hope

COFFEE WITH JESUS – With the lowly and contrite

Isaiah 57:15

For thus says the One who is high and lifted up, who inhabits eternity, whose name is Holy: “I dwell in the high and holy place, and also with him who is of a contrite and lowly spirit, to revive the spirit of the lowly, and to revive the heart of the contrite.

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Nigerian teen who lived in a plastic bowl dies on Christmas day.

(C) naij.com

(C) naij.com

Rahma Haruna, 19, who spent her entire life is a plastic bowl has died. The teen passed away last Sunday, December 25, 2016, Christmas evening, following a brief illness.

“Born in Lahadin Makole village in Kano, when Rahma was six months, her arms and legs stopped developing”, LIB reports.

“From six months when she learnt how to sit that was when it began. She didn’t learn how to crawl.” her mother Fadi said.

“She started with a fever and that was it. Then stomach pains. Then her body parts like hands and legs. She cannot use any if the ache strikes.”

Rahma’s tale came to the spotlight earlier this year after freelance photojournalist Sani Maikatanga shared pics of the physically challenged teen. In the pic, she was carried in a bowl by her 10-year old brother, Fahad. Reports say Fahad would usually take Rahma into Kano each day to beg for alms.

(c) Maikatanga

(c) Maikatanga

Her story pulled sympathy from many persons on Kano, who supported in cash and kind. One of them, Ibrahim Jirgi, a journalist  offered the family a wheelchair for Rahma.

Despite her physical challenge,  Rahma was optimistic and viewed life positively. Her greatest dream was to open up a supermarket of her own, according to reports. Unfortunately, that dream was cut short following her demise on  Christmas day.rahma-haruna

May her soul rest in PEACE.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THE END OF A GENTLE SOUL

He was born a gentle soul, with a gentle heart and a gentle face. What a beauty to behold. His smile enough to melt the ice off a frozen life. On that very fateful and faithless day, when the doom of manhood was revealed, and the fella in gusto and high spirits, desirous to perpetrate his usual air of highness and attain satisfaction, barged into the room. She had been accepting this all the while, hopeful the much awaited golden streak would one day burst out of the gray. But as usual, this only loomed and loomed in the corridor, and no one dared fish it out.

As he thrust his will of power, the gentle soul’s seed was sown. The harsher the thrust, it seemed to be the gentler the soul. As way leads to way, the gentlest mix was made and the gentle soul breathed.

Seasons passed and life began to flow. That ever gentle face did not deter her from thrusting gentleness into the ungentle home of refuse. Surrounded by putrefying carcasses, unwanted junk from the meaningless and futile stub that inhabits man, the ever horrid and torrid haven that seemed to lay bare the simple existence of this gentle soul.

babyThere the bitches, mutts or mongrels, birds and flies and bugs were its lone acquaintances. And did I forget the meanest ones of the earth, the worms and maggots. Yet through it all the gentle soul did not lose its gentleness. Or perhaps it did, but itself remained unaware. The gentle seeds within were oozing out of the gentle souls.

In the midst of this imbroglio the gentle embryo’s beam seemed to pull in a hub of dangerous faces; faces like those of she who confided it to such rootage; faces like those of he who sowed the seed in an ignoble manner; faces like those of he who glided away as the dust does at the coming of the rain; faces like those of she who chooses the path of a seeming “no choice” in impishness and utter disregard for the gentle soul – that gentle seed that was in her sown, and in her borne, and from her born.

Yet the sunshine in the grey, that streaked lasted but for a while. It seemed to have garnered all the gloom from the faces who looked down on it; faces of him, faces of her. How to live life as refuse, withdrawn from refuse, with none to comrade with. The scorn of peers and society, the scorn of self. A constant reminder the gentle soul knew no gentility from inception right unto this time of deception.

Through time all, the homes reject; the confines of a bastardized society which lives no space for “bastards”. Through the search for belonging, the street is a gentler solace; with arms as wide open, gentle and loving, as that of she who bore the gentle soul. Yet she was far away, and not a glimpse of her throughout the all. What could have been through her mind, and still be, that she wasn’t moved by the gentleness of the gentle soul’s gentle face.

Refuse from self, from her, from him, from home, from life. In the cool and calm embrace of Mother Street, the gentle soul finds a home. Why not enjoy the freedom to be free? Why not celebrate the company of those who value? Why not show some strength from one once considered weak, vulnerable, defenseless, refuse? Why not be all that you can be?

jailExcept that one’s freedom often ends where another’s starts; even for the gentlest of souls. So the gentle soul, filled with ignoble parts of life, steps on the toes of freedom and falls off the cliff of life. Not so for all though, but this gentle soul found no way back up its toes. Way past for a reboot in this physical, but perhaps in the one beyond.

Yet he who gave the seed, and she who grew it, live off a side of earth not registered in the gentle soul’s annals.

 

To all those who have at any point in time cast out a gentle soul, either under full cognizance or impelled by supposed persons or circumstances; to all those who have at any point in time cast ignoble seeds of gentle souls, either under full cognizance or else and spurred someone to cast out a gentle soul, the gentle hands of the Gentlest heart is still open for repentant hearts.

Matthew 18 v 6

But whoso shall offend/cause to stumble one of these little ones which believe in me, it were better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and that he were drowned in the depth of the sea. (King James Bible)

If we repent, and confess our sins, God Almighty is faithful and just to forgive and cleanse us from all unrighteousness. (1 John 1:9).

God bless y’all.

THE EMBER DUST

The ember dust that settles on our ever grumbling lives;

It’s pure, it’s fine, it’s sweet and sound, it makes you come alive!

It is upon no plane or hill, but lies within our being;

From He who knows the end from now, the One; the all-seeing!

 

The ember dust, the one made sound, the firstborn of the dust;

It lived and toiled, went back to dust, bust simply could not rust!

It is within no gold nor dough, but in the human hive;

From when we know we now believe, we make her glow alive!

 

ember 2The ember dust, the glowing alp that knows our Zee from Ey!

It is the plane that plains our pains, it knows the squirmy bay!

It stretches up the high and low, the glow kicks out the grey!

From when it glows, it blows and grows, it glows our everyday!

 

 

THE EMPTY CHAIR

A WORD FOR THE SEASON

Mind's Seat

In all of our preparations for Christmas let us reserve a chair or two for Christmas for those souls whom society often rejects. You don’t have to look hard to find these hurting souls. They are all around you. When you take the time to look into their eyes, you can see pain and sorrow etched on their faces.

Their need knows no season. Loneliness , hunger, poverty and despair don’t just happen at Christmas. Love is needed in every life 365 days a year.

There is a gift all of us can give that is far more enduring and more valuable than the latest Ipad, Smart Phone or Ipod. It doesn’t require special gift wrap. It will never need to be returned because it isn’t working. You don’t even have to put this gift on a lay away plan.  It is rare that this gift will be returned to…

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NO HARM

It seems the world is going gray, I cannot tell a lie

And if it is, I wish and pray that I and Mine don’t die.

Cuz everyday we sit and think and end up with a cry,

For every water trough we filled just ended up a-dry.

 

He smiled and held my hand and said “My child don’t give a damn

I make the grass to grow and sure I own your every farm.

The water trough you think is dry is only but a balm,

Fear not, He said, I am for you, and none would do you harm“.