Lazy- A*s Writer
I’m a lazy-a*s writer
The laziest there is
I revel in my laziness
Aware of the writer’s code that refutes the use of the same words in succession
Like – lazy
But I don’t care
I’m too lazy to care
However, this only concerns writing
I’m an excellent sage
Some have even compared me to Ghandi
Thinking about it now, I sense it was all fallacy
And a bid to make me pick my pen again
And inspire people
And inspire I did
But for a short while
Until laziness struck. Again
And I dropped the pen for the umpteenth time
The world clamours for hard-working fellows
Work-crazy, rest-loathing, gruesome fellows
It also embraces abortion
Supports wars
And maims kids in their classrooms
Safe to say the world is psycho
So, I’ll ditch it’s expectations
And sulk on my couch further
Because I’m lazy
I’m lazy enough to watch TV all night
And see lifeless children litter the streets of Syria
Lazy enough to see hungry refugees lay half-dead on train tracks in Austria
Lazy enough to see that young girl across the street struggle to support the weight of the bulge in her tummy
Whilst the culprit; ‘Uncle’ saunters around town without remorse
And yet, at the corner of my eye, I watch the hard working folks scamper around town
Caught in the hustle and bustle of life
Oblivious of the pain
Ignorant of the chaos
They say life is a race
And everyone is running to win
Lazy me is confused
Win what?
But I’ve never quite figured it out
Perhaps because I’m too lazy to think it through
Seeing as I’ve digressed into territories I didn’t plan for
I think I’ll retreat a bit
And take back a few of my words
Perhaps I’ve exaggerated a bit
In my bid to kick start my almost dormant writing career
Yes, I’m a lazy writer
But no, I’m not a lazy person
But that’s what the world sees me as
The one that has so much time to be bothered about other’s worries
I’m a compassionate being
Sometimes to a fault
And although I’ll like to fly a plane and dump food all over Sudan
Or breeze into the minds of the soldiers in the middle east and whisper peace into their souls
I can’t do any of that
I can’t climb on a podium like Martin Luther King Jr and inspire
Or take hunger strikes like Ghandi
Hence, I can’t but feel helpless
And watch as the world goes knee deep in pain and suffering
So I’ll hold up my pen
And hide miles away from enemy lines
Furiously scribbling in my notepad words and more words
Words that I hope can make a greater impact than they would
For this reason, I consider myself lazy
A ‘lazy-a*s’ writer
Mike Dammy
Bloody Thursday
It was Thursday.
The day before the day before the day before her birthday.
That was exactly how she penned it down in her journal earlier today. When she was much calmer and the main vehicular route across her apartment wasn’t so vibrant.
The last rays of sunlight had disappeared along the horizon. Dusk always set in early in these parts. The wealthy neighborhood in Opebi, Ikeja. Horns from impatient car drivers filled the air as darkness descended fast upon Lagos like some predestined apocalypse. Ruth pulled her hair over her right ear and turned away from the hullabaloo that was the main route in and out of Opebi. The street a mere meters away was quickly lit by orange tinted streetlights in the advent of the sun-less sky. Residents claimed the streetlights weren’t enough protection but they hadn’t suffered a robbery in seven years and they were fairly calm as regards their security. Perhaps the streetlights did work. Ruth strode into her apartment and collapsed on a one-seater. The leathery couch rubbed against her back and she relished the rubbery feeling on her skin.
Sunday had better come soon.
She sat there, lost in the ecstasy a mere ten minutes when the lock in the door snapped.
Her heart jerked as the door handle turned. Knowing her lock, she knew it required one more turn of the key and opening the bolt on the inside before the door opened and raced for the kitchen as the door refused to bulge. Her footsteps were loud and it seemed to have alerted the intruder as the door shook vehemently. A loud bang ensued and Ruth knew it was a break-in. She dived in behind a cabinet in the kitchen, snatched the butcher’s knife she had dropped there and scampered towards her bedroom. The bangs on the door increased as she ran past the door again and in that brief moment, she mouthed a prayer. To a God she hadn’t conversed with in ages but it didn’t matter now. Now would be a perfect time for Him to display that unending love he so professed she thought as she entered her room and locked the door behind her.
Moments passed and she heard a loud crash as the front door came down. Her mouth threatened to let out a sob but she clasped her hand over it. Her mind rummaged among other things why she was the recipient of a robbery. Armed robbery most likely. She considered the idea of it being an assassination but quickly discarded it. She was worth nothing, no one in his right senses would pay to kill her. So robbery it is. Why her? Why not the Kamsons or the Olajides; her neighbors. They both had flat screen TVs and state of the art furniture. Why pick the only budget-crazy seamstress on the street? Except it wasn’t a robbery. What was it? Why was she the target? Her mind raced back and forth without any real breakthrough. A crashing sound from the living room brought her back to earth and she focused on her current plight.
Armed with the butcher knife, she poised right beside the door ready to swing it at anyone that came through that door. Bright light flashed in through the blinds from her neighbor’s security light and she cussed as it obscured her vision.
She cussed because she wanted to.
She cussed because her neighbors would sleep soundly tonight and she would either be robbed or worse; dead.
All cos of the mad man in her house.
She could hear him in the living room. Her floor tiles reacted brashly to heels and his were pretty loud for her to decipher amidst the voices in her head and her now thundering heartbeats. The footsteps drew closer and stopped right outside the door of her bedroom. She felt his hand wrap round the door knob and anticipated his entry. Terror flared in her mind but she remained quiet amidst her fear.
The first jab at the door came sooner than she expected and she let out a gasp. At that moment, she regretted it as she had given away her location and the intruder duly pummeled the door as the wooden frame threatened to come down. She stepped away from the door gently, her weapon in hand and braced herself.
One. Two. Three… She counted to steady her breathing.
You got this Oriame. She recounted to herself. Only referring to herself in her native name when she was agitated.
Seven. Eight. Ni… Crash!
The door came down and a masked man headed straight for her. He was fast… very fast, but not fast enough. He shrieked in pain as blood splattered across the pale white walls of the bedroom. The intruder held a hand to his face as he went down on both knees, his black gloves drenched with his own blood. Ruth garnered herself further and stood over him.
“Next time, you rob some rich bastards and not the poor bitch that lives next door.” She held up the butcher’s knife with both hands and brought it down with all the strength she could muster. At the third slash, his head came off his neck and rolled to the corner of the room. She heaved a sigh of relief and collapsed into an ottoman beside the queen bed.
* * *
The buzzing sound of a mosquito in her left ear jerked her back to reality and she winced in pain. Her head was banging like it had been hit with something heavy. Something hard.
She tried to make sense of the last few hours and closed her eyes to shut out the headache. It all came back to her in a rush. The masked man. The failed robbery or assassination. The butcher’s knife. The blood. His decapitated head.
The memories engulfed her and she gasped for air. She tried to get up but before her back cleared the chair, her body was dragged back. Chains trudged back to the ground where they had been lying and the reality of her predicament dawned on her. This wasn’t her bedroom. She opened her eyes and surveyed her surroundings. She was bound hands and feet to a wooden chair with large chains in a dark room…
Mike Dammy
He Found Him
Inspired by Casting Crown’s ‘The Altar and the Door’
——
Word out
I am reckless
I’ve been found time and again but yet I fail
Lord this time…
I’ll make it right
Here at the altar I’ll lay my life
And this time I’ll stick through
Through thick and thin
In bliss and travails
I stood solemn and battered
My voice cracked under the pressures of the world
Why won’t I falter?
When the king of kings had no hold on me
Why won’t I fail?
When the one that holds the keys to success knew me not
How do I live in affluence?
When the God of riches knew my voice naught
I tried hard
Yea, I tried so hard
I searched high and low
But obviously not high enough
I tried before singlehandedly
Figured the world could be conquered by me
But alas I stand at the altar now
Devoid of a smile or a tiny grin
My body aches under its own weight
My expression screams loneliness
My soul creeps frail in the darkness
Searching for light
Wondering where the abode of the Messiah lay
I had lived a dunce
Believing in my might and power
Strong headed to the words of the Holy spirit
Oblivious of his kind actions
And living in the false glare of the world’s glamour
Fame caught my eyes
Wealth held me by my groins…
Yet He laboured
Still He called out
Time after time he protected me
Watched me while I lay asleep in the dark
Now I’m back to you Lord
I’ve heard your call
And I’ll saunter back like the prodigal son that I am
Accept me father
Lord this time
I’ll make it right
Here at this altar I’ll lay my life
I’ll cry this time and I’ll mean it
I’ll confess and I’ll be assured of my words
And I’ll stay strong
Venture from the grace laden altar to the door confident
Strong
A man blessed by the only God
A king bestowed by the one true King
A friend to the best friend there is
—-
*It’s a true life story
Mike Dammy
I’ll take it back
Sometimes we are stuck in that valley; dead center in the midst of towering mountains, lost, cold and devoid of inspiration. Every man has this moment of tribulation where it seems like his peril is just a step away.
I know I’m pretty much exaggerating my situation but yes, I was stuck and devoid of inspiration.
Until someone agreed to share her write ups with me and like a light bulb, a pretty slow one.. Still took me a while before I picked up my pen but she did inspire me even though I never quite appreciated her for it.
So miss Mimi Oriame, thank you for your indirect surge of inspiration.
Do have a Happy Birthday and I pray you have a super-awesome day inspiring tons of people like you did me. To think it all started with me meeting you cos I was hyper as a result of my injections. Lol. 🙂
Congrats again and Have a wonderful day..!
P.s.. I know I suck at poetry but thats the only genre I’ve been able to write anything on for now. I won’t say I dedicate it to you but you sure helped me in picking my pen again. Thanks.
—–
I get blinded by very little
I could boast of that
But so much has changed of late
The tingling has ceased
The sparks that littered the air non-existent
Her smiles don’t keep me in awe anymore
And slowly, a monster beckons in me
Threatening to engulf what makes me
What’s left of me
* * *
Things were awesome yesterday
Now life runs in a cycle of grey
As the colors fade out of my view
Leaving me to this mist of nothingness
The gust strikes my heart time and time again
Yet, I feel no chill
But emptiness
A void of blankness
I miss what makes me
I miss the warmth that accompanies her stares
The glee in her eyes when they look into mine
The shivers in my legs when I feel her touch
* * *
I fear I’m broken
Loneliness continues to bite at my insides
Tearing me up bit by bit
And I cannot but hope for a remedy
A miracle
Magic
Anything
Else I’ll reside in this abyss that is loneliness
Devoid of colors and stars
Missing her warming touch and tender kisses
The world I’ve grown to love
I miss it all.
I want it all back.
Mike Dammy
I’m still a learner shey?
Apathy
It’s strange
This is directed at you
But I rather you never get to see it
It’s true I get your messages
I also see your DMs pop up on my screen
But like you probably think
I really am avoiding you.
Just like the boogeyman the kids flee from
I’ve taught myself to stay away
Even when I hope to hear your laughter
I can’t help but ignore the urges
Your smile does give me shivers
But its intention scares the shit outta me
I fear to love you in return
I fear to trust you
Cos the world tells me I shouldn’t
Time and time again, you profess your admiration
Acknowledge your liking for me
Still, I cower in fear of you
* * *
The world thinks you’re crazy
It also calls you mad
Community shivers in fear at the announcement of your arrival
Woe to every girl out there, the alarms ring
If truly you love your man, cling unto him
For the one is here
The wh*re has surfaced
Every man to his woman and vice versa
How, do tell me, do I live with that?
How does my frail heart cope with such words?
Truly, you’re beautiful
But the world sees it naught
Yes, you’re amazing
But the world thinks otherwise
* * *
So, I’ll continue to boast of my uniqueness
Rant about my allegiance to solitude
And sing of my affair with purdah
The world never gets to me I’ll say
But this time, it has
Hence, I’ll rather live a quiet life… yes, an unadventurous one
Than be your Romeo and have series of odes written to my name
The one that loved the condemned
And leapt to his doom
* * *
So no, beloved
I’m not around
I’m very busy
And it’ll be that way
Till you fall for someone else
And my name dissipates from your lips
And my face from your mind
Mike Dammy
@damstylee
A little too late
Their lips parted as they released themselves from the embrace and returned to their sides on the queen size bed. Another romantic episode and though there hadn’t been any sex as it was the norm, he was still satisfied and she – well, she seemed fine with it.
They kept quiet in the eerie room and listened to their slightly laborious breathing whilst staring at the POP ceiling. It couldn’t get better than this he thought.
“Daniel…” Her voice shattered the silence that once purified the room.
“Yeah?” He replied mid-breath.
“Is it all about this?”
“All about what?” He hoped their reduced voice tones would hide the feigned ignorance in his question.
“Is this all we are – sex idols?”
“No, no… of course not Meg. We are definitely not sex idols. Though we have pretty awesome sex-like activities.” He chuckled and started to laugh but stopped when she remained quiet.
Troubled, he got off his back and balanced himself on an elbow. His eyes found hers easily in the darkness; a thick bright halo bordered by blackness on both sides.
“Meg, I’m serious.” He placed a hand on her shoulder and smiled when she didn’t withdraw it.
“I love you, I really do…” He heard the panic in his voice and hoped it was nothing.
“Okay.” She said finally and pecked him full on the lips. He smiled again and fell back on his back.
Yes, he loved her — Yes, he did. Why then he was desperately trying to convince himself?
“Goodnight darling.” Her voice halted his chain of thoughts. He watched her curl into her usual sleeping position and turned his back to her.
“Goodnight love”
—–*——
The occurrences from that fateful night flashed before his eyes again and he shook it off his mind and kept his gaze on her as she stood up and headed for the rear of the classroom. He wondered if she remembered that night and had dreams about it like he did. If she thought he was a lying bastard after he broke her heart of if she had that idea all along.
He kept her in his view and watched her cut a row and head straight for him. ‘The real Bae’ like his friends would taunt him and say.
‘The real Bae’ smiled at her and pulled her close to himself. She obliged the affection by wrapping her hands around his neck and kissing him. Full on the lips. Exactly like she did his.
His heart broke. Again.
And then he had his answer,.
Yes, he loved her. And No, she wasn’t just a sex idol. Problem is, it was a little too late.
—–*——
Never take someone that loves you for granted…
Mike Dammy
@damstylee
52FD27D5
A New Dawn Beckons
Gone are the days of being misrepresented. Gone are the moments of laxly traumas and countless overnights in a bid to achieve… vanity.
The character peered up from the words that form his very own existence, eyes fastened on the one that handles the pen; the very device that births him. Yes, Mike Dammy lives as Mike Dammy writes. The latter continues scribbling in the striped journal oblivious of the curiosity in his character’s face. Or perhaps he ignores it. 2014 has been a blessing and a curse. The character wonders which his creator would embrace.
Disclaimer: Henceforth, I’ll be addressing the character as ‘Dammy’ or ‘the character’ and the writer which is Dammy himself as ‘the writer’.
It all started with a single tweet;
“Getting married this year… House Warming this year… Acura ZDX this year…”
Maybe it was faith; perhaps hope but Dammy remembered not what fueled the inspiration behind the statement. His church, CAC, Mende, Maryland disappeared as they went around a bend; the sanctuary where he breath his first breath of the year and congratulated close by ‘neighbors’ like his pastor would say. The time was 01:05 and the date read January 1st, 2014. The New Year had just arrived.
Slowly, but surely, they meandered through the pot holes and traffic along Ikorodu road down to their humble abode in Ikorodu. His brother still tapping on his Blackberry Torch 1 yawned for the umpteenth time and his mum squinted further as she fought to see the road markings in the misty fog that had enveloped Lagos. This is my year, Dammy said to himself. Fast forward twelve months and the writer wonders if it indeed is his year.
The year zoomed off pretty much after its opening act and only slowed down to permit Dammy end things with M in the month of love. Ironic. The writer focuses as he tries to see into the mind of his character and ascertain the reason for that single act. Was it fate or has there been a situation of poor decision making, he couldn’t tell. Dammy’s face remained stern, a book devoid of words or pictures.
March arrived and the phrase YOLO became more apparent in his doings.
Come on, just a little…
Come on, pop it a little…
Come on, sip it a little…
Come on, rock it a little…
Deceit spoke with the voices of men and a broken Dammy heeded its call. They say the heart of man is wicked and Dammy’s held firm as he broke all borders in two weeks. Forever a black hole in his heart; those two weeks in March. ‘Dammy two weeks’ sounded like a suitable nickname.
But Heaven intervened and Jesus came calling as usual. Salvation beckoned and this time, the nickname dissolved into non-entity. The past roared its fangs like a cobra in an exhibition fish tank but that was all it was; an exhibition. Only to be remembered or forgotten, asides that, the past was useless. Hence, Dammy’s giant steps into the future and boy oh boy, April was one blessed future — the emergence of C… The year was just getting started.
It comes to mind what or who Marc Anthony was thinking about when he penned down his hit song and popular Dettol advert theme song as many know it; I need you. You see, Dammy was a crush-magnet. His admiration for beautiful members of the opposite sex knew no bounds and if Marc felt a quarter of what Dammy felt with C, he was indeed happy for C was an Angel. Her semi-circle smile initiated sparks in his head and her voice always dealt a massive blow to the walls he tried to build but alas all of it was all gone in a flash. Her smile was as much as he got and an electrifying half hour where all but the sunset paused in romantic coalition as much as he managed. The beautiful damsel floated back to Port Harcourt to her true love and Dammy succumbed to depression valley.
True to his ability to fall in and out of crushes, he was quick to meet another… and another… but the smile of C lingered in his mind and all came to null until he met Her.
Now, ‘Her’ brings to mind a beautiful, intelligent lady and yes she was and still is but love was too complicated and Dammy had learnt that firsthand. His walls steadied themselves and anticipated another massive hit. This was early august where the days grew longer and nights invariably shorter.
* * * *
The crunchy escapades of Dammy, his alliance with wisdom and death wish as he plugged away hours upon hours of his life in a bid to create a perfect rendition of a ‘Convention Centre’ like his master’s degree project entailed cannot all be described here as months and months on end would be required of the Writer to create a befitting memoir of a life that is Dammy’s. Life is too short for that hence his quickening steps towards creating a suitable prelude.
* * * *
The character sat still in the settee. His eyes fastened on the eyes of the reader trying to understand what they think of him. Hero perhaps? Probably not. Prude or Inconsequential bastard seems more like it.
But really, he cared not what they thought. As the year grinds to a halt, he is grateful for what he has. He approaches the New Year as a war-hero albeit timid. He has proven himself not to be perfect but to be true and deserving of a tender smile and a good laugh.
“Getting married this year… House Warming this year… Acura ZDX this year…”
It all seems like a dream now.
Dammy stood up and walked towards the window. He parted the blinds with one hand and watched as the earth fades in the distance in an almost spherical manner. The trees whistled gently the songs of the wind and homecoming birds adorned the sunset like paint on a canvas. His mind is steady and set because in two days, he departs for 2015 a man loved and a man in love. This was just the beginning; A new Dawn Beckons…
The end.
* * * *
2014 was a glorious year in all ramifications. Like the literal art above described it, it had its ups, its downs, upside downs and many more that I cant possibly classify.
At some point, it hurt real bad, some other times my heart felt so light from joy that I feared it would burst. Still, I stand a better person than I was last year, an upgrade on the entity that is me.
One glaring aspect was my utmost dedication to work and school, inversely resulting in my haphazard and alarming blogging methods. I stand here ashamed at the numerous atrocities I committed all year long; ranging from incomplete series to disappearances for months on end.
Do I have an excuse for all of these? No, I choose not to.
A reason, perhaps? School
I can’t say I’m proud of my antics or how all these has turned out but if i had to go over everything again, it will probably run the same way. Such is the manner in which I prioritized my activities.
That hasn’t stopped me from having a wonderful and creative year however. I am not the best blogger around ( Definitely!), I’l leave that to the men; Sirs Walt Shakes, Newnaija, Topazo and Seun Odukoya and co, neither am I the best fiction, motivational or comedy writer around.. Lol… Even a new born baby knows that… One thing I do know is that I have some of the best readers and definitely the best writing colleagues and associates around and I’ll deeply grateful for that.
2015 arrives in but some days and we will soon be ushered into a new year and realm of possibilities amidst cheers and dancing. I can’t promise I will be more consistent but I can promise I will try my best.
I forever remain Mike Dammy and I gloriously march into the new year a man loved and a man in love.
Compliments of the season blessed people and a Happy New Year in advance!
* * * *
As is my tradition, I always post pictures of my studio work after each semester… Last semester was super hectic… Super super hectic! The results were endearing though and I dare say, Worth it… Its was a ‘Convention Center’ design incorporating a monumental tower ( yh, that Eiffel tower look-alike structure), an office tower, a residential tower, pavilion and many many things that probably won’t interest you.
Anyways, the pictures are below… I hope you like them! 😀
p.s…. Don’t ever let your child study Architecture… Its a trap!…Seriously 😐
Overview of the entire site
Residential Tower in the Foreground and the Mixed use complex and Monumental tower in the background.
Racist Santa!
Children… Oh Children, how naive can you get?
You can’t distant a child from his naivety, no kidding and I learnt that pretty early; maybe before I even knew right from wrong. Some even took it as far as to acting dumb.
It was pathetic then I tell you; watching my age mates saunter around the neighbourhood in their underwear oblivious of the jeers and occasional paedophilic stares.. *shivers…
Disclaimer: This is my story. Whether it is true or not is none of business. I call the shots here so sit down and listen like good children that you are. Merry Christmas 😀
Like I was saying before I had to put up that disclaimer, I carried an aura of pride and advanced intellects around like my personal gele. I was what you could describe as a 3 year old (Hey! Hey! What did I say about rolling your eyes??) smart, tush enigma. I knew so much that it was war for my nanny to bath me everyday. I mean, obviously she wanted to take a peek at Mr Dammy Jnr right? Still, I was pretty fair as a child, so I guess she made a lot of progress as regards spending time with me in the bathroom. Alone. #Sigh. And see me boasting to all and sundry that no one has seen me in my birthday suit.
But that is by the way… A subtle means for me to elongate the length of this post. You can blame the Writer’s block. Even Santa could’nt remedy it.
Oh yes, Santa. Quite ironic his name should pop up at this moment. Don’t get too agitated though, I’ll tell you why soon.
Like I said, Children were extremely naive ( I can’t help but to reiterate this) and I was a standout exception. During the era when Tom and Jerry kept children spellbound, I took more details to the 3D rendition of the animation than focus on the hullabaloo that involved a stupid cat chasing a much smarter mouse (True story). Even Disney had no hold on me and I didn’t bat an eyelid when Mufasa came tumbling down that hill. ( Yes Moyo, your sub). I had mastered the art of curtailing my emotions. I knew my right from my left, could detect crocodile tears from miles off and knew early on that school was a necessary distraction hence my first letter of warning in nursery school but that is gist for another day.
I would have to admit, if I continue listing my awesome features, I would run out of ink and WordPress might crash, so I’m here to lambaste myself, curtail my ‘awesomeness’ and put in the spotlight the single dumb act I made as a kid. Heck, it hunts me till today so you don’t have to judge.
It was normal during the late 90s for terrace houses in USA to possess chimneys. For those who have no idea what that is, its a long black, smoke laden tunnel that our loved famous ‘super hero’ foolishly adopts as his entrance into your homes.
I stayed in a 3-bedroom rented apartment in Ketu then with my family. We had no chimneys but my belief in Santa gave me hope that anything was possible. American kids had a chimney, I had a balcony, close enough.-___-
So I got to work; sought out a sock (This is really embarrassing), wrote down my list and left a pack of coaster biscuits. Why coaster? I really don’t know, but thinking about it now, it was probably cos it resembled a cookie. My list was short and concise being the considerate child that I am; a BMX bicycle, a Sega Mega drive console and some additional jaara. I arranged these on the balcony on Christmas eve and went to bed gallantly.
Morning came….
I reckon your imagination could finish this story as I wont myself because its gotten pretty embarrassing but permit me to add this tiny info; I still don’t know how to ride a bicycle cos I never got one, I have never possessed a game console and all these point to that fat man being a racist!
The fact that the fake bearded ‘villain’ doesn’t visit Africa is racist. I mean, is it because we don’t have chimneys??.. I look back now and shake my head at young ‘3 yr old’ Dammy because amidst all his intellects, he should have noticed that black children can be awfully naive and would do anything to emphasize their belief that a st*pid fat-ass-white-bearded man can like them and worse, bring gifts to them every Christmas. Pathetic! It all makes for a painful experience.
p.s. All of the items on the balcony that night were intact the next morning except the coaster biscuits. I guess Santa is also a thief. Mschewww…
Have a wonderful Holiday!
Mike Dammy
Rat Race
On your marks, Set, Go!
Learn to walk then run… Learn to Talk… Go to School… Graduate and Make Money… Build a House… Find a Spouse and Marry Him/Her… Raise a Family… Constantly give to the poor… Go to Church every Sunday… Hold more devotions than the neighbours… Try as much as possible to avoid sin… Grow Old… Die… Make Heaven…
Wow! What a successful life path. Many would eagerly settle for it whilst a lot more plan to live their lives exactly like it pans out. Their main aim is making Heaven and avoiding that dreaded eternal abyss otherwise known as Hell. It would be easy to give much acclaim to one that lives his life exactly like this and not notice the flaws inept in each action and decision. It’s never noticeable at first glance but after much study, you’ll realize the immense act of self-righteousness which in my opinion is no righteousness.
The world as we see it today has accepted Jesus and tossed out every other thing meant to follow forgetting they are meant to go hand in hand. Top of this list is Purpose. Making Heaven is their top priority and though there is nothing wrong in wanting to enjoy eternal bliss but it becomes wrong when you ignore why you’re here in the first place. Surely when you walk and work with purpose, you’ll surely make Heaven but the life path described earlier doesn’t guarantee you that, so the quote ‘The end justifies the means’ might just not provide you the protection you so crave.
Let’s assume God deemed it that you run your race of life while helping a particular fellow in need and in your craze to not miss heaven, you burst past the person which in this scenario is your purpose and head for what you think is the finish line. A futile race at the end in my opinion, another rat race run just like the foolish bridesmaids in Matthew 25 that didn’t bring extra oil and got locked out.
Life is not a Rat Race to see who makes it to Heaven.
Going back a few years to my fresher days in Covenant University; in the first classes of a particular university course; Total Man Concept (TMC 111), we were taught a brief lesson about purpose. How metaphorically, every man is sent to earth with a sealed envelope. The contents of this envelope are the purpose of our existence, why we were sent here in the first place cos frankly if the earth didn’t have a need for us, God could easily have created us and left us in heaven rather than send us on an ‘exaggerated, useless’ journey that could result in some of us falling by the wayside. You see the logic now?
Until we get that envelope open, we will just be like rats in a giant maze. That envelope needs to be opened, studied and acted upon.
“Unless Purpose is realized, Abuse is inevitable.” Myles Munroe
Don’t leave God clasping his head in his hands as he watches us gallivant and run around like fools.
He deserves better. We deserve better.
Action: Get some work done and find out what your purpose is. It’s never too late to discover it. Moses was still a lost cause at 80! Today, he is regarded as the greatest prophet that ever lived. Take a cue from that.
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I will be detailing ways in which you could discover your purpose soon.
Also, A big thank you to Damilare (@dami_maverick) for the above graphic art rendition of my tweet yesterday and Miss Tosin for her constant badgering that I pick my pen again and write. God bless you both.
Merry Christmas and Happy New Year in Advance
Mike Dammy
Damstylee 