May | 2021 | ABC days of being a penwoman

I have discovered the principle of life – that when I want to do right, I inevitably do what is wrong. I love God’s law with all my heart… Oh, what a miserable person I am!Who will free me from this life that is dominated by sin and death? Thank God! The answer is in Jesus our Lord. – Romans 7:22,24&25.

My phone is black
and tiny as granules
made from the best quality drink.
It’s brewed every second, served steamy hot.
I’m entitled to sixty cups in a row.

My smart boss is Siri!
Robots me around,
ten buzzes in fewer than a minute.
My itchy hands
long to touch and hold.

My phone is an alluring mixture
taken at every tick of the clock.
With a grin, I thumb-scroll
until my head hits the pillow.
Only in bed do we separate
and in my sleep, I hear thee.

Ah! what a mess this has become.

Who will deliver me?
from this pathetic smartness?
Oh, Lord!
free me scrambling over every gring, ring,
brrr brrr and bzz bzz!
and from the hundredth time,I reach for it.

Save me, Father,
from this miniature statue
lest the light tyrant runs me
into catacombs –
for I must not turn into
a valley of lifeless bones.
Instead of me to bow to Siri,
I’ll dictate to the small but mighty how I’d live my life.

So help me, God!
(c) 2021 Eno O’wunmi.

Hours before sundown, we’d gathered for our annual feast,
when a gust of wind whirled with vengeance.
Blasting the stained windows and doors of the building,
we pleaded with Abba to push back the torrents.

Outside, the gale blew a beastly roar,
The roof vibrated. Crash of thunder.
Drip-drop seeped down the walls. Sploosh. Krak! Krak! We gawked at the cracking roof.
We shuddered. Wet palms. Weak knees.

“We won’t escape! We won’t.” Someone cried,
recalling the story of saints who
died in this same building during a storm.
Our prayers ceased. We blamed each other. Murmured. And bickered.

Doubt struck. Hands on our heads.
From shouts of joy to chants of lamentation.
“Bye and bye, oh uh we’ll return to the Lord at eventide.”
We sang dirges.

“Men and women of meagre faith,” a young man spoke up.
“What has blinded you?” He strode to the front, drenched and shivering.
“You see the rage and call it a night of gloom. –
I see the Lord and hear trumpets of victory.”

“Whose counsel do you believe?” He yelled from his lungs.
“Are you still attentive to the Lord?
or you prefer to magnify the darkness?
Peace, the Lord Almighty is our peace.”

“Believe!” The young man’s voice shook the room.
“He’ll rescue and save us.
Exalt Him above the raging tempest.
He is our God. Jehovah Shalom is with us.”

The room fell silent,
a stillness that revealed our hearts.
Heads hung down. Sobriety.
A cry of repentance filled the room.
© 2021 Eno O’wunmi.

The Lord your God is in your midst, a mighty one who will save; he will rejoice over you with gladness; he will quiet you by his love; he will exult over you with loud singing.” – Zeph 3:17.