KafoTouch Angel

Today is Wednesday which means today i fast.
I wake up in the morning and pray and have devotion and then based on the last week choose the issue/person that will be the subjects of the fast and every hour on the half hour until i break the fast I pray on the issues/subject.

It seems simple enough, today is the day that i, you know, get an extra dose just so i can make it to the weekend.

Today is Wednesday and i cried (not a real cry but still the tears fell voluntarily)
So i woke at 8am because in my dream I was a Vietcong POW and saw seeing some pretty gruesome stuff.
Drag myself out of bed, pray, make my fast list and then head over to my aunt's place to tutor her in Math.
Get in the car, call a friend from undergrad who gives me her wonderful good news and I'm reminded on this day of fasting and praying that in 2004 I prayed and he didn't answer. Of course thoughts like this one don't visit alone and so the futility or dreamlike unreality of the consummation of my beautiful relationship with CSO comes into focus.
but.... math rescues.
whew
Get to my aunt's place and do math. Math is a sweet pot. Tutoring math is cool and so it took my mind off of unanswered prayes and then she asks me to fill out this paperwork for her sister and BAM. Answered Prayer number 2 gets SHOVED in my face. Another prayer met with silence. FIVE FREAKING YEARS of praying this prayer. :(
Leave her place around noon, make it to my mechanic who tells me I have to drop 600 bucks.
Now it's 2pm, and I'm standing outside John's place (my mechanic) and the tears come, because everyday I have prayed for my car and now I need to drop 600 dollars a month before school is out. I touch my car and pray for its parts. I've prayed  and somehow He didn't see it fit to answer this prayer.
Seriously
Out of the three unanswered prayers that I got shoved down my throat today this one just stung the most cuz it's current.
don't get me wrong. I know God blesses and answers prayers and He even eclipses some of my afflictions with His glory so that I'm oblivious to their existence. The fact that the car lasted this long is a testimony but is too much for Him to see it thru to the end?

Is it really too much for me to ask that the prayers I do voice he answers? I don't expect Him to answer all of them but seriously, my car ????
Is that really too much for this child to ask?

So yeah
kick my CSO off the phone cuz he is talking Psalms 39 and I'm like dude I'm at 42 about to migrate to 88 so 39 isn't helping cuz the last verse in 39 i'm still trying to deal with it

get into my car
bring out KafoTouch hit shuffle
I'm first greeted by  David Crowder Band's How He Loves while the tears of frustration stream down my face and then Shekinah Glory's Praise is What I do reminds me that my wisdom tooth needs to be dealt with (no dental insurance) because try as I might i can't sing the song without pain coursing thru' my veins.

Make it to campus, sit in front of a waterfall, break my fast and pray. 
Pray*.
As i sit i'm reminded that even on days when He doesn't answer ANY of the PRAYERS that i ACTUALLY PRAY when I FAST, He still loves mii and prayer is my drug of choice.

laterz



* i actually meant whine to God like David did in the first 10 verses of  Psalm 77.

More thoughts on a Wartime Mentality

Some days I wake up stressed, go to school stressed, spend 10 hours or so on campus, get in my car realize where I’m going and get more stressed just thinking as I drive. I try and find a place just to chill and relax but it seems like everyone I meet ….
Yeah let’s call it spiritual schizophrenia coupled with amnesiac hope.

  1. Enemy Definition: Who really is your enemy? Your classmate, co-worker, annoying family member or the radical fundamentalist Muslims in Iraq? The truth is that when you have a wartime mentality you realize that all of these people are not the enemy. They are not even related to the enemy, in some cases they might even recognize the enemy if he was sitting right next to them with a pitch fork and two red horns. Paul says it best in his letter to the church in Ephesus, we wrestle not against flesh and blood but against principalities and powers and …

    I have to admit that most times I forget this.  It seems like I am constantly fighting in a battle of my own making with created foes masquerading as professors, classmates and family members. It seems like their number 1 job is making me miserable and so I expend energy, wasting much needed resources.

  2. Treatment of Allies: after one identifies the real enemy, one is able to clearly see who your allies are. It makes no sense to waste your ammunition on your allies. It makes absolutely no sense to die in friendly fire. It makes no sense to watch an ally die or to leave a comrade on the field of battle while their heart still beats. Paul says it best in his letter to the church in Galatia, bear ye one another burdens and so fulfill the will of Christ.

    I have to admit that I also forget this. My definition of community does not include all the ally forces from the four corners of the earth. Instead it is selective to those that  I can mentally understand, those who have similar issues that i can relate to and those that matter on some personal level to me.

Hmmmm amnesiac hope...
wow i got issues

Oops

Oops
it is a lil bit before two am on Thursday
the day after Wednesday
so an apology is warranted
buttt it is before midnight in Cali so I backdating this post :)
there is about to be a new addition to the family and so today I mean yesterday has been spent largely in the service of the unborn
may her arrival be safe and may God give her sense that she will use
I am typing this all from my iPod so pardon the lack of beauty to this post

I am thinking of spiritual rubbernecking and wondering if u suffer from it

the first time I heard the word rubbernecking was about a month ago when I had to take part in the daily human stampede and right now thinking about it again

I will fill u in properly tomorrow I mean today if this sounds like Greek to u
but I gotta be up and about in a few hours to celebrate the birht of the unborn

the labor has been going on since 4 pm so pls ifbu het his before I update again say anprayer for my family

In reaction to ...

Once again there is much to be said and lil' time to say it,
So here it is as it sounds in my head.
Human i am
Human i am not.
Blood flows thru' my veins, blood flows thru' yours
and yet your life means nothing to mii and so i take it so easily
Human i am
Human i am not.
in reaction to nets and machetes


Make it count
we've lived a third of lives for others
seeking approval in order to be accepted
Stop it and instead make it count
cuz at some point you gotta start living for yourself
we are 25 going on 50 and by 75 according to David  and God we should be dead
so this is it, our time to live
cuz when 50 rolls in, all we will have is creases and mortgages, regrets and mammograms.
so choose to live NOW
in reaction to quarter life crisis


Sustainable difference
find a way to make a sustainable difference,
not an isolated one time donation into heaven's coffers
to assuage guilt and justify your indulgences
because people die every minute and one time donations
are like using a spoon to bail water out from a sinking ship
in reaction to thinking about making a difference

Thank You God for not making me a god
Thank You for not making it about mii
Thank You for putting people in my life that remind mii that the world does not revolve around mii
Thank You for not making mii in charge
Thank You soo much for helping me to realize that the day after i die life will continue as usual
in reaction to not being needed

The Room

I'm mentally working on a couple of pieces one on being Nigerian, another on Micheal Jackson, another on this man i love, there there are the ones that pop up when i'm in class on faithfulness, pain and silence but today i realized that the words of another were more illuminating that mine. 
I've read this before but today it appeared in my inbox from a friend and several areas that before i overlooked stood out. I hope it brings you revelation

The Room
by Joshua Harris or Brian Moore


In that place between wakefulness and dreams, I found myself in the room.
There were no distinguishing features save for the one wall covered with
small index card files. They were like the ones in libraries that list
titles by author or subject in alphabetical order. But these files, which
stretched from floor to ceiling and right to left as far as the eye could
see, had very different headings.

As I walked up to the wall of files,the first to catch my attention was one
that read, "People I Have Liked." I opened it and began flipping through the
cards. I quickly shut it, shocked to realize that I recognized the names
written on each one. And then, without being told, I knew exactly where I
was.

This lifeless room with its small files was a crude catalog system for my
entire life. The actions of my every moment, big and small, were written in
a detail my memory couldn't match. A sense of wonder and curiosity, mixed
with horror, stirred within me as I began randomly opening files and
exploring their content. Some brought joy and sweet memories, others a sense
of shame and regret so intense that I would look over my shoulder to see if
anyone was watching.

A file named "Friends" was next to one marked "Friends I have betrayed". The
titles ranged from common, everyday things to the not-so-common-"Books I
Have Read", "Lies I Have Told", "Comfort I Have Given", "Jokes I Have
Laughed At". Some were almost hilarious in their exactness: "Things I Have
Yelled At My Brothers and Sisters." Others I couldn't laugh at: "Things I
Have Done in Anger", "Things I Have Muttered Under My Breath at My Parents".
I never ceased to be surprised by the contents. Often there were many more
cards than I expected. Sometimes less than I had hoped.

The sheer volume of the life I had lived overwhelmed me. Could it be
possible that I had time in my 17 years to write each of these thousands or
millions of cards? But each card confirmed the truth. Each card was written
in my own handwriting. Each card was signed with my signature. When I pulled
out the file marked "TV Shows I've watched", I realized the files grew to
contain their contents. The cards were packed tightly, and yet after two or
three yards, I hadn't found the end of the file. I shut it, shamed, not so
much by the quality of the shows, but more by the vast amount of time I knew that file represented.

When I came to the file marked "Lustful Thoughts"; I felt a chill run through my body. I pulled the file out only an
inch, not willing to test its size, and drew out a card. I shuddered at its
detailed content. I felt sick to think such a moment had been recorded.

A feeling of humiliation and anger ran through my body. One thought
dominated my mind: "No one must ever see these cards! No one must ever see
this room! I have to destroy them!" In an insane frenzy, I yanked the file
out. Its size didn't matter now. I had to empty it and burn the cards. But
as I took the file at one end and began pounding it on the floor, I could
not dislodge a single card. I became desperate and pulled out a card, only
to find it as strong as steel when I tried to tear it. Defeated and utterly
helpless, I returned the file to its slot. Leaning my forehead against the
wall, I let out a long, self-pitying sigh.

That was when I saw it. The file bore "People I Have Shared the Gospel
With".
The handle was brighter than those around it, newer, almost unused. I
pulled on its handle and a small box not more than 3 inches long fell into
my hands. I could count the cards it contained on one hand. And then the
tears came. I began to weep. Sobs so deep that the hurt started in my
stomach and shook through me. I fell on my knees and cried. I cried out of
shame, from the overwhelming shame of it all. The rows of file shelves
swirled in my tear-filled eyes. No one must ever, ever know of this room. I
must lock it up and hide the key.

Then as I looked up through my tears, I saw Him enter the room. No, please
not Him. Not here. Anyone but Jesus. I watched helplessly as He began to
open the files and read the cards. I couldn't bear to watch His response.
The few times I looked at His face I saw such sadness that it tore at my
heart. He seemed to intuitively go to the worst boxes. Why did he have to
read every one?

Finally, He turned and looked at me from across the room. He looked at me
with pity in His eyes. But this was a pity that didn't anger me. I dropped
my head, covered my face with my hands and began to cry again. He walked
over and put his arm around me. He could have said so many things. But He
didn't say a word. He just cried with me.

Then He got up and walked back to the wall of files. Starting at one end of
the room, He took out a file, and, one by one began to sign His name over
mine on each card. "No!" I shouted, rushing to Him. All I could find to say
was "No, no", as I pulled the card from Him. His name shouldn't be on these
cards. But there it was, written in red so rich, so dark, so alive. The name
of Jesus covered mine. It was written in blood.

He gently took the card back. He smiled a sad smile and began to sign the
cards. I don't think I'll ever understand how He did it so quickly, but the
next instant it seemed I heard Him close the last file and walk back to my
side. He placed His hand on my shoulder and said, "It is finished." I stood
up, and He led me out of the room. There was no lock on the door. There were
still cards to be written.


wow
enough said
Kafo