I’ve been wondering why in the world we meet someone one way, declare we love them that way and thereafter spend all our time trying to turn them into something… someone else?
No one is perfect… except God.
You are not. I am not. None of us are… so why do you want to recreate a perfect me? Just let me be Me.
I really need to be Me.
“I JUST CAN’T BELIEVE you are bullying me into going with you.” Elizabeth grumbled behind Tonye, making faces at his back as they marched into the living room.
He’d won the Scrabble game of course and was now using boss-card to make her go with him to Calel Graphics and Print Limited, the mischief-making devil.
“I’m not bullying you, Eliza. I just gave you an order… like a boss.”
Tonye laughed at her narrowed glare.
“Besides you should think of it as your charitable contribution to this year’s Youth Congress.”
“I’m making a monetary charitable contribution already.” She snapped laying down her handbag on the dining table to centre her skirt.
“And now you get to make a much more personal contribution – the sacrifice of your time and your person. Think how proud God will be?” He gave her a cheerful wink and strolled over to sink into the leather sofa.
What you achieve through the journey of life
is not as important as who you become.
Moral — who you are is more important than what you are.
When you pray, believe.
(Mark 11:24 KJV).
Moral — faith is our number one catalyst.
CALEB WAS ADJUSTING the collar of his shell-pink stripped long-sleeved shirt when the sharp, decisive knock came at the door. The door screeched open before he could say ‘come in’… he wasn’t going to either, Rukky usually forgot the knock-and-wait-to-be-invited-in rule.
He turned from the full-length dresser mirror. It had been Elo’s favourite furniture in their bedroom. He quickly nudged the thought aside and looked down at the small figure in front of him with squinted eyes and pursed lips.
“Hmm, your shirt is sneaking out of your shorts.” He observed with an arched brow at the elastic side of the shorts were the hem of his check-shirt was overlapping. “Want me to help you tuck it in or can you do the honours yourself?”
Rukky giggled shaking his head. “I can do it myself. I’m a big boy now.” He quickly laid the paper he had in hand on the bed and tucked his shirt in properly.
“So you are.” Caleb agreed eyeing the paper. It was the drawing Stella had given him just last night. It was a picture of a not-so-badly-drawn lady in a sky-blue pencil-coloured choir robe. “Want to give me your drawing?” He winked.
Do not wait to strike till the iron is hot;
make it hot by striking.
(William B. Sprague).
Moral — never wait for the situation to become right… make the situation right for yourself.
THEY WERE ALL inside the sun-lit medium-sized living room. Caleb was sitting cross-legged on the chocolate-brown leather sofa pretending to watch the football match playing on the screen while in fact he was listening to the kids as they chattered. Of course, for the last ten minutes Rukky has been singing rhyme after rhyme while Stella simply had her head bent over her drawing book on top the dark-oak centre table, most likely recreating some furniture or the other in the picture-filled booklet.
“That’s a new one.” He observed as Rukky switched to another rhyme.
Rukky swung his head up from the imaginary words he’d been writing on the Persian rug. “Yes, it is. Miss Elizabeth taught us yesterday. Should I sing it for you?” He rolled up to his knees and focused his toothy-smiling face on him.
Caleb chuckled. “I thought you were already doing that?” At his childlike roll of the eye, he laughed. “Okay, please do.”
Rukky bobbed his head excitedly, getting set to demonstrate as he sang. “Okay, it’s like this –