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After death…
I was at a funeral a couple of weeks ago and for reasons best known to the family of the deceased, they had an open casket viewing. The deceased passed from complications of colon cancer. Not only was the casket open, but attendees did not have to walk up to the casket to see the body lying in state. Anyone could see it from wherever they were seated in the room. I sat and just stared. It was a humbling sight. He was lying there looking peacefully asleep but no amount of noise in the room would awaken him. I knew he could hear nothing, not even the muffled cries of his beloved son. Absolutely nothing mattered to him anymore. That moment I plunge into deep thoughts; I thought deeply about man and death. The deceased was well known to me in his lifetime, so I was more moved to ponder the mortality of man. One more time, I came face to face with the fickleness of humanity which has since confronted me considering the coronavirus dilemma and the vast loss of life. Some questions I pondered upon were what is death? Of course, I know it is when the living stops breathing or having life but what does a man experience at death? Why does it cause so much hurt and sadness among the living? Why do the living fear death? And above all, is death truly the end of existence? I remember talking to a man several years ago and a question came up about faith. This elderly man looked me straight in the eyes and with all seriousness replied that he does not believe in anything therefore nothing can lay claim to his soul after death. Most recently, I heard a young man say that when he dies, he has chosen to remain in his grave. While both speakers seem to acknowledge that existence does not end in death, they failed to consider the possibility of no longer having control over anything then, whether it is the choice of staying in the grave or ownership of the soul. Well, for anyone who does not believe in something or in a being whose existence transcends this earth and time, I have a feeling that an uncertainty will hang over them continually. If you (the reader) do know something of this sought, however, I hope you believe in it strongly enough to provide you the confidence you need to navigate the passage rite of death which is a necessary end. Personally, I believe in Jesus Christ. I believe He is powerful enough to take control of my soul after death and I also believe in His power so much that I will not wait for death to hand him control, so I did it now that I still have life and that has brought me PEACE. It is like insurance. And if after death, it turns out that there is no need for a soul saving savior, I would not have lost anything because I enjoyed peace through my faith in a Savior. I invite you to do similarly and also find peace. Jesus is always accepting. His booking is never full, and he will not turn anyone away. Thanks for reading. See more here.
IS IT OVER?
Author: Jenn Azu We were all finally assembled by his bedside at the hospital. It was much work to get the entire family members Papi requested at his sickbed but through teamwork and some sacrifice on the part of a few of us, it was achieved. By this time, Papi looked very weak and in much pain. We had been told he could pass on anytime. Papi gently raised his right hand and held my youngest sister’s hand, Lola, as he spoke softly. She was his next favorite after his oldest girl, Adebisi. As Papi spoke to Lola, I could only pick up a few of his words mostly because I was suddenly feeling sick. A heaviness settled on me that I could not shake. Almost at the same time, I started feeling pressure at the back of my head and tightness in my chest. Yet, none of those feelings afflicted me like the thoughts in my head. Papi is our father who suddenly took ill a few months ago. Many resources have been poured into his health with the hope that he will recover but to no avail. Now, we are left with preparing ourselves for his death and everyone appear to be taking it well except me. Dad took turn with each one of us kids giving his blessings and advice. He started with Jide, our oldest brother and although, he went in order of our age as he addressed us, he spoke to me, his second oldest child, last. “Dan, take care of yourself and be strong for your mother. Always remember that I am leaving here to go stay with Christ until I can see you all again…” Dad took a break to gather his strength before continuing. “My son, if you decide to give Christ a chance in your life, be rest assured I will see you again or else goodbye.” He concluded with a weak smile before turning his attention away from me. At this, I felt weak as the pain in me worsened. I had had dad preach to me a million times but I couldn’t understand why his last words hit me so hard. “Goodbye?” I thought “Why would he say that to me?” A part of me wanted to brush my thoughts aside but I struggled greatly. “Common Dan! This is a dying man saying farewell. How else is he supposed to say it?” “Yeah, but he said goodnight to everyone else.” I continued to argue with myself. I noticed the kindness in his eyes and the gentleness on his face which radiated pure love when he spoke to Jide. “Good night Jide.” Papi had said to him. Jide rubbed dad’s arm almost tearful. They stared at each other lovingly and would have hugged but for the various tubbings connected to dad to sustain him. He showed similar tenderness towards everyone else too. I couldn’t take it anymore. I moved closer to his bedside and snatched his hand away from Lola’s grip before falling to my knees. Surprisingly, no one attempted to stop me. “Why would you say ‘Goodnight’ to everyone but say goodbye to me?” Why daddy? Tell me, Why?” I wept aloud. My heart aching from sorrow. Papi started to weep as well. “I shall see them again! I shall see the righteous again! But sin can never enter there! Sin can never never enter there” He said, with a loudness that somewhat shocked me. How is his frail voice suddenly gaining strength? But then, he started to cough and my mom pushed me aside to attend to him. Almost immediately, his nurse entered and tried to stabilize him while we looked on helplessly. I stood there watching fearfully, momentarily forgetting my pain but feeling overcome with guilt. The nurse managed to get him to stop coughing and advised that no one bother him any further till he can get some sleep. Like the banging of our church bell, the pain in my head returned, this time worse. I could not bring myself to talk to anybody about my pain. I felt it could be part of my punishment for being a source of grieve. I turned around, pushed my way through the small mournful crowd and hurried out of the room and to the main entrance. * * * * * * * * A few years ago, I got tired of my family’s religious ways and wanted out. We are a family of six and devout Baptist Christians. My father was an elder at our church who perfectly fits the biblical qualification of one; a faithful husband, well behaved gentleman who has a well behaved family etcetera. At first, I was a good kid, in the Christian’s definition of “a good kid,” but my life was a routine that revolved around school, home and church. My discontentment started when I was about 10 years old. At that time, I was just becoming self conscious and remember struggling with not fitting in at school and being bullied. Actually, I didn’t make much friends because my siblings and I were cautioned at home not to mingle with unbelievers. “They are bad influences.” My parents would say. The problem however was, it was hard to tell who was or wasn’t an unbeliever and the concept “believer” to me just meant people who lived life like my family did, so I didn’t talk to many people. You could palpate my joy when I found out one day that my classmate, Sam, is from a “believer” home. You guessed right! I made him my friend but not for long. My mother dropped in at school the following week to say hi and I took the opportunity to introduce Sam to her. If it was to show off how well I was doing socially, I still can’t tell but she started questioning the boy almost immediately. “Hello Sam, how are you?” Mom started “Doing very well ma’am.” He replied courteously. “Where does
“He failed me.” she cried.
Author: Jenn Azu On a bright Saturday afternoon at Abuja campus, many students can be seen in several classrooms reading. The medical students especially have the habit of spending the early hours of the weekend in classrooms studying. Mary, Sandra and Ayodele are first year medical students of this prestigious university. They had come to school at different times that morning but had met up and left the classroom together. They bantered as they walked down the hallway on their way to students’ lodge. Previously, they have gone from studying to discussing how tough their courses were. Sandra, a 23 year-old, is a repeat student because she had failed to meet some course requirements to move to the next class. Mary and Ayo are first time medical students. They had been overjoyed on admission to medical school, but their joy soon turned to caution when they realized the hurdle medical school is. Ayo, a dark skinned and slim lady with a pretty face, is only twenty years old. A year younger than Mary. She has the wisdom of an older person and is often reflective. Her biggest motivation, however, is the fear of failure. She bugged Sandra with questions on her experience from last year; her concern was to know the mistakes Sandra made and avoid them. “This course is tough o!” Ayo exclaimed in a typical local manner and turned to Sandra. “Sandy, how did you manage last year?” Trying as much as possible to be sensitive. “What do you mean how did she manage?” Mary queried, herself not being a fan of such questions but Sandra interjected. She is a willing informant. She dove into stories of woe and comfort, regret and hope and in the process made a comment that shocked both of her listeners. “During my first year last year, I served God fervently,” Sandra explained “but as it turned out, I failed. God failed me.” At that point, Ayo did not ask any more questions. She turned to herself in thoughts. How could God fail someone who is dedicated to his service? She pondered. They all were Christians from different denominations. Mary is a staunch catholic while Ayo belonged to the protestant denomination and is well involved in her campus fellowship activities. As soon as they walked through the main entrance of the building, they exchanged goodbyes and Ayo headed straight for her lodge. Before she got to the motor park, the previous encounter has been overcome by other concerns but the conversation she just had would linger for a long time. ********************************************************************************* It is Wednesday evening and time for fellowship at Digging Deep Campus Fellowship (DDCF). The weather had been so hot all afternoon that it was a relief when light showers started later. By nightfall, the rain had stopped but the ground was damp and the weather cool. By this time, the massive number of students seen on campus has reduced to a trickle as a few more made their way home or to nighttime class. The campus fellowship usually set up a temporary tent for fellowship. The tent was put up before fellowship and also dismantled and taken to storage at the end of each worship service; it requires much work but it keeps the worshippers from being drenched or scorched by the elements. That evening, it was well into prayer sessions when Ayodele arrived and quietly snuck into the last row seats to join the prayer. Peter’s voice boomed over the microphone in fervent prayer. The atmosphere was tense as he prayed. “Let it release you now! Release you now, yesss…yesss!” Peter prayed and commanded silence, “The captives must be set free…must be set free, must be set free! Oh yes!” He went on. In the congregation, there was much concentration on the prayers. Some people had their hands in the air with their eyes closed. Others made inaudible but intense praying sounds. Usually, at the end of this kind of atmosphere, testimonies abound. Certain illnesses are healed and financial breakthroughs or meaningful revelations came. Thus, the like of Bro Peter, as he is fondly called, is always a favored guest to DDCF’s prayer meetings. Peter started out as a bible study coordinator 6 years ago in DDCF. Then, he was a second year student of Biochemistry and was passionate about his position among the brethren (a term used to describe a collective body of Christians). Peter can expound on the scriptures like none other that it was difficult to replace him the following year, so he served as a bible study coordinator for two years. However, Peter was not an excellent student at school. In fact, he struggled more than the average student. His problem was that he found it difficult to keep concentration on his studies. After class period and whenever Peter settled down to study, he just cannot concentrate long enough to read more than two pages of his notebook. Sometimes he fell asleep or got carried away in his thoughts. Peter knew he lacked motivation to study his courses, and that it spelled trouble for his grades as a consequence. Unfortunately, the university does not provide resources to support their students in that situation and Peter was also too lazy to take any initiative and think outside the box. He assumed he did not have motivation because he disliked his major. Peter, therefore, found himself hating study blocks and would welcome any distraction instead of reading. Playing the avoidance game, he would volunteer extra time at fellowship, lingering around at the end of worship to do extra activities like counseling and dismantling the tent when other students are hurrying back to their study lounge. Naturally, Peter lit up when he talks to people or manipulate objects, so when he has a hard time understanding his books he channeled his energy to the things that make him happy. By Peter’s fifth year, it was clear he would be having an extra year. An extra year in a
