Tired Feet: a warm find

By the pool sat these cold feet; tired, bruised and dirty, held by a worn-out hand-woven slip-on. His owner can describe it, as years of running, walking, and dragging across the shortest miles ever.
Lying in waste, wrapped in tattered linen is this lifeless body; hopeless beyond description, vulnerable beyond major weakness. It’s been over three decades and the end of another is just round the corner.
Just below three hundred nights could have been enough to strategize, improve or out-compete but every night; it seems not to be enough. At first, it would have called bitten, the second; twice bitten, the third; thrice shy but how would I call the thirtieth and beyond. It is unthinkable that this body once alive on a horseback, fighting wars, conquering land, fending for food, one man’s husband would be lost against hope for thirty eight turning points. Every time, he extended his arms and pushed his paralyzed legs, it reminded him the years of groaning, the days of miracle snatching by the so-called fellow who just crawled into the pool a few days ago and left out whole so soon.
The angels must have been unkind not to attend according to moral standard; first come, first serve. The family must have been so unjust for not pushing fast enough to outrun others. Instead of leaving a coin, they left a word. If it had being coin, would it have bought back life to the broken dead spine?  Wishful thinking, unreal, unheard, extreme, impossible, words after words, until his pocket were filled against hope.
In human words, life is not fair to all. But how do you call it when suddenly, one night, just in few hours it all happened. Does it mean, life suddenly remembered to be fair? He was not the only one I realized but how could I have known if not for the stranger that passed by and made today one day.
I realized there was a feast in the city; I am sure the road that lead to the feast was far wider, smoother and shorter than the one leading to this sheep gate. Along the porch walked an unknown man, who saw this lifeless body and knew his pain. Everyone would have thought someone travelling all the way down into a city would be heading for the feast. At least, that I am sure about, this unknown man to all was beyond royal, noble cannot fully measure him, great would be too small to describe him. I wonder why he had to come to a place where souls were crying for help, screaming in self-pity, complaining, blaming, praying and dreaming while he could sit in the king’s porch and merry.
But right here by this grey pool, out of the multitude of hopeless situation, a new halleluiah chorus was written. Through his eyes, I knew that the infirmity was not unto death, the cries and pains not a waste, the night of loneliness and cries, not in vain. Although, I thought he had missed it when the stranger gave a hand, and the hopeless man rendered complains but this man you call stranger knew that a new hallelujah song had to be written.
“I look back to that very point when one man had to give up everything; his life, kingdom, royalty, feast to take up the sinful “me”. If you ask me, only one cord cannot be broken, only one heart cannot leave one behind. It’s of the Father and Mother. I guess because they brought me to life, trained me up and have me imbedded in their blood. But If I was to tell the whole truth from my heart, they still cannot love me as much as take my place or stand in hell for me. I look at this very confused, chaos state of human mind and how well we think we could shut it out, exchange it, chose to believe or not to, replace with wealth or deny it. It still doesn’t change the truth or ever will. Even when we fall in self-denial or choose to leave in ignorance, the truth still lies within us that nothing else in this world can fill that hollow in our heart crying out for more, except the self-existing one himself who came in sinful flesh to those who would believe him does it.
What a day for this paralyzed body! If he had followed self-denial trip and ignore the request of this unknown man. “Do you want to be made well”?
If you want to be made well. Congratulations. It’s Easter. I am not talking about holidays, Easter eggs, Easter bunnies or tags we choose to surround ourselves with. It is about Jesus Christ who paid it all.
Make a simple prayer:  Lord, I want to be well. I am sorry for all my ways. I acknowledge into my life as my Lord and personal saviour. Amen.
If it was only you, Jesus would still have died on the cross.
Story re-written from John 5:1-14
You thought about anything while reading. Leave a comment. Just to let me know you dropped by.

Oluwamitomisin

Also read: 

Out of the Walls 'Get Out of your comfort zone!'

Strong Enough- 'Hope to a fostering mother & child'

This morning feel special. The sun came by quickly by my windows, winds whispering quietly, “Tomisin! wake up and see”.

I reluctantly woke up, stretching at my best. Hawwwh! I gave my last yawn. My memories came back quickly; the night had left me a telegraph; “you will meet someone special tomorrow”.  

My weary eyes widened quickly knowing the hour had come finally to meet my visitor. I stretched my arms towards my back and gently closed my eyes to mutter a word of prayer. Silently I said a few words.

I think I saw one irregular person or should I call them people; a woman holding a child but not hers. I am not sure, if it was a boy or a girl because I was almost resuming back to sleep. You know those hours, you mutter a prayer and half the time, you are fast asleep and the few words you could remember are “Jesus” and the call of “Father Lord”. In His mercy, I didn't receive a daylight nightmare. I received something new today.

The woman whose eyes were faint and narrow with a child. She looked like a passing flower whose beauty was about to fade. But the sun was just coming up. The clouds of harvest are just gathering but she is hurrying back for the night. The lines on her face showed she had once being dogged, but like fading fabric, her hope was wearing out. I realized that she was joining the mob with the child, struggling to carry her tired legs. So I am writing this to you special one. You need not join the mob. You are one of the very irregular, uncommon, rare kind of jewel. It is a beautiful morning, especially for you.

The works of your hands look invisible. You getting weary of an assignment, you thought you bought upon yourself. It is a beautiful morning, especially for you. You did not turn your back even though you had reasons to. You have chosen to raise another man’s child. For such a time as this; your arms are holding a future. You are the today, tomorrow hangs upon. I am here to give you a gentle pat on your back and say well done. You ask? Who am I to give you a pat? I don’t even know what it cost you daily. I might have never been in your shoes and may never try to but I can read your act on someone’s wall.

I can see it in the eyes of the child you are holding. Unclear to me, if she is a boy or girl, I see smile all over this face. His hopes are anchored on yours. The flicker of the future looks brightly on what you can do. She follows you strongly knowing you are her entire world. She says in her mind that your shoulders are beautiful.

You are just beautiful to take upon your shoulders to raise another man’s child though he was not blood of your blood. You are beyond amazing to be called mama in the midst of your tired veins for yours. God had made you strong enough, that’s why he called you blessed. You can walk beside him, because he follows your step. You can provide for him because God meet your needs. The seed you are watching can change the world. The tears you are sowing may hold key to new discovery. Just hang on there, the light is coming. If she does not change the world, peradventure, she might change yours. If she ever does not, you can be assured that you gave your very best, you held out the strong hand of kindness.

It must have been battle for Joseph to raise a child in the womb of a woman he never met with. Who knew he would become the saviour of our world, the carriers of our sin and the lamb of glory. It must have been great pain to nurture his tender hands to become a carpenter when he did not carry his likeness. It might just sound unnecessary insane to raise an orphan within your walls. But who knew that an orphan girl will save his people. Who knew she would become the delight of the king. They called her Hadassah, who knew she would become Queen Esther.

Are you afraid, she would run for her real mother when she finds out you aren't the one. Are you lost in the hope, that he would never call you mother? You must put aside your fears now, woman and raise him up. He can change the world and certainly yours. Provide for him, shelter her, show her beyond kindness, dress him, hold him tightly.

Do you know your mother’s love can change a world. Know that you have a heavenly father watching over you.  He would care for you and make your back strong. She might not be the bone of your bone but she looks up to you. Even if she forgets for a while, one day, she would come back to the memories of your kindness. You have got to train him up even if the father rejected him. Show him what a man can do with the Father’s Love. Show her the path to follow, there lies your peace. Brace your shoulders; you are strong enough like Mary.

“To the world you might be one person, but to one person you just might be the world”...anonymous

To all mothers nursing a child in a difficult time. To all women looking for one. To great women of faith fostering another person's child. To all guardians, mentors, single mothers and teenage girls nursing a child out of a costly mistake or rape incidence; for such a time as this, you are nursing a future and your shoulders are just strong enough. To those of us who grew up in the tender care of another; it’s time to remember the good beginning and the very act of human kindness. Even if hope was lost in the middle, throw a heart instead of a stone.

With all love to you special mothers & the future mothers. You are strong enough

Oluwamitomisin

Also read: The Dusty Labour

I found a breast- 'Tribute to Mothers'

Morning after mornings, I must have found myself lying in the tender frail arms of yours; the arms that nurtured me with love. With palms gently stroking my face, you brought ease to my pains. With smile so amazing and eyes beaming with hope, you brought faith to my fainting heart. I take it not lightly that you carried me in your womb for days more than 270. You bore me in agony and nurtured me with your precious breast. I must have locked your hair with my fragile small hands, stroke your breast and pulled your cross-shaped pendant that constant hanged around your neck. I am happy to know you didn't mind. Although, I was at the mercy of life, fragile, could not clean or feed myself, yet you did not leave me to fate. I might have been annoying at times and troublesome on many raining days, yet you demonstrated the true mother’s love. You spoke for me when I did not have a voice, ensuring that I got a fair treatment.

I taught I was just stealing a few moments but you gave me a lifetime. When I trailed after death in pain, you ran out for me. You had walked the whole town to find me food. You had jump into the river if you saw me drowning. You had chopped your fingers off and get it burnt if you must get my food in wild fire. Although, you tasted bitter tears, your face still carry that beautiful eyes. In your breast, I found warmth, care and hope. Your care was the best of all, never letting me go even when it cost you everything. You never ignored my cry when your sleep was so precious, feeling every inch of the pain I feel. I am confident beyond the shadows of my doubt that my fears disappeared in your smile and calmness resumed when I listened to your tender voice whispering silently into my ears. How did you sense, I needed to eat? How did you know it was time to change my diapers? How did you know it was my stomach that was rumbling?

You had all reasons to give up, yet you chose devotion to your family. You did cast your dreams into the sea and the showers of prophesy that hovered over your head. You thought you could complete all your melodies, paint your words on the world with me but life has robbed you more instead. I know I have not been an easy child but your corrections have made a better person. I want to say that I am proud of you. Your dreams are not scattered in the wind. They are only multiplying within my walls.

I was me ever before you held me. You have taught me to walk like a woman, allowing me sometimes to ride in my own boat, paddle my own tides and sail boundaries unreached. Your unending words of encouragement have shaped my life. Now, I think I’m old but always the baby that slept gently in your arms every night. You have birth a jewel because you are beyond an impeccable one. When I look through the mirror, I see the hands of the crafty strong hands that moulded me. I can cling to the path of your hard work, discipline, selflessness, and courage. It must have been tough, but you were tougher. I found the breast that nurtured me; it’s my Mum's. I hope someday I would be able to do the same beautifully.

Tribute to all mothers, mothers-to-be and any figure of the female gender especially my Mom.

Oluwamitomisin

Also read...Strong Enough- 'Hope to a fostering mother & child'