for Pablo.

THE END

Likewise, I say to you, there is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner who repents.
Jesus (Luke 15:10)

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You can Laugh!

Dayo and Akin learn that a merry heart is good medicine, especially in trying times.

It was another one of those days.

Dayo Jegede was stuck at his friend’s house on a Friday evening, and there was no electric power to do anything. He had been staying with Akin ever since the academia at the university had gone on strike for over five months already. Like millions of Nigerian students, he had tried to invest his attention in online courses and eventually in remote freelance graphic design jobs. Yet, any progress he could have made was affected by the erratic power supply in their area. He was two days late on a flyer design he was meant to send to a client in Norway, his laptop battery was down, his phone battery was teetering on 1%, and Akin’s nonchalant singing in the other room was beginning to get irritating.

Dayo slammed his laptop shut and stomped over to Akin’s room. “Guy, this thing dey tire me,” he said. “I just dey tire.”

Akin smiled. “How e no go ‘Tyre’ you? Oya, come ‘Sidon’ for my side. Make we talk.”

Dayo hissed. “I dey yarn you correct thing, you dey use me crack joke. I swear, I suppose knock you for head.”

“Alright, alright. Sorry. You never eat since, na why you dey frustrated.”

“Abeg, leave that side. I need to get this thing. You get fuel for gen?”

Akin winced. “I suppose buy, but the price don go up. So I no—”

“But them still go sell, shei?” He turned his flashlight to the clock, confirming that the time was a few minutes to 9pm.

“Well … but e go cost o.”

Dayo clapped. “Oya, do fast. Make we go buy fuel. Please, I go add money on top.”

He was well aware that his account was deep in the red, but now he was desperate.

Akin winked. “What if they don close?”

Dayo really did not have the time for banter, so he clenched his fists to ease the pressure that was building up in his arms. “Akin … please…”

Akin did not need further convincing. Within minutes, they were already walking down their street to get to the filling station along the main road. From the houses around them, they could hear the racket of other residential generators, providing electric power for their domiciles. It dawned on him that it had been a long time since they had experienced a truly silent night in their neighborhood.

Another result of this problematic country, he mused, hissing under his breath.

“Have you noticed that the sky is brighter tonight,” Akin asked.

Dayo turned to him. “Hmm?”

“The sky? It’s supposed to be dark, but because of the full moon, it seems a lot brighter.”

Dayo never ceased to be amazed at how Akin always seemed to keep an upbeat disposition despite all they were going through. It bordered on annoying most times, so Akin never dwelt on it.

They met a long queue of cars at the station, and a couple of people with their kegs ready to purchase fuel. Dayo wanted to curse someone, to let off some of the pent-up anger that had been building up within him. It did not help that the other folks in line were discussing the state of insecurity in the country, and the seeming futility of the forthcoming elections.

“All of them are liars,” a pudgy man said. “They only want to fill their own pockets.”

“Abi o,” another added. “None of these politicians can even tell us their plan. The money they used to buy their form, where did they get it, sef?”

“It’s not all of them that have no plan o,” yet another added, and he proceeded to explain why his candidate was the best of all the presidential aspirants. That led to another person praising his own candidate, extolling his effectiveness in potentially changing things.

On and on, the conversation continued while Dayo just shut his eyes and tried to keep his breathing even. He could hear Akin humming somewhere behind him. Neither of them enjoyed engaging in political arguments, especially in these times. They all hoped for better days, but ‘the sufferings of these times’ were so not comparable to ‘the glory’ they hoped would follow. It felt very hard to even hope, sometimes.

It took them close to 30 minutes before they could buy fuel, and they were soon on their way home. Dayo was hungry now, but what was primary on his mind was completing the design job on time. Akin was still humming.

Dayo could not hold it in any longer. “This country is the weapon fashioned against me,” he said. “I hate it here. I just hate it here.”

Akin placed a hand on his shoulder. “Guy…”

“And don’t try to make it sound better,” Dayo snapped.

Akin nodded. “You’re right. It feels hopeless. Many things aren’t working. It can be annoying and frustrating, and so discouraging.” They walked on in silence for a moment. “But do you know what I do, Dayo?”

Dayo arched a brow. “How you dey do am, sef?”

Akin pursed his lips. “I try to keep my mind on what God has done and what God is doing. And I’m thankful…”

Dayo hissed. “Guy, I know that stuff. But in the real world—“

“Real? What’s real? If I complain and mope, what does that give me? Even if issues change or I leave the country, there would always be one problem or the other. But God never changes. He is more real than the problems around us.”

Dayo was not ready to engage on that topic. “You make it sound as if it’s easy.”

“Trust me, man, it’s not always easy. It’s why I sing or listen to songs that keep my heart in that place. ‘A broken spirit dries up the bones, but a merry heart is good medicine’.”

Dayo smirked. “I think you just twisted that verse?”

“Did I? Oh I think I did…”

“But, Akin, this thing hard, true true.”

“Shebi you’re a child of God? And the fruit of God’s Spirit in us is Joy. It doesn’t matter what happens around us, He can help us to be joyful. Joy is a gift. The joy of the Lord is your…”

They were already approaching their apartment, so Dayo ignored him. He hurried towards the generator to fill it with fuel.

“Your strength,” Akin finished. “Come on, man, you left me hanging there.”

“Let us get light first,” Dayo said. “We can continue Sunday School after that.”

Akin helped as they poured in the fuel from the keg into the generator. Dayo could not wait to get back to work. So even though when he pulled on the generator cord it did not come on, he knew that it was just a minor issue. He pulled on the cord again…

…

…and this time, it cut.

For a moment the friends stared in utter shock as what they had thought would be their hope of electricity for the evening was snuffed out before their very eyes. They would have to wait till morning before they could get an engineer to fix this. Dayo stared at the broken cord in his hands, with no plan or course of action coming to mind.

With nothing left to do, he turned to Akin, whose hands were on his head. In the silence that followed, the inevitability of it all dawned on them, and they burst into laughter.

For Dayo, it was a nervous laughter of exhaustion, as the realization that there was nothing more he could do about his problems. Yet the more he laughed, the harder it became to stop laughing. The laughter made him feel lighter, like there was nothing more he could do. He was out of control as he sank to his knees and pounded the ground with his fist, choking on hysterics.

“Why you dey beat the ground?” Akin said between guffaws. “Wetin the floor do you, na?”

Dayo managed to make out the words, “Why are we laughing? We dey mad?”

“Don’t you see, Dayo? God is with us! Everything don mess up, but we can still laugh! We still have Joy. Isn’t that something to be grateful for?”

Dayo did not feel the confidence Akin professed, but at that moment, he wished he did. God had given them reasons to smile and laugh and, even now when things seemed bleak, he could still laugh.

Electric power was not restored that night, and Dayo had to turn in the design the next day. However, even though nothing changed, Dayo’s burdened heart was a little lighter that evening.

And that, he realized, was something to be thankful for.

THE END

Hi there, dear reader. Many times we go through situations that impose the bleakness of the times on our consciousness. The news seems choked with bad news many times, and it many times looks as though things are just getting worse around us.

But God is still in control. He’s still got the whole world in His hands. His Spirit within you can keep you Joyful. Happiness is based on what ‘happens’, but Joy is irrespective of what happens. In His joy there is strength to keep on standing, strength to do what you need to do, and you are lightened to even hear and see the wisdom and direction He may be showing you out of the darkness.

I pray that you find reasons to laugh, my friend, and that you keep on laughing. Be strengthened.

Did this bless you?

Have you had a similar experience you would like to share?

Do you need someone to pray with you in what you’re going through?

Please share and let me know in the comments. You just might be a blessing to someone here. Trust me, we all need it.

The Step Down

For one president, the way up may be to step down.

The Mind Council Chamber sat at the lowest floor of the Presidential Villa, several stories below ground, inaccessible to all except the Federal Executive Council. We only held meetings there when very important decisions were to be made.

I was the first to be seated along with my Guest, as the Federal Commissioners walked in one by one. In their flowing regalia they all trooped in, each bearing one responsibility or the other. I smirked as I thought of the many arguments we had had over the past couple years, and how many times they had prevailed over my decisions with their many ideas birthed from their varied exposure and expertise. In many ways, I felt intimidated by them. There was an air of concern as they all took their seats, watching me eerily and casting glances at my Guest every occasionally.

When they were all seated, I stood.

“Distinguished ladies and gentlemen,” I began, “Thank you for honouring my invitation for this impromptu meeting. There’s precious little that would make me call you urgently from your domiciles at this time of the night.”

I could see the Commissioner of Sight nodding vigorously. He always appreciated his sleep and never appreciated disturbance. He had been known to doze off at meetings every now and then.

I cleared my throat. “The path to where we are as a nation has been one of ups and downs. We’ve made many decisions on policies regarding the nation, and our surrounding neighbors, in this very room. We have debated ideas, had our arguments, celebrated the victories of some of our decisions and also shared in the blame for some of the losses too.”

The Commissioner of Thought grunted. “That’s what you think,” she said. “I never lose.”

That elicited chuckles across the room.

I took a deep breath as I got to the core. “I take responsibility for every failure,” I said. “I have tried, God knows I’ve tried. I’ve tried out new paradigms and systems to satisfy our urges and needs, but while many of them persisted for a while, none has fully served their purpose. We have sought consultations from experts, held numerous training-and-upgrade seminars, and … yet, I can’t help but think that this country … this council is not serving its rightful purpose. I fear that we’re on a road to doom.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” the Commissioner of Emotions interjected. “We always come with ideas from what we’ve seen and heard and felt, but you’re always the one second-guessing us.” There were murmurs in the affirmative all around. “Yes, because if anything, you’ve been our weakest link. You’re supposed to be President, but you never have the right ideas. With all due respect, you suck, Mr President!”

“I’m telling you!” the Commissioner of Speech added. “If it weren’t for our ideas, you could never make a good decision.”

“Yet some ideas are better than others,” the Commissioner of Action said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m just saying. Actions speak better than words.”

And that is how the arguments began again, each trying to overshadow the other. But the Commissioner of Thought, ever the introspective one, had been watching me silently. “Why have you called us here, Mr President? And, if I may ask, who is your Friend?”

She was the first to acknowledge my Guest, even though I am sure most of them must have been wondering Who He was all along. I stared up at my colleagues. “We need new leadership. We need to realign to what the Creator made us for. I have … we have done a good job of messing things up. I think it’s time for a change. And that is why … I am stepping down as Commander-in-Chief of the Federal Republic of You.”

It was as though the air was sucked from the room in the silence that followed. They stared at me, waiting for the other foot to drop.

“While I remain as President, I am handing over authority over myself and this nation to this Man here,” I said, gesturing to my Guest. “His name is –“

“Jesus Christ?!” the Commissioner of Hearing interrupted. “I’ve heard a lot about this guy! You’ve got to be kidding me!”

“I’m sorry?”

“This Jesus turns people into weaklings!” the Commissioner continued. “I heard he turns people into mindless religious zombies. We don’t need this in our nation.”

“They say He stifles our free speech,” the Commissioner of Speech added, and he swore for good measure.

The arguments started rising once again, and I knew that getting them to calm down would be a herculean task. But Jesus placed a hand on my shoulder. “Let Me take it from here,” He said.

As He stood in the room, the arguments stilled as they sized up the new guest. I felt more confident with Him by my side.

“Before You were formed in your mother’s womb,” Jesus said. “I knew You. I made You for a purpose.”

“Excuse me,” the Commissioner of Thought interjected. “Are you claiming to have made this nation? How old are you? Who do you think you are?”

I did not see his face at the moment, but something about the way he stared at the Commissioner of Thought made her to recoil in silence.

“Sin and its corruption have made a mess of the order here,” he continued. “You, Federal Commissioners, have been compromised by the decadence of the age and are now imposing its pressures and suggestions on your president, at the expense of sound judgment. That something is lawful does not mean that it’s always right or hlpful

He turned to me. “Your president here has tried on his own to repair the damage, but he was never strong enough. He was never meant to debate with you about what is right and wrong. I am here to help him make the Federal Republic of You what God intended it to be. It would mean a renewal of this Mind Council, so that you all can know what you ought to do, and to do it too.”

For the first time in my life, I felt confident. There really was going to be hope for us. But my Commissioners did not share the same sentiments.

“So what?” the Commissioner of Thought said. “You’re going to be some kinda Dictator or something?”

Jesus folded his arms, standly regally. “I am a King, actually, and I am bringing my kingdom here. And in my kingdom it’s all about pleasing God, living at peace, and the joy that comes from God’s Spirit.”

“And are those supposed to mean something?”

He winked. “Trust me, you’re going to find out soon enough. I am going to help you think the right thoughts by teaching you in my Word.”

“And why should I listen to you?”

He gestured towards me. “Because your president has placed me in-charge here, and you are subject to the law he is subject to. Before, he found himself doing the things he did not want to do, and not doing things he knew he ought to do. You have known that conflict too, madam, haven’t you? But now I’m bringing him under a new law: the Law of the Spirit of Life in Me.”

She blinked, and when she spoke her words came out with less resistance. “It’s not been easy,” she said. “There’s so much information we get, and we have to act on it.”

“You never had to,” Jesus said. “But you weren’t strong enough to resist. I will help you. Madam, it may seem tough now but, believe me, everything I’m doing here is for your own good. There are boundless possibilities for the Commission of Thought that you’re not exploring because you’re limited to what you know. But I can help you get there.”

The Commissioner of Thought considered that for a moment, but at least she was silent now.

Jesus turned to the Commissioner of Speech. “And it would influence Speech too,” he said.

The Commissioner of Speech raised his hands. “Whoa, leave me out of this, mister. I’m fine the way I am.”

Jesus smirked. “Oh, that’s what you think. Your Speech will do so much more. You will bring healing to many, salvation to many more, encouragement to the broken and comfort to the mourning. I will train your tongue, to speak the right word in season to the weary. Can you imagine just what we can do when your words are life?”

He was genuinely amazed. “I never thought that could be possible. I thought you just wanted to, you know, keep me from saying whatever I want to. I may want to just catch cruise every once in a while, and I don’t need to be stuck up with a guilty conscience every single time.”

“But your words can get you in trouble,” Jesus said. “And can hurt others and yourself, much more than you know. I can help you refine your words.”

The Speech Commissioner grunted. “I uh … I guess I could do with a fixer-upper,” he said.

Jesus smiled as he turned to the Commissioners of Sight and Hearing.

“Oh no, no, no,” the Commissioner of Sight said. “You’re not coming here.”

“Yeah,” the Commissioner of Hearing said. “I don’t need your help.”

But Jesus wasn’t done. “You sure? Sight, some of the things you’re looking at are affecting Thought.”

The Commissioner of Thought nodded. “Exactly! The information we get comes from these guys.”

“Hey, you can decide what to think by yourself,” the Commissioner of Hearing retorted. “Don’t blame us for your lack of control.”

“But it’s true,” Jesus said. “Even for you, Hearing. The things you watch and listen to get into your thoughts one way or the other. You need to keep a watch over them.”

Sight folded his arms. “You just wanna suck the joy out of everything.”

Jesus chuckled. “All things are lawful for You, but not all things are expedient. All things are lawful for You, but you don’t have to become a slave to them*. If you absolutely can’t do without something, tell me, are you the master or the slave to it?”

They were clearly gearing up for a comeback, but they could not come up with anything in time. We all knew that we needed all the help we could get, and Jesus was the one to help us. It may not have felt nice, but it was worth it. It reminded me of the one time I heard that he had chased out some moneychangers from God’s Temple. This kinda felt like it too.

And one by one, Jesus kept on addressing each of the commissioners, analyzing their blueprints and the challenges they had faced, and explaining how He would make it new. I was so glad I brought Him onboard. I was learning as he taught us, gaining more confidence to guide each of these commissions with his wisdom and might. It would take a while to get into the new hanfg of things, but I knew I was now in good hands.

“It’s going to be a new day,” Jesus said. “The old is gone, the new has come.”

“Indeed,” I muttered under my breath, a smile on my face. “Amen.”

THE END

Pharisee

A devout 1st century Jew struggles with his own guilt and conscience, and how the contradictions in his heart affect his world.

Galilee. First century A.D.

“*Sh’ma Yisrael, Adonai Eloheinu. Adonai Echad…”

Shimon sang to himself as he ran the smoothening blade across the plank on his workbench. It had become second nature to him to sing from scripture as he partook in his daily work, just like his father and grandfather before him used to do. What better investment, he thought, could he give to his time than to keep his heart on the Scriptures?

Hur, his young apprentice, sauntered over. “Still working on that log, eh Master?”

Shimon smiled, still drawing the plane. “It’s the details, my friend. You can never be too thorough in attending to the details.”

Hur smirked. “I was afraid you’d turn that into a sermon too.”

“Oh, I’ve barely even started,” he replied, winking. “We can’t be too thorough, especially with our hearts. Because it’s the hidden details, the darkest corners of our hearts, that *haShem searches out.”

Hur nodded, amused but used to Shimon’s knack for finding lessons in everything. “He sees all.”

Shimon chuckled, patting him on the back. “He sure does.”

Hur gestured towards the figurine he had been working on in the far corner of the workshop. “Speaking of details, come see what I’ve been working on.”

Shimon had for a long time observed that Hur’s skills were more suited towards woodcarving than simply furniture making, and he had encouraged him in exploring it. Shimon had cordoned off a section of the work-shed for this particular figurine, a special and very expensive commission from King Herod’s contractor.

Hur had just started work on it the previous day, but what used to be a log of wood was already taking shape. In the midst of the dust and fillings littering the floor, the profile of a wooden oak tree with lush foliage and roots spreading in every direction, was already apparent. Shimon had to admit, he initially thought this project was going to be a waste of time, converting a log from an oak tree into a figure of another oak tree. Nevertheless, if royalty was willing to pay for it, they might as well enjoy it. Besides, this was shaping up to be quite an excellent piece.

He folded his arms, “All this, you did today?”

Hur nodded. “It’s the curves that were the hardest bit. The leaves and branches, I’ll figure out later, but I should definitely get this done within the week. I’ll need to get some more polish too.”

Shimon nodded, contemplating the figure before him.

“So what do you think?”

Shimon could tell that he was excited about this work, but he could not commit himself to expressing just how amazing it really was. He had his reservations still, but he also did not want to crush the young man’s spirit.

“It’s shaping up beautifully!” his wife exclaimed from behind them.

They both turned to see Rivka standing behind them, a large bowl of figs in her hands. “And you should be proud about it, even if my husband is too afraid to say it.”

“Who said I was jealous?” Shimon retorted.

“Then just tell him you like it!”

“Of course I like it!”

“And why are you yelling?”

“I’m yelling because you’re making me yell! Of course, we both know Hur is talented and this … this is coming out very nicely. Even a blind man could tell. There, I’ve said it. Hur, your figure is good. You’re great. Everything is great! Happy now, Rivka?”

Now both Hur and Rivka were laughing.

Shimon threw his hands in the air dismissively, walking away. “Oi!” He paused. “Word of advice, young man; don’t get a wife with a brain. Thank me later.”

“Oh really?” Rivka said. “A woman without a brain would make for very boring company.”

“Is that what you think a man is looking for?”

She sauntered closer to him. “I don’t know, what do you think? Did you find what you were looking for?”

Shimon smiled. “And so much more, my lily.”

And they went in for the kiss, Hur cackling in the background. “You are both the weirdest old people I know.”

For all his blather, Shimon knew Rivka was one of the Lord’s greatest gifts to him.

Rivka turned to Hur. “And don’t you have somewhere else you need to be, young man?”

Shimon blinked. “You want to … here?! Now?!”

Rivka winced. “He wanted to get some wood polish? Remember?”

“Oh…”

“Get your mind out of the gutter, dearest!” She swatted at him with a rag. “Some Pharisee you are.”

Hur couldn’t hold back his laughter anymore. “I’ll just be going.” His smile remained emblazoned on his face as he put on his cloak.

“And Hur,” Shimon called. “Like Bezalel of old, haShem has truly blessed you with talent, my friend.”

Hur’s eyes twinkled. “Thank you, master.”

“Take a break,” he said. “Be back within the hour.”

Hur nodded as he ducked out.

“You treat him like the son you wish you had,” Rivka whispered. Now they were alone and she could talk freely.

Shimon placed a hand around her shoulders. “Rivka…”

“You can’t pretend you don’t think about it sometimes.”

He caressed her shoulder. “In His time. All things in His time, my dear.” He gestured towards the oak figure before them. “His hands craft our days, moment by moment. He has His purpose in our times and seasons, carving out our destinies. Ours is to remain faithful to His every law.”

She chuckled. “Funny you should use Hur’s figure when you’re clearly ashamed of it.”

He stiffened at that. “I’m not ashamed of it.”

“Of course, hence why you stashed it away in the corner, out of sight from customers.”

“It’s not so simple, and you know it. I just don’t want to cause controversy by putting it out there.”

“And yet you let him explore his creative fantasies in here.”

Shimon had taken Hur under his wing ever since Hanan, Hur’s father and Shimon business-partner, had passed on. “The Lord gave Hur a gift. ‘Blessed be the Lord who gives you the power to make wealth.’ I’m helping him to harness it, guiding him from the baser inclinations and allure of working with ‘graven images.’”

Rivka set the bowl of figs down. “They’re wood carvings, dear, not ‘graven images’. And we’re hardly bowing down to worship them. Even the Tabernacle of old had wood carvings. We’re not breaking any laws.”

He sauntered away, examining the figure. “We may be the more liberal of the sects, but we Pharisees still preserve the sanctity of Torah with good reason.”

“By adding to it. Even you know that it’s getting excessive.”

He took a deep breath. “It’ll have to suffice. It has preserved our culture for generations, and it will for generations to come. One little step out of line and we’re courting with sacrilege. Before you know it, it’s ‘Hello, Sodom and Gomorrah.’”

“And yet,” Rivka motioned toward the figure. “Here we are. Carving in secret.”

Shimon shook his head. “It’s different. What good is preserving appearances if I leave my friend’s boy to potentially worse inclinations? I couldn’t live with myself, dearest. I will appease my conscience and do what’s right, and I’ll hope that God is pleased with my heart. Otherwise I might as well be a palace on the outside, but my heart could just be a dark sepulcher on the inside.”

Rivka offered him a fig. “When you get this sincere about heart matters, you remind me of someo…” She let it trail off, probably realizing she should have thought better of it.

He took the bait. “Who?”

She shrugged. “No, it doesn’t matter.”

But he was quick to spot the nuances when his wife wanted to say something. “Don’t tell me it’s the Nazarene.”

This Jesus from Nazareth was gradually becoming a thorn in the flesh of the Pharisees. The fantastical tales around him included stories of miracles and even the raising of the dead, but what was even more dangerous was his teaching. Some claimed he was Messiah or a prophet. He had attracted a following among the people thus far, and Shimon was careful about what liberties he could be taking in his doctrine which, as many said, was very simplistic.

Rivka groaned. “You can’t throw the baby with the bathwater.”

“You can’t be listening to the Nazarene, Rivka!”

“Why? What has he said or done that is wrong?”

“You should be very wary of who you listen to, Rivka. And of the company you keep.”

“How did this even become about Talia?”

“I didn’t bring her up, you justdid! I’ll bet she’s the one that made you go listen to the Nazarene. I hear all kinds of people like listening to him too. That man should be wary of the company he keeps if he really wants us to accept him.”

“She’s been my friend from childhood, Shimon. She was at our wedding—”

“She’s a harlot! What would people think if they saw you with her?”

Rivka folded her arms, consternation on her face. “Really, Shimon? What would people think? Is that how you want to live your life? No wonder your mind is plagued with so many contradictions.”

Shimon did not have a good comeback for that. “You … I … it doesn’t matter. You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

She shook her head. “I know you want to do what’s right. But your fear is clouding your judgment. That’s not good ground to build your life upon.”

“Was that another line from Jesus?”

She shrugged. “Maybe. What’s your problem with him?”

“I don’t know, but I’ve been told—“

“Listen to yourself, my dear. ‘You’ve been told?’ What if they were wrong?”

“The people that listen to him. Publicans, outcasts –“

“And you really think he cares what others think?”

“They say people think he may be Messiah. Do you realize just what damage a cult like that can do? What the Romans would do?”

She offered him another fig. “Then talk with him.”

“There is no way I’m going out into the mountains to listen to some vagabond—“

“You don’t have to go out there. Invite him over.”

He looked up at her. “I’m sorry?”

“Offer him the hand of fellowship. Invite him over for dinner, and discuss with him.”

He chuckled. “You know I can’t do that.”

“Why is that? What are you afraid of?”

“Bah!” He turned away dismissively. “I don’t need this.”

“You’re a seeker of truth, my husband. You always have been. You’ve got a sincere heart so much so that you don’t want to displease God even in the minutiae of Torah. I know God sees that. But what if God was bringing an answer to all your questions, and your fear and pride kept you from listening?”

He stared up at Hur’s tree. Mankind had needed to make a decision at a tree once before. Even back then, it had been a man and a woman. It had cost them their place before God and had caused the dilemma they would forever live by; knowing what’s good but always having the predilection for evil. This was Shimon’s dilemma, every single day. It was why he did everything he could to stay away from sin.

If there was one question he would ask of God it would be if this was ever going to get easier. Would they always have to sort this out by their own meager ability? Was God ever going to give them the new spirit He promised to Ezekiel?

“Shimon?”

He turned to her, pulled out of his reverie.

“Get out of your head, my dear. Besides, I hear he used to be a carpenter in Nazareth. You would have so much in common. So much to discuss. Who knows, he might even become a new friend. With Nicodemus now in Judea, Lord knows you need new friends.”

“Like this family needs another scandalous friendship,” he muttered, shooting her a knowing gaze.

Now Rivka looked genuinely shocked, bordering on disgust. “You’re just … hopeless!” She snatched up her bowl of the remaining figs and stormed out.

“Rivka! My sweet lily, wait!”

But she was already gone. He exhaled.

Why am I so good at messing things up?

He knew he really needed help. He needed to settle this. Even if it would mean biting the bullet, he needed to. Dear God, did that mean inviting the Nazarene preacher over?

God, you see my heart.

He would do it. He would do anything to keep her happy. He hoped God would be pleased.

In times like these, he turned to the things he did know how to do well. He returned to his workbench and to the log he had been smoothening. Left to his soliloquy, all he could do was sing just under his breath, hoping to settle back into a sense of normalcy.

Sh’ma Yisrael…

———-

This is a fictional prequel to a story in the Bible. You can read Shimon’s story in Luke 7:36-50, when he hosted Jesus for dinner and, to his horror, Rivka’s friend popped in.

I wrote this story because, the more I read and studied about Pharisees, the less I saw them as the maniacal caricatures I had assumed they were. They were real people with jobs, families, emotions and desires. They were a religious sect, one of many, that had been instrumental in the preservation of Jewish culture during the years of exile. By the time of Jesus, much of Jewish religious scholarship was the staple of Pharisees. Behind all of their many laws was a true love for God and the scriptures, and a desire to please God and stay away from the very shadow of evil.

I saw their nosy approach to ensuring others keep the Law as an extension of their very personal struggles to know and keep God’s law. I’ve learnt that, many-a-time, judgmental people are processing their own guilt and projecting it on others. When judgmental people are in groups, the righteousness of their cause can overshadow every attempt for reason and truth to invade. It’s the classic case of ‘can’t see the forest for all of the trees.’ I know because I have been there many times.

The sad part of their story is that while God had brought the very answer to their questions before their very eyes, their hearts were too clouded by fear and their familiarity with how things ‘ought to be’ to realize what God was doing. Like them, all of humanity was stuck in that struggle of knowing and wanting to do what is good but always being stuck doing what is wrong, trying our best to do what is right. However, God brought a new and living way through Jesus for us all to be able to please God. It would be God living and active through us, helping us to desire and do His will. Compared to the struggle, this is truly a time of refreshing (Acts 3:19). Jesus brought this new life for us all, including Shimon and his fellow Pharisees.

Wherever you and I are in our journey, may we not miss the call and answers the Lord has brought before us. May the eyes of our heart be ever open to Jesus, and may our hearts be never hardened, always ready to receive the life and help that Christ has for us.

Invite Him to lunch in the house of your house.

Here I am! I stand at the door and knock. If you hear my voice and open the door, I will come in and eat with you. And you will eat with me. (Revelation 3:20. Easy-to-Read Version)

Amen.

NOTES

* Sh’ma Yisrael, Adonai Eloheinu. Adonai Echad: This literally means, “Hear O Israel. The LORD is our God. The LORD is One. It’s the first line of the Sh’ma, a statement of faith for the Israelites that’s usually sung in liturgical ceremonies. It can be found in Deuteronomy 6:4.

* HaShem: This literally means, “The Name.” It’s the term used by Jews in conversation in referring to God, to hallow His Name and probably to avoid blasphemy in mispronouncing it or saying it in vain. In liturgical services, the word ‘Adonai’ (My Lord) was used instead.

Overwhelmed

Some days are just worse than others.

The clack of Tobi’s shoes resounded in the hallway as he approached the Director’s Office, folder in hand. He snapped his fingers in greeting to others as they passed, sharing the occasional ‘Chairman!’ or ‘My guy!’ to those whose names he didn’t know (and whose names he had no intention of asking for because after working with them for close to four years already, that would be all kinds of awkward!)

He peeked into the large main office area where Miss Ekaette sat behind her desk outside the Director’s office. A CNN newsfeed was streaming over the flat-screen television on the opposite wall. “Good morning, young lady!” he exulted.

She looked up from her laptop briefly. “Mr. Owoeye,” she said with a nod.

He let himself in. “Please, Mr. Owoeye was my Dad.”

She smirked, shaking her head. “Keep using lines like that and you just might end up a Nollywood character from 2002. You’ve got the loud shoes down already.”

“Heh, touché. I was just passing by so I thought, hey, I might as well just share my report early.” He pulled out a USB stick from his pocket. “It’s all in there. Typed, edited and justified.”

Ekaette stared at stick. “And you could not just mail it in like a normal person?”

“Who said I was normal?”

He wasn’t sure if he saw her roll her eyes at that. It was hard telling expressions these days, behind the masks everyone was wearing. “Well, you’re sha not putting that flash on my system,” she said. “I don’t need to be battling viruses at this time.”

“But I thought you were vaccinated.”

She did not respond for a while, typing away on her system. “When you’re tired you’ll go back and mail it in.”

He nodded, tapping his fingers on the armrests. “Good talk. I’ll just let myself out, then.”

He could not wait to get out, with the awkwardness of it all. This was probably not the best time for banter, he figured. Nevertheless, even when he got to the door, something about it all made him pause. Miss Ekaette was generally always cynical, yes, but something about today gave him a little concern. He was not sure if he was overthinking it, but he just could not leave yet.

“Are you alright, Ekaette?”

She stole a brief glance at him, continuing with her work. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

His hand was still on the doorknob, but he could not leave just yet. “Are you?”

This time she looked up at him, squinting as she weighed his words. “Are you really asking?” she asked.

He did not know which way to respond just yet. It felt awkward. He felt stupid. He considered throwing in a random pun to lighten the mood and get out of the moment.

“How am I?” She pushed her laptop away, flicked her braids out of her eyes and buried her face in her palms. Her voice came out as a hoarse whisper. “Honestly, I don’t know.”

Now Tobi knew his premonition was valid. He pulled up a chair and took a seat.

God, what do I say? Am I supposed to say something?

“It’s just … too much,” Ekaette said, pulling down her mask. “I mean, every day you think it can’t get any worse but it just keeps getting worse, and worse, and worse.” With each ‘worse’, she banged her fist on the table. Tobi had never seen her so emotionally expressive, and it was awkward for him. “Every single day…”

For the first time in a very long time, he felt stuck. He was used to interjecting conversations with the odd quip or pun, but even he knew that those would be inappropriate now.

God, please show me what to say. Don’t leave me hanging here.

“So much on my mind to settle,” she continued. “And I have no idea where to start. I can barely concentrate. Like, I have been on this page for hours now, and I have no idea where my mind has been. I’ve not figured out how to settle my rent yet, and it’s due by the end of next month. It’s just the first week of July and there’s too much month at the end of my money!”

Tobi winced, trying to understand that last sentence. “I think you meant—“

“Oh, I meant what I said. Transport, food – everything just keeps sapping my account dry like there’s no tomorrow because of this messed up godforsaken country! And, oh, don’t even get me started about how messed up the country is. Just thinking about it makes me … weak.”

She wrapped herself in her arms, rocking as she spoke. “Every day there’s a new low. After last October, something snapped within me. It’s as if every hope I had that we could change this system and make it better just … died. It feels like the end of the world, but the world just doesn’t want to end yet.”

Tobi nodded quietly. She was referring to the protests against police brutality in 2020, the narrative of which was hijacked by malefactors and overshadowed by political agendas. It had come to a peak with the mass shooting of protesters at Lekki in Lagos, an evil further aggravated by the large scale attempts at a cover up or, worse, to trivialize its implications. The issues plaguing the country for decades had already suffocated many a Nigerian’s hope in the nation, but October 2020 was the last straw for the younger generation, awakening them to the reality their forbears had been facing for generations.

Tobi was grateful that he did not need to speak just yet. The more silent he was, the more she was able to talk. Perhaps that was a good thing, he surmised.

“And the news!” Ekaette continued, pointing at the television overhead. “The kidnappings and attacks. Terrorists, bandits, insurgents … whatever new word they come up with. Do you know the worst part? It’s that the casualties have become nothing but numbers to me now. 50, 500, 490 … just numbers. I’m just numb anytime I hear of another attack.” She shook her head at the thought. “I feel nothing. I’m just a terrible person.”

Tobi had taken the cue to go turn off the TV while she spoke. He did not feel any less awkward. Was he to place a hand on her shoulder, or give a hug, or just sit and feel as stupid as he already felt? This was uncharted territory for him, and he felt helpless. He could identify with much of what she said. “You’re not a terrible person,” he managed.

But Ekaette wasn’t done. “And even now, when I’m supposed to be doing my work, I don’t have the strength to get anything done! I dare not even get on WhatsApp, otherwise people would know that I’m online and I’ve seen their messages. I don’t have the strength to respond to anyone. That notification bell sickens me now. I feel like such a failure. I can’t do anything right. Me with my scatterbrain and…” She placed her head on the table. “I can’t. I just can’t.”

Tobi stared at her, wondering what to say. If he was to be honest, he felt the same way a lot of the time. Most jokes at the country’s expense were Nigerians’ attempts to get through another dreadful day, really.

He placed a hand on hers. “Hey. It’s going to be okay.”

“Come on, you don’t really believe that.”

He hesitated before responding. “I know what it’s like to be overwhelmed,” he said. “Maybe it’s not the same as what you feel, but I have felt my own share.”

She sat up and stared at him, her hair tussled around her face. Having to stare at her while talking made it feel harder, so he avoided her gaze.

“Believe me, I know. A lot of this is messed up,” he said, gesturing around. “All of this makes no sense. Everything is going crazy. I get it.”

She just stared, but she still looked disheveled and spent. “You know, you don’t have to try to help if you’ve got nothing to say. It’s perfectly alright.”

He exhaled. “Phew, thanks.”

“I think I just needed to vent.”

“It do be like that sometimes. I couldn’t even come up with a good motivational speech. I drew a blank there.”

At least they were able to smile at that.

“You know what I tell myself when I feel I can’t do anything right?” Tobi asked. “I choose to do what’s ‘left’.” He grinned, but she didn’t seem to get the joke. “You know, ‘cause the opposite of right is—“

“I got it,” she said, not even amused in the least.

Ok, you went too far that time, Tobi.

“Maybe you might need to just stay off the news for a while. No breaking news for a while. Maybe even put your phone on ‘Silent’ or something, so that the ringing doesn’t get to you too much. At least until you can handle it.”

“Yeah, like I haven’t thought about that before,” she muttered sarcastically. “But thanks. I’ll … I’ll do that.”

Tobi took a deep breath. Maybe all she really needed was an ear, and he was perfectly fine with that. But he could see himself in her words too.

“There’s this verse in the Bible that says, ‘When my heart is overwhelmed, lead me to the Rock that is higher than I.’* I guess, sometimes, when things are out to overwhelm me, I’m learning that I need to remember that God is bigger than it all. He promised to never leave us or forsake us**. We can trust that He will keep His word.”

She wiped a tear. “At this point, that’s easier said than done.”

“Times are hard. But God is still good.” He noticed she smirked and shook her head. “What?”

“It’s easy to draw the ‘God card’ when you don’t have the answers. Just throw in a little Christianese and we’ll convince ourselves that every problem is just sorted out.”

He thought about that. “Well … I actually don’t have all the answers, yes. And … you’re kind of right.”

She was visibly surprised at that. “Really?”

“That, yeah, some of us have the tendency to cover our problems with an ‘It is well’ or ‘May God sha help us’, or something. But it doesn’t mean that there isn’t something real to all this. Our very real challenges make us want to find something real that we can hold on to. Everything that’s fake fades away when push comes to shove. I believe that, beyond the appearances and doubts and stuff, there is still something real here.”

She folded her arms. “I don’t follow.”

Tobi did not feel equipped for an apologetic discussion. He could only speak from his thoughts and experiences. “The way I see it, at this point, it’s either God is real or He’s not. All His promises to protect and preserve us in the midst of trouble, it has to be true. And if it is, I believe that I’m going to see it, God’s goodness. Unless, of course, it’s not real. And if it’s not, well … it would fade away in the face of adversity.”

He wondered what was going on in her mind through all of this. She just kept staring at him incredulously. “People have suffered and died,” she said. “Some of them even prayed. Doesn’t that prove that God does not solve everything? Or that, maybe, all of this is just in our heads?”

He had thought about that many times. “You know, He never actually promised that we would never suffer. Jesus did say that there would be challenges and tribulations, but He also reminded us that but that He has overcome. If we really trust Him, I guess we have to believe that that’s the Truth; that He has overcome, and that we have also.”

“But what does that even mean?” Ekaette asked. “But when it comes right down to it, how does that change anything in these very real experiences? How does that put money in my account?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. But I think it means that He can deliver us from our challenges. But even if challenges rush in like a flood, they will not drown us. When it appears they’d consume us like fires, they’ll not burn us either***. When we walk through the darkness of pain and the unknown, He will be our light****.”

She shook her head. “You’re just full of those, aren’t you? You’ve got a verse for everything.”

He couldn’t help but smile. “Well, not everything … yet,” he said with a wink.

“But you truly believe this stuff?”

“Honestly, many times I need to remind myself. It’s why I keep the Word on my mind. Just saying them out right now is me reminding myself too.”

She exhaled. “But do you really believe that stuff?”

“I believe…” Tobi paused here. He thought about this all the time. When the pandemic and lockdowns had begun, he had needed to face up to questions about his faith and what he truly believed. The basis of his trust and of his life had stared him in the face more now than ever, and in the months hence, he had come from questions to answers to even more questions.

He knew that he could have easily given an answer that tied everything up positively in a neat bow. However, he could be nothing here if not honest.

“I believe that … even though I can’t see or feel like it sometimes, God is still with me because He’s promised. He is true to His promise. Even when it’s hardest, and. Even in my questions, and oh, I have so many, I believe He’s guiding me in Truth. I don’t understand everything now, but gradually I’ll get to know what’s most important much better. I believe He can strengthen me when it’s getting heavy. And I believe that, even if the challenges eventually end me … well, that’s not the worst that could happen.”

She blinked. “As far as pep talks go, that was not one.”

“No, I’m serious. We’re all leaving the planet someday, whether we’re astronauts or not.” She didn’t react to that one either, so he moved on. “But Jesus defeated death, and because I have received His gift, I have won too. I don’t have to fear Death. What can Death do to me, if not to take me home to my Father?”

She ruminated on his words. “Yeah, that doesn’t sound suicidal at all.”

“Au contraire. How I live is different, even with all its challenges. Because we don’t have to fear death, we can confidently live and do much more, even when it’s hard. We’ve got God’s very life on our insides. He gives us wisdom on what to do and where to go, and we can be joyful in the midst of challenges. Even when it’s tough, He can still make me a blessing and encouragement to others. Like He’s doing right now.”

Ekaette arched a brow. “Really?”

“Really really.”

She picked up her phone and swiped through. “Nope, my bank account’s still the same. Nothing’s changed.”

He chuckled. “C’mon Ekaette. You’re feeling better already, admit it.”

She waved a hand dismissively. “Meh.”

“Well, it’s not about feelings.”

“Nice speech, though.”

“Nice speech?! I was pouring my heart out here!”

She scrunched her nose. “I don’t think I feel different. Sorry. No dice.”

He shook his head. “And here I was going to pray with you, but clearly you’re not taking any of this seriously.” He pushed himself to his feet. “At least I tried.”

“Might as well just pass the offering plate now,” she said whimsically as he headed for the door. “Hey, Tobi!” He turned. “Thanks a lot. For listening. For everything.”

He smiled. “Anytime. About your work, just take it in stride. One at a time.”

“Yeah. But I could do with a break sometime too.”

“Yes. As soon as you can, take it.”

“And that thing you said about … you know, praying for me? I could probably do with some of that too.”

For what it was worth, Tobi realized that the inclination to wait behind was probably for a reason. Ekaette was bursting with questions and full of doubt, but he was here. Perhaps, in one small way, God wanted him here for her, even in her questions and doubt.

“It would be my genuine pleasure,” he said.

Hi there! Emmanuel here!

Many of us the world over are going through some very difficult times out here. But, like Tobi, I pray for you that the Lord keeps your heart at rest and at peace. I pray that your heart is receptive to hear the songs of deliverance He is singing over you. I pray that He strengthens you on the inside and keeps you aglow, no matter how dark it is out there. I pray that you remain strong in faith, able to stand in the day of adversity.

I pray that your confidence in His Love is unshaken, and that you are an effective channel of His love to others.

And I pray that, when your heart is overwhelmed, you remember the Rock that is higher than all your problems.

God loves you, and He is for you.

In Jesus’ Name.

Amen.

VERSES MENTIONED

From the end of the earth I call to You, when my heart is overwhelmed and weak; Lead me to the rock that is higher than I. (Psalm 61:2)
Keep your lives free from the love of money, and be content with what you have, for God has said, “I will never leave you or abandon you.” (Hebrews 13:5)
Jacob, the LORD created you. Israel, he made you, and now he says, “Don’t be afraid. I saved you. I named you. You are mine.

When you have troubles, I am with you. When you cross rivers, you will not be hurt. When you walk through fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not hurt you. (Isaiah 43:1,2)

Even if I walk through a valley as dark as the grave, I will not be afraid of any danger, because you are with me. Your rod and staff comfort me. (Psalm 23:4)

What do you do when you are overwhelmed? Have you ever felt overwhelmed? Kindly share your experiences.

Thank you!

FEAR ITSELF: The Man of Galilee

But go your way, tell his disciples and Peter that he goeth before you into Galilee: there shall ye see him, as he said unto you.
Mark 16:6,7

“…and Peter.”
Those words kept ringing in the Galilean fisherman’s ears all night, filling him with both excitement and dread as his boat bobbed on the waters of the Sea of Tiberias. The salty scent of the sea and the cool breeze had been commonplace to him for much of his life, but after a three-year stint away from the trade, he realized that he’d missed it. The familiarity of the scenery was probably what he needed right about now.
Simon and his brother Andrew had left their fishing business to follow their teacher, Jesus of Nazareth. Oh, but he was so much more. This miracle-working rabbi had changed their lives with his message of bringing God’s kingdom to the world, and showing that it starts in the hearts of men. Simon – or ‘Peter’ as Jesus called him, the unshakeable stone – and his friends were convinced that he was sent of God and was, indeed, the son of God. Those last three years had changed their lives forever. Most especially, those three days at Passover.
Jesus was killed by the people. It was a spectacle that ruined Passover for the whole nation gathered at Jerusalem. His followers had all gone into hiding in the days that followed, afraid they would be next. And then on the third day, Jesus suddenly was not dead anymore. The grave was empty.
He was alive. Again, it filled Simon with both joy and dread.
…and Peter…
The past few days had been filled with some of the most extraordinary events. The women had seen an angel at the tomb, telling them that Jesus had risen. And, sure enough, Jesus appeared to the disciples and spoke with them. He had since been seen at different places, interacting with the people, walking with some as they travelled, coming and going as he pleased, encouraging them. These were truly exciting times to be alive.
But for Simon, as excited as he was, he needed a return to some normalcy. He had decided to go fishing when some of the others asked to come along.
“Ugh, how you folk do this is beyond me,” Thomas said from the stern. He had not been a fisherman before and had come along just to be among his friends.
“For starters, by not making comments like that,” Andrew came back.
“We’ve been here all night!”
John smiled. “We’d make a fisherman of you yet. Like my Pa used to say, no fishin’, no eatin’, no sleepin’. We die here.”
Thomas blinked. “Well, looks like we really don’t have to die anymore, eh?”
James shook his head. “It was just an expression. An anachronism, really—“
“I mean, I wouldn’t have believed it myself, but I put my finger in the nail hole of His hand, man.”
“We were there,” Andrew said over his shoulder.
“We should be out there, showing Him to the world. It’s nothing short of incredible. One moment he’s dead and we think we’re goners, the next he’s right there, standing in front of us.”
John chuckled. “You’ve been going over the same thing all night.”
“I mean, I didn’t believe you guys before. It was going to be the last time I allowed myself to accept the supernatural. But then He called me by name. As if He knew.”
“He always did know,” Nathanael said. “Things men weren’t supposed to know, He knew. Like the time he first met me, he told me where I had been earlier that day …”
And on and on they kept recounting events from their times with Jesus. Words he had spoken before suddenly made more sense in hindsight.
But for Simon, memories were what he was running from. The particular memory of that night. The night he denied knowing Jesus.
He had always known himself to be courageous, strong and always ready to take risks for a worthy cause. Maybe that’s why he had stuck out here all night, to once again prove to himself that he was strong and rugged. Because that one night, in the face of something he should have stood for, he had cowered like a rat.
Jesus had known beforehand too, and warned him.
The night Jesus was arrested Simon was ready to die for him, or to even rescue him. He had even snuck around the high priest’s house during the hearings. But then he was found out.
First it was the servant-girl that recognised him as one of his disciples. Sharply, without giving it a second thought, he retorted, “No way! I’m not!”
It was just strategy, he had thought. Soon enough he would be able to get in and get Jesus out of there.
Then as he warmed himself by the fire, someone asked again. “I am not one His disciples!”
But his accent gave him away. And then he found himself believing what he was trying to say. For that moment, swearing and cursing, he yelled, “I have no idea who you’re talking about! I don’t know this Jesus! I have nothing to do with Him!”
And the cock crowed, just as Jesus had said.
He was Peter, the unshakeable stone, the courageous disciple. The one who had always been with Jesus. The one who had seen Moses and Elijah appear to speak with Jesus. The one they all looked to. But when it really mattered, all of that was gone. For the first time, he saw the weakling that he was. That he had always been. He felt nothing like a Peter anymore. Beneath the unshakeable stone that Jesus had thought he was, he was simply Simon, son of Jonah.
But now Jesus was alive.
The angel had told the women, “Go tell His disciples, and Peter…” Jesus had not rejected him despite his denial. He should feel loved, grateful, thankful … but it made Simon feel small. Weak. Helpless. He did not deserve this.
Jesus had appeared to them, but He’d not mentioned the denials. Would He ever?
Simon turned to his friends and caught John’s stare. The younger man had been there that night, but he had not mentioned that bit to the others. No one knew of his denial of Jesus. They would never believe it.
Just as they never would have believed Judas would betray the Master.
“Got new orders for us, Captain?” John asked.
Simon was about to respond when a voice called from the beach. “Shalom aleichem, young men! Got any fish?”
“This would be embarrassing,” Thomas muttered.
“Not yet!” James called. “But we will! Shalom!”
“Way to keep the faith…”
“How ‘bout you cast your nets to the right of your vessel?”
“Just as well. The spectator thinks he knows how to fish better than us —“
“THOMAS!” they all turned to him, weary of his sarcastic banter.
“What?!”
Simon grunted, pulling up the nets. “We might as well. Don’t make no difference, anywhichways.”
“You know what this reminds me of?” Andrew piped.
“Don’t,” Simon said under his breath.
“We all know this story,” John added. “When you first met Jesus!”
“Don’t need to recount it,” Simon said.
“What’s your deal?” Andrew said. “Why are you so down when we’re all… whoa, didn’t expect that.” He pulled harder at the net. “Guys, are you seeing this?”
Simon was feeling it more than seeing it. The nets were suddenly getting tauter by the second. And heavier. It could be anything … but he knew it couldn’t be just anything except…
“Ah!” Thomas yelped as a fish splashed on his face and down on the deck, to the amusement of the others. And more fish came up. The net was tipping the boat on its side as it filled with more fishes, piling and squirming in.
“Is this really happening?”
“Good Golan Heights, put your backs into it!” Simon yelled. “We’ve hit the mother lode, boys.”
“Oi, again with the anachronisms,” James muttered between pants.
Simon felt a nudge. It was John, looking back to shore. “Isn’t this the kind of thing He’d do?”
Simon followed his gaze. The stranger on the beach was still standing there, a smile barely visible from this distance. Barely familiar, if Simon allowed himself to go that far.
John turned to him. “It’s Him! It’s the Master!”
Simon knew. Like in a dream, he realised he had really always known. He knew with all his heart that—
“Whoa! Hold on!”
But Simon had already grabbed his coat and leaped into the sea. He came up for air. “I’m OK! Tie the nets to the stern and drag it to shore.” And with that he swam, hurrying towards shore. Hurrying towards Jesus.
The Master stood on the shore, grinning. A fire of coals lay by his feet, and sure enough fish was roasting on it. He had bread in his hands. Wait, if He already had fish why was He asking for fish? And He still grinned, a twinkle in His eye.
“Master…” Simon ran into His embrace, still wet and cold.
“It’s about time, My friend.”
The others arrived by the boat, the net dragging behind them. If sight were any judge Peter guessed there were over a hundred fish caught. If he were still in the business this would have been a windfall. Amazingly, the net had not broken. But the Master was here. The disciples hurried over to him.
“You guys have been at sea all night,” He rubbed his palms. “Join me. Let’s have breakfast.”
It was just like old times. After they had laid out the fish to dry they sat with the Master as they caught up on everything that had been going on. Nothing else felt wrong in the world when they were with the Master, even though they could not keep their eyes off the holes in His hands no matter how hard they tried. Even Simon’s fears seemed to hang somewhere in the back of his mind now.
When they were done, Jesus turned to him. “Simon bar Jonah. Do you love me more than these?”
“Without question, Master.” He felt the gazes of the others bore into him. He felt John’s the one who had been there that night. He had once felt like the Master’s most loyal follower. Not anymore. But he wanted Jesus to know that he did love him. “You know that I love you, Master.”
Jesus nodded. “My lambs, I want you to feed them. Feed my lambs.”
So Jesus still trusted him with responsibility, just like always.
But He wasn’t done. “Simon bar Jonah. Do you love me?”
He had not put the comparison with the others this time. Simon’s response was less confident. “Yes, Master. You know that I do. Love you.” He gulped. “You know that I love you, Master.”
Jesus nodded. “Feed my sheep.” He sidled closer. “Simon bar Jonah. Do you love me?”
It was the third time.
Just like the three times he denied Jesus.
He knows! And He’s telling me that He does.
“Lord, you know all things. You know that I really do love you.”
I am sorry, Lord.

“Feed my sheep.”
Peter blinked. Really? Despite all that You know? You trust me to feed your people?
Jesus looked up at the others, bringing them into the conversation. “You see, when you were younger, you could dress up and go and do whatever it is you wanted to. When you get older, others will help you get there. You will be too frail to.” He looked into their eyes. “Sometimes your spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.”
He had said the same in the garden, before his crucifixion. Simon remembered this well, because Jesus had said it to him.
“This is the death that would glorify God. The more you grow in My grace, the more you will see My strength aiding you, empowering you in all you need to do. Your dependence on Me, not by your strength. Not the strength you think you have, but the one I give. The arm of flesh will fail.” He turned to Simon. “It always does. This is the death that glorifies God. The death of self, so that My life may flow through you. Without me, you really can do nothing.”
He placed His hand on his shoulder. “Follow me.”
There was something about knowing that Jesus knew every detail of him – his strengths and flaws – and still accepting him that assured Peter that he was in the right place. In the day of adversity, his strength had failed. But this strength that Jesus was promising, this Holy Spirit that He had been promising to send from the Father would help him to be and do all that he needs to. To stand in the face of adversity, to walk in His Master’s footsteps.
To follow Jesus.
And, yes, now he felt like an unshakeable stone. Unshakeable, because he would be held not by his own power, but by the power of God.
Yes, he knew he really was Peter.

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, which according to his abundant mercy hath begotten us again unto a lively hope by the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead,
To an inheritance incorruptible, and undefiled, and that fadeth not away, reserved in heaven for you,
Who are kept by the power of God through faith unto salvation ready to be revealed in the last time.

Peter in a letter to the exiles of the dispersion, circa A.D. 65-68 over 30 years after the Resurrection

(1 Peter 1:3-5)

—–

To every one of us, our courage can only carry us so far.
And when our strength fails, it makes us feel less than we thought we were. It makes us doubt our strength.
But God sees that. He does not berate us for acting or being weaker than we ought. No, He comes to our very level to show us His strength and enablement, and by His love brings us to His level. As we grow to trust Him more, our confidence in Him is restored, and we grow in Him. Soon we realise that what made us afraid really is nothing in the face of the Lord who is alive in us.
Like David said, “…when my heart is overwhelmed, ‘Lead me to the rock that is higher than I!’ ” (Psalm 61:2)
God’s perfect love casts out all fear (1 John 4:18). His love toward us makes us realise then that He does not come to judge us for our fear. He comes to calm our hearts so we can see Him bigger than our fears, and we can trust in His strength.
And that’s what He delights in. Like a Father, He embraces us and sings in our ears, surrounding us with songs of His deliverance (Psalm 32:7). Telling our hearts of His power to save and deliver. This is how He casts out our fear. Through His words to us.
Therefore, we cannot afford to be distant from God’s Word. It is how He speaks to us, through what He has said as it is written. The Holy Spirit is alive and at work in us to give us understanding and to guide us.

This is the ultimate victory over fear, God’s love for us. He showed this completely in redemption, coming as Man to die and rise for our sake, to make us free from the bonds of sin and death.

Our awareness and acceptance of His love toward us is what frees us from fear.

Everything that could ever defeat you has been defeated by Jesus’ death on the cross. Through His victory over death, He has taken away its sting over you. You need not fear death, or anything else. We are more than conquerors ‘…through Him that loved us!’ (Romans 8:37)
I consistently remind myself of the fact that if God loves me that much, He would not let evil befall me. It is not His nature or desire to. So even if there is an appearance of evil looming, like the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil “For Thou art with me.” (Psalm 23:4)
Your victory over fear is not in your confidence in yourself. Rather, it is in your confidence in God’s love for you and His power at work in you. The more you give yourself to His Word, the more your heart receives His songs of deliverance, and the more your mindset is transformed to see your fears as the shadows they simply are in the face of the One Who is in you. Greater is He that is in you than he that is in the world.
So even if you’ve ever given in to fear, it’s OK. All Jesus asks of you, from wherever you are in your faith walk or lack thereof, is what Jesus has asked of us all. Just as He said to Peter. It’s His Way, the only Way that gives you Life, and Love.
“Follow Me.”

FEAR ITSELF: The Man of Arimathaea

‘After this, Joseph of Arimathaea, being a disciple of Jesus, but secretly, for fear of the Jews, asked Pilate that he might take away the body of Jesus…’

John 19:38

“Prefect of Galilee. Procurator of Judea. It’s a promotion, they said. It will be a breeze, they said. Well, you know what I say? These Jews are impossible! Every month another uprising. But today, today was the worst!” Pontius Pilate trudged down the steps with his servant barely keeping up.
“It’s not the whole council that’s in the court, sire. Just one of them.”
“What more do they want? To get archers to impale the Nazarene while he’s on the cross too? What, a crucifixion’s not enough? Gods, I’m not shouting all of this, am I? Hope he doesn’t get that idea from me. Sounds don’t carry to the court from this stairwell, do they, Gaius?”
“Not that I know of, sire.”
Pilate grunted. “You were never a good liar, Gaius.”
Soldiers stood at attention as Pilate walked into the courtyard. The Jewish council member turned to gaze at him with forlorn eyes, nodding in greeting. “Most excellent Procurator—“
“Yes, yes, we haven’t got all day.”
“I am Joseph, sir. Of Arimathaea. Member of the Sanhedrin.”
“You lot have interrupted my peace twice today over that man. This had better be quick. You’re here to request for the Nazarene’s body.”
“Yes I am, sir.”
“Tell me this, Jacob, tell me this—“
“Joseph.”
“— you Jews are becoming more Roman with your bloodlust. Never more so than this morning. ‘Crucify him,’ the crowd chanted. ‘Crucify him!’ I understand that you hated the man, but what more do you want with his body?”
Joseph had the carriage of a man familiar with the norms of standing and speaking before authority. But his shifting eyes belied his courage.
“Not all of us ‘hate’ him, sir.”
Pilate arched a brow. “You just didn’t agree with his doctrine.”
Joseph winced. “Sir, I want to give the Teacher the good burial he deserves. I own a sepulchre over by Golgotha. A stone’s throw from the crosses. Whatever the cost, I ask for his body.”
Pilate folded his arms. “This is new. Does Caiaphas and his other cronies know about this?”
Joseph nodded slowly. “They will. Eventually.”
Pilate arched his brows. “And you are ready for their vitriol?”
“Better now than never, sir.”
Pilate took a step closer to Joseph. He too had listened to the Nazarene speak. He too had had his own questions about him. Even his wife had been tormented with nightmares on his account. Something about all this did not seem right. “You were on the Council this morning. You sat there as your people called for this man’s death. But you remained silent.”
“Yes, I did. Because I knew there was much to fear from my people. Hate is a terrible thing in the heart of man, sir, especially when he thinks he hates in the name of God.”
“The man claimed to be God, if I recall. A bold claim among your people. Said he had a kingdom not of this world.”
Joseph nodded, the forlorn gaze remaining in his eyes. “Yes. Yes he did.”
“Seemed to think he really was all that, if you can believe it.”
Joseph looked up at him. “I believe he was who he said he was.”
Pilate smirked. “And yet, he dies on a cross like any mortal.”
Joseph stared away. “Yes, he does.”
“Caiaphas wouldn’t take your words lightly. You could lose your place on the Council.”
Joseph shrugged. “I have considered all of this. I know the cost. But to be silent in the face of truth … I can do that no longer. There are worse things than death, sire. This man did not deserve what he got. My position, my standing … the Council, it is nothing in the face of what is true and right and just.”
Everyone who knows the Truth hears my voice, the Nazarene had said juat this morning.
The sound of Marcellus, the centurion, marching into the hall from outside jolted Pilate from his reverie.
Pilate nodded. “Be that as it may, you would have to wait until after he dies. This may take a couple hours, or days—“
“The Nazarene has passed, sir.” Marcellus said, his helmet in the crook of his hands as he saluted. “He’s dead.”
Pilate grunted. “Now that was fortuitous. One could say a deus exit machina, amiright…”
But the horror on the Arimathean’s face silenced him. This man was grieving.
Pilate pursed his lips. “Few things make a man take the risk you have taken. Love, sometimes. Maybe honour. In this particular case, I am not certain they are mutually exclusive.” He nodded. “You will have his body. Go, give him the burial he deserves, Joseph of Arimathaea.”

———-

Joseph of Arimathaea is another figure that pops up on the stage of Scripture in one or two verses, does something, and pops out. But what he did had an effect on history forever. And it wa an act of courage over fear.
Joseph was a wealthy man and a member of the Sanhedrin, the Jewish Council of leaders. He was a secret follower of Jesus, ‘for fear of the Jews’ (John 19:38). He was likely there when Jesus was being tried, but to expose himself as a follower of Jesus would have risked his position and standing in the community, and even his very life.
But later he courageously went to Pilate the governor to request for Jesus’ body. He had a rock-hewn tomb, something only the rich could afford, and he asked to bury Jesus’ body there.
Going to Pilate was an open statement to all, especially to his colleagues who hated Jesus. This same tomb later caused the priests to request for guards to seal it.I do not blame Joseph for hiding the fact that he followed Jesus at the time. But it tells me something about fear.
One thing that fear does is that it makes us silent in the face of what is right. It makes us comfortable with what is wrong as long as we do not take any risks. But this mindset is what allows evil to be perpetrated, especially in these depraved times.
But Joseph took a courageous step and used his tomb.
Apart from the world outside, for ourselves, fear keeps us from reaching out into the much-more that God has prepared for us. If Joseph had done nothing he would most likely have still had a good life. But he did, and he got into something more fulfilling, being a vessel in God’s hands.

To be a part of what God wants to do in us, vessels in His hands, we need to be courageous.
Do you know that Jesus being buried in that kind of tomb was a fulfilment of prophecy, that he would be buried with the rich (Isaiah 53:9) and that his body would not decay (Psalm 16:10). By acting in courage, Joseph became engrafted into a plan God had set in motion long ago.

Courage is not the absence of fear. Rather, it is doing what is right even in the midst of fear.

For a child of God, our courage is rooted in the knowledge and assurance that God is for us and with is and in us, even when we don’t ‘feel’ it, but because God’s Word says so. And that is Truth.It is why when Joshua became the leader of the Israelites to lead them into the Promised Land, God told him over and over to be courageous. He told him to keep on meditating on the Law, the Words of God. “Be strong and courageous. Do not be terrified. Do not be discouraged. For the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.” Joshua 1:9

You know, Joseph of Arimathaea reminds me of another Joseph, the earthly father of Jesus. He too had to make a courageous decision, to stick by Mary when she was pregnant, at a time and in a society that would have shunned them. But he trusted in what God said and courageously stayed with her. This was the kind of man God trusted to father his Son.Isn’t it just like God to place two Josephs, one at the beginning and the other at the end, to take care of His Son’s body?

To conceive, bring forth and nurture God’s counsel in our lives and in our world, we need to be courageous. Fear is just an illusion in the face of what God can do through you. Don’t let it limit you.And when we do what He calls us to, then we find our true and best selves.

Trust in His ability.

Be courageous.

Point to consider: What things do you know you ought to do that fear has fear kept you from doing?

FEAR ITSELF

Ever since the Fall, sin and death have held men and women in bondage, so that life becomes a sprint from birth to death. In the space in between, the enemy has used the fear of death to keep humanity in bondage.
Fear keeps us shortsighted, blinding us to the salvation God has provided.
It keeps is stagnant, afraid to venture out and expand into greater things.
It causes us to base our hopes and lives on variable and fickle things that will crumble.
The fear of failure. Fear of rejection. Fear of loss. All rooted in the fear of death.

But Jesus came to change all that. In His death amd resurrection He defeated sin and death, and came to “…deliver them who through fear of death were all their lifetime subject to bondage.” Hebrews 2:15
He defeated death and turned into into a doorway to the best parts of our eternity, when it is time.
He is ever with us, so we need not fear death.
Yet, in our lives, we encounter fears in one form or the other.

Over the next couple of days I’ll be putting 3 men in the spotlight. These guys were players in the background during the events of Jesus’ death and resurrection. And each of their stories are pictures of some fears we face. We will look at them and see what we can learn from them, and how they overcame fear (for those who did).
The casualty of fear is a price we need not pay. Jesus did, so we can live boldly and free.
I hope you enjoy this series.
Thanks for coming by.

And, here we go…

The Man of Kerioth

The Man of Arimathaea

The Man of Galilee

A Fish ‘Tail’

A Fish Tail

There once was a fish named Mee

Who lived in the Galilee Sea.

With water all around

‘Twas the best place to be found.

All was just as he hoped it to be.

But one day he saw something uncanny

It looked like a shiny little penny

It glistened right there on the seafloor so bare

So inviting for a gastric journey.

So, ignoring the warnings he’d always been told

Like how not all that glitters is supposedly gold

He opened his mouth and, with one big gulp

He swallowed the penny.

That’s what ruined his world.

For from that moment, his troubles got a head start

His stomach hurt so bad, he wished he could just fart

But the penny weighed heavy and couldn’t be purged

No matter how hard he tried, it just wouldn’t budge.

He was stuck in position

With a bad case of indigestion

‘Cause he’d messed up big time. He deserved his lot.

But in a moment’s realisation

He saw there was salvation.

So he looked up and prayed, “Lord, save my halibut.

“I know that I’ve been a total fool.

And though I’m stuck in water, this is just uncool.

I’m sorry I messed up. Please help me for real.

I know you can help me. I trust that you will.”

It wasn’t immediate. But Mee didn’t fear.

For though it took a while, help did appear

In the form of a hand that broke through the water

And grabbed Mee in a fist.

“Oh crap,” he did mutter.

But the hand squeezed Mee and, voila, it was over.

The coin popped out of his mouth. He cried, “Praise Jehovah!”

The hand’s human muttered, “It’s just like Jesus said.

I’m broke, but this coin’ll pay our taxes instead!”

So while Mee was glad to be out of his mess

It amazed him that Jesus could use it to bless.

So he mused, “If God could take

The messes I make

And turn them into something great for His Name’s sake

Then I can trust Him to help me

And, in all my ways, lead me

And make me to be all He wants me to be.

Every step ordered to follow His own

Every day, knowing I’m never alone.

Every way, making the right decisions.

Guided by His hand.

That’s all my submission.”

I don’t know what else happened to the fish called Mee.

Haven’t seen him in a while. I’m just the Narrator.

But now, I figure he’s living a bit differently.

He’s learned a lot. And will learn a lot more.

————

This story was inspired by the account in Matthew 17:24-27. Jesus and his disciples entered a town and were told to pay the temple tax, so He sent Peter to the sea and said, “Take the first fish that comes up and, when you open its mouth you will find there a shekel. Take it and give it to them to pay the temple tax for Me and for yourself.” (verse 27)

Some reaches were made here for comedic and rhythmic purposes, so some artistic license was stretched. For example, halibuts are not native to the Sea of Galilee, and we don’t know for certain that Peter was broke, and most importantly, we don’t know how that shekel got to be in that fish’s mouth in the first place. For all we know, it could have been carrying that coin in its belly since it was a wee little baby fish-thingie!

But the point here is that, when we trust God with our lives, He can make something beautiful out of each and every one of us. Of course, His intention is not for us to make mistakes, as some mistakes can totally change the course our lives. But if we trust Him with our lives, He can make it so that it would look like part of a grand plan for something better when we look back on how He’s led us and guided us in and through it all. A loss may look like a set up for another opportunity. A break up may set one up for a new perspective and/or a new relationship. A delay may set one up to find something missing before.

For some of us, it may not be all that dramatic. All the good that may come out of that mess could just be so that your story would be an encouragement to another person going through what you went through, as they see God’s faithfulness even through the adversity in your story. 2 Corinthians 1:4 says, “[God] comforts us in every trouble, so that we can share the same comfort with others in trouble.” (Contemporary English Version) It could be the coin the person needs to be lifted on the inside. That, in itself, is worth it.

This is God reaching into our darkness with His Light, like Peter’s hand breaking into the water to reach that fish. God led the way in sending Jesus to die and rise for us. Through the ages, through our lives, the effects of the Gospel story will continue to reach into our stories, directing our courses to His worthy destination. Himself.

However He does it, God is at work in each of our stories, working it all out for His glory, to show His love and mercy and grace and AWESOMENESS!

He is out for you too.

Your story is not over.

Audience of One

It’s the best day of my life; it’s the worst day of my life.

I haven’t decided which yet. Its fate would eventually be determined by the seventy-nine year old man sitting beyond this window right now. Sir Hugh Wright.

There he sits, his brows knotted in a frown, his hands resting on his cane, leaning towards to the big screen before him.

It’s always been my dream to meet my favorite author. I grew up loving Wright’s stories, following every new novel he wrote, purchasing each new one as soon as it came out. His sci-fi and space adventures were the in-thing back when we were kids in the Star Wars/Star Trek generation, with an added bit of quirky humor and deep values. I became a filmmaker so that I could make stories like his. Forty years of my life have been invested in this journey, working for the big studios just to get a tiny place on previous space operas like this one. Marvel’s Guardians of the Galaxy, Star Wars: The Force Awakens, Akpos in Space…

That last one, a comedic piece about an African ‘Mr. Bean-type’ character on a space adventure, had been a financial risk, but it had surprisingly done well at the box office, even garnering a Golden Globe nomination for Best Independent Picture. I had loved the script as soon as I read it, and had taken it to a couple of studios, but I was initially turned down. Some of my filmmaking friends and I put some money together to make this into the best of movies possible. My work on that last one finally gave me a voice in Hollywood, and it was then I heard about the studio that had purchased the rights to Wright’s novels.

Did I submit a script? You bet I did! My tenth submission was accepted, after some modifications by the studio. Some changes to the setting were necessary, especially in adapting a novel from the ‘70s for a 21^st century audience.

It was a dream come true. The first of the best-selling Space Junkies series was finally headed for the big screen. And I would be producing it. No one could understand all that I was feeling in those moments. From the casting, through preproduction, filming, and post-production, my dream was taking shape.

It has all been headed toward this very moment, as Wright himself accepted our invitation for a special screening of the movie. There he is now, watching it alone. Per his preferences, the room is dark and the only lighting comes from off the screen. He’s got a glass of water beside him, and he just sits there with his fingers crossed under his chin. The movie has been over for minutes now, but he just sits there staring at the rolling credits.

I wonder what must be going through his mind.

What does he think about the changes we made?

Oh, man … he hates it. He really hates it.

He has not spoken to us in the last two hours. His eyes are fixed on the screen.

Behind me, the door opens. It’s Ryan, my intern. “You OK, Boss?”

I rub my eyes. “Well … you know how it is … Kid.” Actually, he doesn’t, but what can I say? Ryan is as close to me as any friend I’ve ever had, despite the generational gap between us. He never quits making me feel my age, and I never stop making him feel younger than his.

He pulls up a chair and seats beside me. “So, this must be like Christmas for you. You taken a selfie with him yet?”

I chuckle. “You kids and your selfies. I’ll never get what freaks you out about those.”

“Selfies are cool.”

“Yeah, and they’ll die a natural death with time, just like bell-bottoms, muttonchops and disco.”

“C’mon, think of the fans. You can even tweet it, they’ll love it. Lets ‘em know you got the author’s approval. They’ll accept the changes we made in the story better. Least, it’s not as if you pulled a Tauriel or anything.”

I stare out at the man. “Right now, the only approval I care for is the approval of that man over there.”

Ryan arcs a brow. “What’s he still doing in there? The movie’s long been over.”

“I knew he’d hate it.”

Ryan stares at me. “Dude, what’s your deal? You’re a star! Kids come to Comic-Con every year just to get your autograph. Those Akpos guys are still grateful ‘cause you brought their idea to the big-screen. And you’re here, fidgeting, expecting this guy to trash your work?”

I shake my head. “It’s different. I never gave a hoot what anyone cared about my work before. Now, it’s different. You won’t get it.”

I can see him smile in my peripheral vision. He pats my lap. “Hey, you’ll be fine. You put your best foot out there with this. He’s gotta appreciate that.”

“I hope so, kid.”

“I know so.” Ryan pats my shoulder and stares out at Wright past the window. “Sir Hugh Wright. Hey, If I get to meet him, I’d go, ‘Sir Hugh Wright, you write … right?’“

Ryan is not as funny as he thinks he is. “What he’d probably say to that is—“

“Samuel,” a gravelly voice comes in over the speakers. “Can I have a moment with you, please?”

It takes me a moment to gather my thoughts, savouring that old British accent. Hugh Wright has just called my name! “Ah, yes. Yes, of course. I’ll be there in a moment … Sir.”

Ryan gives me a fistbump. “Break a leg. Hey, Francis called. He’s waiting out back to take you both to lunch once you’re done. You tell him that when you get in there.”

“And you pick now to tell me that?” I put on my jacket and adjust my cufflinks. “How do I look?”

“Dude, I’m a guy! What, you expect me to say you look hot?”

I just stare at him. “You’re fired.”

“Yeah, like I haven’t heard that a billion times already.” I keep a straight face as I open the door to the screening room. “Wait, you were joking, right? Sir?”

It’s like I’ve entered into another world in the second it takes me to enter and shut the door. The darkness reverberates with a still buzz that fills my ears. The stillness is eerie and foreboding, with the man still seated ahead, facing the screen.

He hates it, man.

With quivering steps, I approach his seat, never taking my eyes off the bald spot on his head. Now I get to speak with him. Not through a studio rep or anything, but to Hugh Wright himself!

He turns to stare at me, his eyes hidden in the shadow of his brows. “Please, take a seat.” There is only one couch and he is seated on one end. He expects me to sit beside him.

I am Frodo going to meet Gandalf. I am a Pevensie walking up to Aslan. I take a seat beside him.

I should ask him what he thinks. I should ask him if he’s comfortable. I should take control of the conversation. But when I open my mouth to speak, nothing comes out.

Proposing to my wife had not been this difficult.

He inhales loudly. “I take it you wrote the script?”

Does he expect me to respond? Oh, he does! “Yes. Yes I did, sir. Well, not really. Not the final product. It was actually a group effort. I mean, I laid the groundwork, and a couple of other screenwriters pitched in, the studio made some modifications—“

“But you wrote it?” Staring into those ancient eyeballs, I can be nothing but honest.

I nod.

He turns back to the screen for a second. And another second. The seconds that follow are driving me nuts.

He takes off his glasses, wiping his eyes. When he turns to me I finally see that they are moist. “Samuel … there is something I need to tell you.”

No conversation that starts that way could possibly end well.

“Have you ever wondered why it took decades before I finally sold the motion picture rights to my books?”

A thousand responses whizz by in my mind. Because of budgetary constraints? Insufficient CGI? Bizarre hairstyles? But he does not let me respond before he continues. I actually prefer it that way.

“When I started writing, all those years ago, I took my work from a place deep inside. My experiences, my childhood, my agonies, the questions I grew up with, and the future that I desired. My faith. My heart. There was just too much heart in there. They were all like a part of me. I hold my stories in such high esteem, like my own children.” He pauses. “Not that I love them more than my real children. Far from it. Though, on occasion, I did forget my late wife’s birthday.”

I chuckle at his attempt at … self-deprecating British humour? Is that what it’s called?

“I did not want that to be lost—the heart in the story, I mean. I know the procedures that occur in the journey from book to screen … and I just could not afford to let it … go. Apparently, not all books were meant for the cinematic world. I’m sure you would agree.”

I try to read between the lines. He is telling me that this sucked big time, isn’t he?

He expects an answer. “I … agree.”

“I could not afford to let my stories lose that heart in the cutting room. It would be tantamount to suicide.” He turns to the screen. “And I was right to fear.”

Adrenaline runs down my spine. I feel as if I’ve been doused with ice cold water. I have failed…

“Thank you for not letting that happen, Samuel.”

I’m confused. “Sir?”

“Past the special effects and necessary changes to the subject, I could see the hand of someone fighting, trying to save the elements of what made my story … my story.” He smiles, and no smile has ever been so reassuring. “That was you, wasn’t it? You knew what was important and you made sure it was apparent in the picture. And for this I am very grateful.”

I’ll be honest: I was not expecting this. Not at all. I nod, smiling. “We loved your story, sir. It had to be told.”

“You just had to comment and ruin the moment, didn’t you?”

“What? I’m so sorry, I—“

He laughs, patting my back. “You’re a good lad, Samuel.” I haven’t been called ‘lad’ in decades. “What do you say we go get that lunch we were promised?”

“I was just about to tell you, the driver’s here. He’s ready for us. Whenever you’re ready, that is. And it appears you are.”

“Come,” he stands, leaning on his cane. “I feel we’ll have much to discuss, Samuel. Much indeed.”

But, in this moment, I feel on top of the world. It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks. He thinks it is awesome, and that’s what matters to me.

I could leap through the roof.

As soon as I open the door, I see that Ryan has been listening. He pretends to have been working on something over the phone. He stands awkwardly. “I … I wasn’t listening,” he says. “Scout’s honour.”

I’m not sure if I should be embarrassed or not.

But Wright saves the moment again. “You never were a boy scout, were you?”

Six months later…

“Of course, the movie was a total failure,” I say as I turn to Lisa. She lies beside me, staring at me with those magical eyes. “The studio called it a ‘hit-and-miss’ and refused to make sequels. My generation had mostly moved on from the series, and it just didn’t resonate with the new generation. You know how it went. But all that didn’t matter to me. Once Wright loved my take on his work, it was all that mattered to me.” I stare up at the ceiling. “I just wish the whole world saw it that way.”

“No, you don’t. You know that’s never going to happen.” That’s my Lisa. Always blunt to a fault. An adorable fault.

“I guess you’re right. But it would be nice if everyone saw it that way.”

“So he said he liked it all?”

“No, he said all that just to be nice. Over lunch he explained the changes he didn’t enjoy. But, in his own words, it’s not as if he was the one acting it out onscreen. Changes were bound to be a problem.”

For a moment all is quiet. I’m thankful she takes the time to listen to a story she knows already. Perhaps I just needed to talk about it again, because no matter how much I say about how it doesn’t matter, the truth is that it really does matter to me. I still feel hurt that the movie did not perform well out there. It was just one major blip in my career that was better left forgotten. Not to mention all that time and money wasted that was wasted.

“You know what this all makes me think of, though?”

I turn to her. “Hm?”

She inhales and stares at the ceiling as well. “It’s just like how the rest of our lives are. Everyone’s going to have their own opinion of what we do and how we do it. But they didn’t write the scripts we live by. God did. It’s His opinion that counts.”

I smirk at her metaphor. “God wrote our scripts?”

“Uh-huh. He made us, didn’t He? He knows how we should live. Just like Wright knew how the story should be.”

“Hm…”

“The Scriptures are like … well, God’s script for us. A guide to live by. We’re all actors on this stage, but there’s a standard. God’s script.”

“So we’re like movies acting out this script. But not so well, apparently…” I smile as the picture forms in my mind. “You know you’re quite right. You’re very right. I never saw it that way before.”

“Quite smart, aren’t I?”

“No, you’re Lisa.”

“What?!”

“And you know the best part? He doesn’t leave us to try to please Him on our own, or to try to figure out how to act His script well enough. He’s right here with us, in us through His Holy Spirit, helping us live lives that are pleasing to Him. Through Jesus, He’s given us a heart that wants to please Him, and that can actually please Him.”

“So when we do our best, and no one else is pleased…”

“It doesn’t matter, as long as God is pleased. That’s what really matters.”

“Exactly.”

I nod, knowing she really understands how I feel as she holds my hand. “Thanks, Lisa. I’ll never forget. You are smart.”

“I thought I was ‘Lisa’.”

“You’re smart, and you’re Lisa. In fact, you’re the smartest wife I’ve ever had.”

“Right. I’m the only wife you’ve ever had.”

“I know.”

“I should write a book.”

I laugh. “I’d read it.”

“Would you make it into a movie?”

“Well … it depends. Let’s finish this next project with PureFlix, and we’ll see how it goes…”

END

Thanks for reading. Before you go, I’d like to share the lyrics of one of my favorite songs. Its themes are similar to those of the story above.

OPEN BOOK

In the evening, when I start to pray

I think about this day

Another page is turned forever

Another yesterday.

And as the story of my life unfolds

I know You’ve read it all.

Another line to be continued

Will I stand or fall?

Open Book, to You I am an Open Book

You know every page by heart

From the ending to the start.

Open Book, my life is like an open book

As I read between the lines

It’s Your Love that truly binds this Open Book

When the cover of this book is closed

The final chapter read

I hope You find it worth the reading

I hope ‘well done’ is said

Open Book, to You I am an Open Book

You know every page by heart

From the ending to the start.

Open Book, my life is like an open book

As I read between the lines

It’s Your Love that truly binds this Open Book

Cover to cover, Lord, You know me

And what I want to be.

As You read the pages of my life

Please tell me what You see.

(By Petra; Album: On Fire! [1988]; Words and Music by Bob Hartman)