Whatever You Do, Please Don't Fall In Love

Or fall in love anyway;
Fall in love so deeply, so recklessly...Fall in love so that your heart can be barbecued, grilled and smothered;
Fall in love so that your mind can explode a multiple times into small fragments like fireflies and disappear into oblivion...
Yes, maybe, just fall in love so that you may know the depths of bliss and disarray;
Fall in love anyway, because there is no one that is going to catch you after you come down with a thud!

Because,
If you've ever fallen in love,
If you've ever been loved,
There are two things; no, three things that you have found to be true:
That love is circular: it goes around and comes around,
That love is inexpensive: it brags itself to be aloof and in a class of its own ; and
That mature love is like wine: when you take too much of it, you get drunk, too little of it makes you yearn for more and "just enough" is never enough.
So falling in love leaves you neither in the waters of love nor on the shores...

But in a way I can't explain, mature love cripples the soul.
It retards it's ability to do normal things.
It matures the soul into doing the unthinkable, extraordinary, stupid and almost malevolent things;
Mature love is dangerous.
Childish love is dangerous.
Lukewarm love is dangerous.
All love is dangerous.
All love is not bad; just dangerous.

Stories of love are stories of bloody hearts and broken bones,
They are stories of rugged crosses, thorn-brawed faces and empty graves.
They are stories full of stories inside stories that were stories.


In all my life, I've fallen in love at least twice.
I know how it feels. I know how it tastes.
I know its pits and mountains, its lilies and scotches.I know its sourness and it's sweetness.
I've tasted both the angst and the anticipation;
And all these times, love has proved two things: that it tastes the same way if you get it just right,
And that it can be trodden upon just much;
But if you were my son and you happened to ask me, "Dad, should I fall in love?"
I'll tell you this:
It is beautiful, but it is dangerous. So, please, whatever you do, son, don't fall in love. Or fall in it anyway, because your heart can't help it and somehow, love delights and thrives in it own wars.


********
This tiny writing is for that person who knows what it means when we say, "I am thirsty, but please don't give me water, it will kill me."


Bonface Morris.

God is for GOD

God is for GOD

God is for Himself, there is no doubt about that,
The way He weaves our lives and the way He makes things work out in the universe,
The way He churns His thoughts and reveals His plans,
The way He rows our boats and toasts our plans,
He is for Himself,
God is for GOD.

I know you're asking, "I thought it is written that God is for us, how is He again for Himself?"
And I know you want me to make you understand how He does things only for Himself
I'll show you...
He is not selfish, that is not what or who He is,
He is not self-seeking, that is not what or who He is,
He isn't even manipulative or conceited or dead to the thoughts and desires of men who seek Him,
If He was those things, we would still be dead in our sins;
If He was those things, we would still be wallowing in the pitiful state of our failures,
So ultimately, though He may be for us, in the end, He is for Himself.

When you see the waves of the sea turning your life around,
And you see the fires of the world roaring with a sound,
When you see your failures as a way to turn your eye and ear to Him,
And you see every challenge turning you closer to Him,
Know that that is the hand of God,
Know that this is how He wants you for Himself,
Know that you cannot escape the moments when He is harvesting glory from within your waves and fires... for Himself...
Know that God is for GOD.

You may never understand why He squeezes you so much,
And you may never understand why by doing so He claims to love you too much:
Much more than He loves Himself - by dying for you.
Even in so doing, He is still for Himself...
God is for Himself.
He wants you better,
He wants you bolder,
He wants you more confident,
He wants you purer,
He wants you devoted to Him,
And above all, He wants all these for you, and you for Himself,
He wants you for Himself,
So, yes, God is for GOD.

When you see Him weave things to make you happy,
You may think, "Aaaah, the LORD surely seeks to satisfy me with joy."
That is true, and good, and beautiful;
But you are wrong when you think that way.
Instead you should think of it this way: "He is making my joy full for the glory of His Name."
When you're joyful and satisfied, His glory is revealed.
When you have it all going well for you, His abundance is revealed.
He is trying to tell you, "It's for the revelation of my glory that I am doing all these things: it is for glory of My Name. It is all about Me."

God is for GOD, never doubt that.
That is why bad things happen to good people so that in the end, after He comes through, we may praise His Name;
He is for Himself.
That is why good things happen to bad people, so that after their eyes are opened and they see it is Him, they may glorify His Name;
He is for Himself.
That is why prayers are delayed and answers and modified,
That is why waiting for Him to do stuff for you is uncomfortable - it is very uncomfortable to wait on Him while thinking that He is doing things for you;
No, God is for Himself, and He won't do anything for you unless it is for Him, unless it is for His glory. Understand that.

That is why things don't always turn out the way you would want them to,
And we always seem to see a small distance past our eyes;
That is why we should all shut up when we don't understand what He is doing with our lives.
That is why our prayers should be more like this:

"Lord, we know Your thoughts are higher than our own,
Your plans for us we cannot fathom,
We know our pains and suffering keep lying to to us that You don't care,
But deep within we know that You do,
We know that in Your plan - Your perfect plan which we have no idea about -
You have beautiful things for us.
Please close our minds and hearts from thinking that life is all about us, what we want, what we would want and what we would want to want,
But that it is all about You and what You want,
Let Your will be done.
In Your Name, Amen"

And sometimes when we are pressed on every side, we should also pray this way:

"Lord, when we are poor, and sickly and needy
Isn't that a disgrace to Your Holy Name because we are Your people?
What will the people of the nations think of You when they see us,
Considering that we are called by Your Name?
They will say, "See!! Their God is weak and useless and uncaring
Their God is a liar and He left them."
Lord, when they say such things concerning Your Name and Your character, they are not true. You are not like that, or are You?
So prove them wrong Lord, prove them wrong.
Come with power, not to only save us wicked and evil people
But to protect the fame and the glory of Your Name
In Your Name, Amen."

When we pray that way,
When we say, "We are Your people... called by Your Name." 
And when we say "Let Your will be done,"
All we are saying this:
Ultimately, after all has been said and done,
And our lives were lived for the glory of our God,
And for the fame of His Holy Name,
We realise that it was all about Him.
Our desires, our aching, our prayers, our service, our devotion...
It was all for Him.
We did it all for God, He did it all for us, but it was all for Himself.
So let all praises and glory and honor be to His Holy Name.
We were waiting for Him, yes 
And He did it for us, yes 
But it was all about Him.
Ultimately, God was, is and will be for GOD.
Amen.


Bonface Morris.

Things Are Not Always What They Seem

Things are not what they seem

He says he doesn't have to put on a mask; masks are for cowards, and he ain't one.
He says people can say whatever they want to about him; he's just fine.
And they can think whatever they want to about him, he's used to the ridicule and the pain.
He is used to letting it shine and heat up as much as he allows it to muddy and rain.
Not that he doesn't care, but that he believes in the power of one.
He is his own self, and with himself, he is one.
So he will tread on, and move on, and live on,
And they will speak on, and think on, and live on;
After all, things are not always what they seem,
And life would be funny, if in everyone's eyes, all it did was to stick with being all the same.
Life is a tether: it goes round and comes round, never sticking with either,
Sometimes it is black, sometimes it is white, and sometimes it is neither.

*******

She wanna see it. You know, the love.
He has said it multiple times, sworn it a couple more, and blabbered from grove to grove.
But she wants to see it. She wanna see the love.
She says, "If only he'd do this one thing, then my heart for him I'd save!" 
She thinks it is not always what it seems because he hasn't done a thing,

And because he hasn't done that thing, it cannot always be what it seems.
He hasn't moved an inch to do it, he hasn't moved a nerve.
Not that he hasn't made the move, but that it is not that move that is her anticipated move.

Love is not always what it seems.
Because if love was a flower, and everyone knew its garden,
Then we would stroll ourselves through, walking with anticipation to make things even
We would walk while holding hands, one, two, three, all of us,
We would walk with sure steps, one, two, three, all of us,
Down to its garden, to pluck one, two, three of love - for all of us.
Finding love would be easy, because we would tend our own garden-fulls.
But love is like gold: we know it exists and we know that it is beautiful,
We just don't know when we'll find ours, and whether it'll be enough or just a handful.
But it doesn't matter, we'll find it anyway.

*******

They talk of making lemonades out of life,
She thinks they are crazy because all she has known is a bitter life.
It is either she doesn't know how to make lemonades out of life,
Or her lemons are too many and there's neither enough sugar nor enough her.

Maybe, but she moves on anyways
Christ before her, worries behind her, she moves on;
Always striving to do better and become better, 

Always striving to be better and live better. 
She doesn't have to give up now. Not now after she has come this far. 

Why? 

Because things are not always what they seem;
Today we weep, tomorrow we rejoice, today we pain, tomorrow we joyfully scream.

Today we fall down, tomorrow the Lord raises us up. 

Tomorrow, He mends our wounds, yes, tomorrow He makes our footsteps firm,
Because things are never what they seem.

*******

Don't bury hope, bruh. 

Don't bury it just yet, bruh. 

Don't feel sorry for who you are. 

You are much more loved than you could ever think. 

You are more pleasant in God's eyes than you could ever know. 

Though you may feel forsaken today, tomorrow He'll keep you alive. You never know. 

So don't give up just yet. 

It may seem dim and dark, gloomy and ducked, 

But who knows? Tomorrow may be precious, bright and well-toned. 

Things are not always what they seem, bruh. 

No, they are not. 

*******

This message is for you who feels forsaken, left out, hopeless, sidelined and worthless: things are never what they seem. And weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning (Psalms 30:5). Your morning may be nearer than you could ever know. 

Bonface Morris. 

That's the World I Want! (Extended Edition)

That's the world I want!!

Prologue

Very few things are impossible. In fact, nothing is impossible.

*******

I want a world where I can freely share my weaknesses and humbly boast about my strengths.

It's a funny world where people forget my titles but embrace my every entitlement.

I want such a world.

I want a world where people will understand that others make mistakes, understand them anyway but still hold them accountable.

I want people to mean what they say and to say what they mean.

I want sincerity and honesty, I want generosity and acceptance of diversity.

It's a funny world yeah,

But that's the world I want!

I want a world where people neither judge too much nor too little,

Where people don't pretend to be what they are not.

A world where the rocks don't brittle and thoughts don't wobble.

I want a little more of truth and a little more of love; and little more of the old tolerance (yes, ask Don Carson about it) and a little more of truism.

I want a world where Christians understand that it's okay to feel out of control, and that you cannot always be in control.

I want a world where we understand that becoming perfect is everyone's goal, but being perfect is Christ Himself.

A world where struggles are celebrated so long as they are helping us achieve perfection, which is Christ Himself.

And I want a world where non-Christians understand that Christians lose it too - and that’s okay - and that it's what Christianity is all about: losing it so that God can align it.

I want something I don't see today.

That's the world I want!

I want a world where people don't read between the lines because sometimes there is actually nothing to be read.

I want people to sometimes take things just the way they are: to enjoy the face-value of things.

I want some bit more of WYSIWYG (what-you-see-is-what-you-get). Nothing more and nothing less.

I want a world where when people see spoons, they see spoons and not spades.

In such a world, we will feed well and farm well.

In such a world, we will fight less and jabber less.

Yes, that's the world I want!!

I want a world where people give, forgive, live and let live.

I want a world where both the "sane" and the "insane" can ride on the same bus, chat, alight and go their separate ways.

I want curiosity to kill us and wonder to submerge us; peace to fill us and joy to cover us.

I want love to imbibe us and honesty to disciple us.

I want truth to guide us and knowledge to sustain us.

I want a world where we are keen to learn and we never boast of the little we already know.

I want a world where we find wisdom not so that we may become superior to others but in order to guide the lost.

That's the world I want!!

I want the only confusion we know of to be: "I'm confused! I wanna do more! What can I do to save him/her?"

I want people to care, and not just to pretend that they care.

I want people to believe in God, not just to pretend that they do believe in Him.

I want leaders to serve, and not just lead.

I want people to believe in one another so that they're not secretly terrified of an "eminent attack".

I want justice and love to flow like a river and praise and worship to fill the valleys of animosity that separate us.

It is not an impossible world.

It is the world I see.

And, and, that's the world I want!!

*******

Epilogue

Read more insight from Brittney Moses, founder and president of UNASHAMED IMPACT here: Dear Christian, It’s Okay to Not Be Okay.

Bonface Morris.

Rhetoric: Less, Is It More?

Rhetoric: Less, Is It More?

A half of everything.

We now have and give a half of everything.

One half here, another half there, 

The other half on the moon, another half thrown to the sun. 

Pieces of halves scattered to the ground.

Sands, snippets, doodles and tastes of everything, 

Half piercings of needles from scathing at lifeless lives,

Half groanings of despair as we live half lives. 

Half sighs. 

Half smiles.

Half joys and half hates. 

Half loves and half wails. 

Half hearts and half dreams. 

Halves of thoughts and aimless realities.  

Halves of lies, lives, lacks, lofts and 

Halves of faiths and findings, 

Halves of cravings for entities.

Lord, 

When we give You "yes", isn't it always a "no"? 

We are divided in a half. 

And when we give You less, is it really more? 

When are we ever going to gather pieces of our half selves together? 

When are we ever going to join these halves? 

We are half here and half there 

Our minds are scattered everywhere 

Our hearts are for everything, our bodies are nowhere 

We are neither here nor there 

We have become but puppets swaying in two worlds and ending up nowhere 

So that when we give You our "yes", it is always a "no". 

We are victims of our own halfness. 

Meaningless lives. 

Half, aimless lives. 

Binging on struggles, surviving on fables, always half full. 

Comparing levels, stashing away baubles, always just dull.  

Living on half truths, depending on bubbles, always half full. 

Half aimless lives that cling more closely to false halves of reality than to the ultimate. 

Satisfied less, clueless, faith-less, always escaping the ultimate. 

Having less, feeling less, thanking less, always victims of the guesstimate. 

Is less more? 

When did less become more? 

When did having become same as "I have not"? 

When did full become none? 

When did "I know who I am" become "I know not who I am"? 

Christians, when did "I am strong!" become "I am not?" 

And when did "fear not" become "I can-not" 

And when did "I am" become "I am not?" 

Has the I AM become none? 

Have we - with our half lives and half thoughts and half wills - killed that Name and reduced it to "You are not?" 

When did the great I AM become "You are not?" 

Has less become more?

Bonface Morris.

Rhetoric: Love Is...

Note: This rhetoric on what love is [is] the last post in a series of posts this year celebrating February as "the month of love". 
Click to read the rest of the blogs here, here and here. 

Love is...

Love is a souvenir.
It is masterpiece portrait of some sort.
It clings so tight to the soul so that you wouldn't imagine a heart without it.
Sometimes it is impossible to differentiate the two.
It inscribes itself into its depths, into the depths of the soul, and mercilessly plunders the heart with beautiful memoirs, 
So that it is impossible for a heart to deny its work of art.

Love is like a flower. 
It is like the pottering softness of lilies lying afloat on still waters, smiling melodiously under the glimmery rays of the sun.
If you water it, it flourishes; if you don't, it won't. 
And well-watered flowers do survive the toughest of droughts. 
Just be keen to water yours early for drought will always come. 

Love is a call. 
We may choose to heed its voice or not. 
But there is no promise that its voice brings only the good. 
Because where there is sacrifice, there is sweat and blood also. 
And when nobles are fighting for a good course, vultures are always staring waiting for a catch. 
It is never easy, but it is always worth it.

Love is like opium. 
Some think it is a good thing while others reiterate its wickedness. 
We share both a staggering amount of joy and an overwhelming cloud of wistfulness when under its rule.
The one is soothed by its embrace, while the other is confused by its bluntness. 
It soothes when indulged in reasonable installments, but it harms when it becomes addictive. 

Love is thinking with both your heart and your brain. 
It is knowing that the imbalance will kill you. 
That the one should always be the balance for the other. 
And that you can never fully put your trust in either. 
That is love.

Love is a story. 
Everyone has their own. 
Some love telling theirs, others don't. 
But like all stories, we choose the characters and the audience. 
And like all of them, we choose their beginnings and their ends. 

Love is cruel and unusually tyrannical. 
It is painful. It is sweet. 
Love's cruelty is sweet. 
The wounds of love should not be regretted, because they are scars for the mirror when we wake up tomorrow. 
And we don't hide scars unless we want to forget what they've taught us. 
Someone somewhere has said, "True love asks us to do hard things, almost impossible things."

Love is a mirror.
The more you look at it, the more it judges you. 
The more you gaze at it, the more it haunts you.
It awakes when you awake and lies down as you do.
Without it, there is no confidence in how we look or how we seem to look. 
Every soul that is judged by it has received a judgment that is rewarding. 

Love is like day and night. 
It is distinct and exclusive. 
It is black or white with no sahdes of grey.
And to fall in love is not like a switch. 
You cannot switch it on and off. 
You cannot fall in love and wake up tomorrow to fall out of love. 
You either love or you don't; you cannot do both to the same person all at the same time. 

Love is a journey. 
It is meant to last forever. 
Some choose to walk it for a while, some give up on the way and others go all the way. 
It is only those who've gone all the way that have a say on why going all-the-way is the only best way to love. 

Love is God, and God is love. 
We say so because He has made Himself known to us 
I am convinced that any mortal that hasn't encountered Him can even attempt to love. 
There's no love where there is the absence of God. 
For when all has been said and done, 
After we have loved and 've been loved,
It will all go down to: did we love like we ought to or like we wanted to?


Bonface Morris.

Random Posts: Love Fought. And It Won.

Love fought. And won. 

There's a battle - there are battles - in every soul.

Such battles are never easy.
They are never easily won.
We fight for control,
We fight against the grizzly.
We fight with a brawl,
We fight against the beastly.
And in most of our fights, we fight with our backs against the wall,
Yet we mostly fight cunningly, treacherously and unscrupulously.

We sometimes pick the wrong fights.
It happens to the best of us.
We beat air, we stuff our minds with empty despair.
We stage rings and make plots.
We wait for our opponent with a joint of a flair.
Then when they come, we put on our fighting lights.
Then we fight.
We fight like it's our share.
We fight as if the world plus all we think we're fighting for will ultimately pull us out of our plight.
Sometimes it turns out alright, Sometimes it is unfair.
But we still fight.
We fight our wars until our breath seems to lose its flare.

But there is One I know,
I'll tell you about Him.
This One, after I had fought all I can,
And after I had thrown in every blow,
Even after I thought, "Aaah, I know I can. I can make a win", and eventually lost,
He chose to pick the biggest of all fights.
He picked not ONLY my biggest fights,
But He picked all the fights I "could" and couldn't fight because, yes, I was not able to.
For He said this to the Holy One of Israel after everyone else refused to pick my fights, "I'll go fight for him. Send me, I'll go."
He is the only man that faces battles instead of running away from them.

So He came crushing in, yet stooping low.
He came knowing who, why, how and when to fight.
He had the right experience and His battle had already been declared won.
He came and fooled His opponent.
Babies can't fight, right?
This baby we're celebrating today couldn't fight, could He?
This made His adversary think, "Aaah, this war, I've already won. Babies can't win a war."
He didn't know what was coming to him.
His opponent had no idea of what was coming to him.
He fought not like men fight their wars,
Not like we fight our wars - with mortal strength and soaring, nor with shouts and oars
He came down and staged His own ring
This was his battle, so the devil had no idea what was coming to him...

Yes, He picked one eternal battle and won it for eternity.
When I still didn't know I'll ever need to know how to fight,
Before I even knew there was a war that needed fighting,
Before I even had guts to fight,
Before I even knew about wars and losing and winning and brawls,
He picked all my fights and won them all into eternity.
See? That's how love fought, and it won.
He came down, fought, and won.
He is not like me. Not like us.
He didn't fight aimlessly.
He didn't fight like us.
This was His battle, His war, and there was no way He was gonna lose it carelessly.

That's the One I'm celebrating today.
I'm celebrating the fact that He could see my battles and win them before I even begun fighting.
Jesus Christ is the man I'm celebrating today.
That He could come and fight on my behalf, and win on my behalf.
Not that He needed the victory - because it was already His,
But because I needed THAT victory - because it had never been mine.
Without Him, I cannot even win half of what I face.
I am counted to have won because He won. See?
That's why He is the One I am picking on to teach me the art of war.
Because before his opponent even thought there was a fight, he had already beat him down.
Who doesn't want such a tutor?
And, again, who am I that He should fight my meaningless wars?
What a Savior!!!

Merry Christmas people!!

He came. He fought. He won.
Love came. Love fought. Love won.

Cc

1. Hillsong Worship - Love On the Line 

2. Chris Tomlin - At the Cross (Love Ran Red) 

Bonface Morris.

Surviving On Maybes

So you realize you were wrong.

But you can't undo it.
It's like the sun has set and the day is done. You can't bring it back.
So you promise yourself to do better next time. To spin it differently.
But maybe there is no "next time".
And you are not sure if everyone affected will understand you're remorseful.
Or that you deserve a second chance.
Or that you are not "who they think you are".
Or that you have now truly changed.
Or that it was just an accident.
For what it's worth, this was not "you".
You overreacted. You overestimated. You overstepped. You insinuated.
This was not "you"!!
So you live begging for the resurfacing of an opportunity to undo your mistakes.
You live waiting for that day when you would act "you" to prove who you really are.
You live surviving on maybes...

*******
Maybe he was right, maybe he wasn't.
He got swallowed up by thin lines.
Overwhelmed by them.
He got dragged in slowly.
It wasn't intentional. No, it wasn't.
He had believed he would beat the urge to become what he had always dreaded he might become: a failure.
People now think he is one.
They think he is a jerk too. Dang.
It only took two minutes.
Yes, two minutes and nobody now believes that all he had been to them for years meant something.
It feels so bad that nobody wants to believe in him anymore.
Come on. He has been their mini-hero for such a long time. Why can't they listen to his side of the story even a little bit?
I mean, why are people so mean?
Or maybe they are giving him time, eh?
They'll soon come around, yes?
He crossed a line.
That he knows. He acknowledges it too.
He crossed a line.
He got drank.
He had sex.
With a minor.
Will they really come around? These people?
He crossed a line.
He got emotional.
He booked a room.
He slept with a colleague.
The effect of all that is now weighing in on his marriage.
Will it really come around?
Maybe.
But our friend is surviving on maybes...

*******
Maybe he'll marry her, maybe he won't.
He has never said he is interested.
Not even hinted it.
But they've been together for kinda forever.
People, friends, colleagues, cats, flies etc say they look good together.
They say it. They beat them the drums of hail and say.
They keep waiting.
She keeps waiting.
For him to say he's interested in taking it to the next step.
Wait-a-minute. What is keeping this dude from proposing?
Or they're in some kind of game, eh?
A game? Oh, so it's a game now?
Can she now launch her own?
Where she can go on her way and tell him she is moving on. Or something close to that...
Something like, "Dear, I'm moving to Dubai on Monday next week. It'll be harder to work this out after I'm gone so it's better we move on with life separately."
Then maybe this will bring him back to his senses.
Maybe the dude will then say, "Dear, I had plans for us. I was gonna pop the question this coming month and we'd be a couple by the end of the year. How do you see it!?"
Maybe this would work. Maybe.
You know what? Our gal is surviving on maybes...

*******
He has been praying about it for years.
Two years. Three. Several.
That she may change.
That she may become better.
Learn to be herself. Let go of her pettiness. Let go of her childish ish.
That she would become a woman. A lady. A noblewoman.
That she would have a vision for her life. Have a life. Stop believing in a lie.
That she would fantasize less and live in reality.
"Life is bleak", he has told her several times. "Don't wait until you're hopeless and blind to start groping for guidance. It may be too late."
She has looked at him almost the same way almost all the time he has said those things.
She thinks he overrates things.
She wants her pedestal and her chair and her groove pack.
He is her friend yeah.
And he needs to remind her that life is mixture of colors.
Sometimes black. Sometimes white. Sometimes grey. Sometimes colorless. Sometimes you don't even realize what color emanates.
But if all is surrendered to God and with knowledge that life is so colorful, it's gonna be well.
But maybe she'll simply roll her eyes and tell him, "I'm living my life, try to live yours."
Or maybe she'll listen this time.
Maybe.
Our guy is surviving on maybes...

*******
He has held her hand like this before.
Promising to make her days smile and her nights sigh in wonder.
He has said he loves her.
That he loves her more than his wife.
More than all those mistresses she has heard he has had.
"It is funny, babe. It is funny how people say bad things concerning me. I think they are envious of my success."
She has believed him.
That he is a good man.
That he is generous and goofy and honest and full of humor.
That his wife is a b***tch.
She has believed all this.
All this nonsense.
She has believed that he probably will ditch his wife for her.
Nonsense.
It is sad. It is false hope.
It is surviving on maybes.
She is surviving on maybes...

*******
So...
When life is a pool.
When it's a river.
When it's mud.
When it's a puddle.
When we find ourselves wading in and out wondering.
When all wonder is dark wonder.
When we think we're surviving.
When we know we are surviving.
Maybe that's life. Maybe it's not.
Maybe they are just maybes.
Or maybe we make life to be all about maybes when it should be about everything else.
Maybe.
Or maybe we are the ultimate life maybes...

Maybe, (take some time and think about it), in some tiny way, we are all surviving on maybes. 

Bonface Morris.

Concoctions

Concoctions (sic!)

Clouds. They are too many. 

Then days go by and...
Rays. They are too bright.
Then seasons swing by and...
Dusts. They are too overwhelming.
Then times walk by and...
Muds. They are too murky...

And in the midst of it all 

My mind tries to follow my eyes through them both - even through the third and the fourth - and I try to remember:

I try to remember that we aren't different. 

That we aren't different from the cloudiness, and the brightness, and the punkey-ness and the murkiness. 

I also try to remember that we were, inasmuch as we are all different, created the same.
I try to remember that I am, between the two of us, the most mad one 

You are less mad than I am, or so I mostly pretend; but there are moments I feel you're more insane. 
And I try to remember that you try to remember to be patient with me

That you can recall all the times that I've either been cloudy, shiny, dusty or murky. 

Yet you just sat there with mixed feelings of wanting to understand who I really am...

I am drunk all the time.

That's why my memory keeps lapsing
I am - most or all the time - that's why I keep on failing.
It should be the drink. The concoction. 

I drink too much of myself mixed with so many other things (all the time) and that's why I keep on trying to remember. 

Yet I keep on failing. 

There are times I'm tempted to remind you - those moments when I'm a little sober - that you are as stunk and drunk as I am.
But I bet you won't listen because you too are drunk with your own kind of drink.
We drink from different places and at different levels, but it's drinking all the same. 

I bet you're always accusing me of being drunk with this or that concoction. 

That's fine. 

But you ain't different. No, you are not. 

You too have a specialty in making and drinking cocktails that are out of this world. 

We mix-up our concoctions using different recipes but they are concoctions all the same.

"So let's get drunk", we secretly whisper to each other's egos. 
Let's drink until the blue sky pales into melancholy; and until the grass frizzles into the depths of air.
Let's make merry until the earth blurs before us; and the rains fall no more...

Until the clouds, the sun, the dust and the mud is no more... 

Or until they multiply right before our very eyes!! 

Then what will we tell our children and our children's children?
We'll tell them we tried.
We'll tell them we tried to remember that we were all born drunk.
But we'll hide telling them that we struggled so much to help ourselves but we couldn't.
We'll pretend that our drinking wasn't something we dreaded.
We'll pretend that we enjoyed it. Every moment. Every detail. Every taste of our concoctions.

At one time we are lions, and cats at some other time.

That's what our concoctions do to us... 

At one time we are strong, but weaklings when a given dawn awakes. 

That's what our concoctions tell us. 

But God sees us: shriveled, in need of warmth and in need of a saving from the murkiness of the mud. 

Will we run to Him that He may give us something else to drink?

Something that will make us drunk yeah, but differently? 

Or will we keep on trying, pretending and failing, until we lie to our children's children? 

NB: Some words in life can only make sense when they are made wordless. (sic!) 

Bonface Morris.

Love Is A War

Prologue
Well, the words below are more of the sandals and the belt to Warren Barfield's "Love Is Not A Fight".

Love is a war

Love is a war.

It is that kind of war that you get into without wishing or thinking twice about.
Nobody wishes war for themselves actually, but the war of love is irrefutable.
It just happens. And you just happen to like it.

It is like this:

One morning you are so cool - as cool as that frail mzungu on the beach with a pink pair of shorts sipping overdiluted yet overpriced juice.
You are carefree and stuff.
You are freelance, chewing popcorn cud, bubbling with freedom and chasing your thoughts along some imaginary sandy beach.
Boy, right then, life is food and you are definitely within reach.

Then love happens.

It happens in such a manner that you (outta-nowhere) just find your shriveled self with a sword in hand begging to fight.
You are there holding that blunt sword early next morning bila hata kunawa uso.
Just like that.
In a war of love, you don't ever care about what akina Morris will say...
You are all, "Hey, nigh and nay..."
Of course you are also with a bare chest that morning, and you're still rubbing your face with the back of your hand, trying to gain sight.
You are begging for a fight.
And funny enough, no begging, no pleading and no forcing of your petty self by anyone brought you out into such a readiness for war.
No. You just jumped out.
The moment you realized that the object of your emotion is within site, you just jumped out.
Just like that.

Plainly speaking, that is your moment of utmost stupidity - and yet you seem to be so proud of it.
You are proud of being shoved in all directions up to the front line on the battleground.
And all-of-a-sudden, you're commanded out of your numbness:
"Fight! Fight! Fight for me. Fight for me, your majesty!"
Then you are aroused to life (now scratching your tummy): "Your what?" You demand to know. Then you have to discard your slothfulness for your inner mojo to match the title you now command.
For if you won't fight - if you wouldn't fight - someone else is going to fight themselves into her/his arms.
And love does not play her game in that manner.
You will lose.

Love is a war, my friend.
Take up your sword. Buckle it up. Stand. Jog. Jump up. Train yourself.
It is war. It needs practice. And training. And fervency. And madness.
War requires you to seem to know where you are headed to and what you are doing even when you don't.
You need to learn to protect it (love), and guard it, and defend it, and keep it safely.
You need to learn to fight its battles.
For love abhors losers just as the earth abhors the sky.

You need to learn to fight its battles. For love abhors losers just as the earth abhors the sky.

The war of love is like the grass that withers in the field, then the sun burns and it still withers and threatens to dry away. 

Then you come rushing in with sprinkles of water and you cloth it in it.
And you do it again tomorrow. And the day after. Up until the grass is all-green and smiling in your face again.
You just don't give up. 

The moment you find yourself carelessly holding a sword in your right arm...
Breathing uncontrollably after jumping out of the house, saying every senseless word love is making you mime,
And swearing with your lips, while wiping away your sweat with your left and still clothed in a bare chest,
Is the moment you should decide not to give up.
It is the moment you decide to be the one fetching the water when the grass seems to be drying endlessly. It is the day you choose to fight till death do you apart.
It is that day that separates men from boys, war from toys and truth from coy.

You see, you think love is peace.
And that you only need words and gifts on a leash
To throw them here and there and you are done.
To speak them here and there, then you're gone...
And you probably think that with some certain kind of a fame, color and memoirs an eternity of sweet love will suffice.
No. Love requires the aggression of a pig.
It requires the patience of light within fog.
It requires a readiness of a legion,
And the boldness of a lion.

The war of love is when you lie, "I'm okay"
While deep inside you are ready to pounce on the victim any day.
In such a war, you'll always claim, "It'll be okay"
When deep within you are peculiarly uncertain of what price time will pay.
The war of love is where the heart plays but the body lies down sick.
Love is where the mind dances but the body is numb and weak.
In this war, thorns to your feet have to be considered as water to the duck...
In this war, you struggle to forgive because the agitations of the so-called "gut feeling" are telling you, "Morris, she doesn't deserve it. She doesn't deserve to be forgiven..."
Love is overcoming your lust and the unholy longings within and subduing them under.
Love is when you fight for nothing else but itself.
Love is when you hack your selfishness to pieces just so that you may redeem yourself.
Love is like the paradox of a bird that pants for free air but is also contented with the cage.
The bird whose lifespan is like that of a phage...
The war of love is as dangerous as it is harmless.
The war of love is as life-giving as it is lifeless.

The war of love is as dangerous as it is harmless. The war of love is as life-giving as it is lifeless.

How else will you tend it if you didn't fight enough to acquire and keep it? 

How else will you value it if you didn't go up the mountain and slide through valleys to have a taste of it?
Haven't you heard that the sweetest love is the one you fight for? The one you'd die for?
And that nothing pays, and that nothing is of worth which you haven't fought for?
Haven't you heard that love is a battlefield?
And that only the brave can share the warmth from which it is built?

They say that if you love enough, you have to learn freedom.
But they forget this: they forget to tell us that freedom is a kingdom.
And that to love freely is to conquer the odds of emotion, deception and depiction.
Yes, to love freely means conquering over yourself - taking reign over the kingdom of freedom.
And that requires war.
Yes, it does.

Love is a war.
It demands that you fight yourself into someone's heart.
That's why love is not easy. It requires you to get hurt.
But it is a beautiful war.
A war where instead of getting bruised, you enjoy the stir.
You enjoy more when there is war than when it is no more.
It is a beautiful war.

Love is warring against wanting another.
It is a warfare against desire for another.
It is choosing to fight for one, while overlooking every other.
It is choosing to be contented with one and forsaking every other.
It is fighting against being lured into a trap by the haunty woman.
Or being seduced by the weak woman.
It is a war of desire, thought and want.
It is a battleground for what you need, not what you want...

Love is like this:

Love is like making promises with a sword in one hand and a glass of wine in the other.
While guarding yourself lest one overwhelms the other.
Love is trusting that you won't fall on your sword while drunk.
And that if you ever are tempted to fall on your sword, the scars will remind you of the place and moment you fell to the ground.
Love doesn't want to risk dying because you were a skunk.
No, love would kill you if you ever tried to make it die and face the stink.

Epilogue
Even while loving Christ, we war against our flesh.
We fight with all our might to win the prize - we fight through surrender.
We fight not like men beating the air but like warriors behind a faithful commander.
We war against every trash, against every teeth that threatens to gnash.
We love so much that we war.
Because He loved and loves so much that He warred in order to have us in His arms.
Love is a war.
And it's Him who came to us to teach us that LOVE IS A BEAUTIFUL WAR....

.........................
Written for my one and only love for whom I'll never stop fighting...
You now get it bae, when I say, "We are at war..."
*Winks and smiles*

Morris.

Nothing

Yo man, yo gal
So you think you are nothing?
Wait, do you really think you are nothing?
Nothing can't breathe, and nothing can't read what I'm writing
Nothing can't tread the earth, and nothing can't bleed with life
Nothing ain't nuthin'

Listen bruh, and listen bae...

There is a tale I used to hear of old, of near-old
Buddies used to shout and sing it all over
It went somethin' this;
"Yo, there ain't no way somebody's gonna roll
And roll really deep
Yeah, deep like pizzas down the raw yo
Without being sumthin
To roll like you really rolling, you gotta be sumthin
And you ain't gotta be sumthin by being nothing
Nothing ain't nuthin..."

Later, I realized this;

There's a time when one thinks they are nothing
And they depend on men and women to validate their worth
And they worship them
For they long for the filling of that emptiness and the scraping away of nothingness
And loneliness and ill relationships creep into their lives while trynna be something
They travail in the agony of nothingness
And plead with mankind to fill their emptiness
Men trample on their worth and feed on it
Women drink their blood and spit on their cloth
Exhaustion, regret, pain and blackmail take their toll
Hatred, dishonesty, imbalance and low self esteem create their fall
Leaving them without meaning and with a destiny forged by the arms of men...
But ain't they something?
Wain't we all created in God's awesomeness? In His image?
Ain't we, therefore, all awesome?

Listen...

We may all want to justify our being "nothing" by our levels of education:
That we have not stepped in a school to receive even the most basic education
Or we may want to define our lives by our failures (and they are many)
Or see ourselves through the eyes of others: the words they've told us, the curses they've hurled at us and the betrayals they have made us experience
Or because of where we have come from: our "fallen" families, the divorces around us and all our failed relationships
Or that all our days we've been being told that we are useless and nothing
And we let drugs define us
And people, and our weaknesses, and pride, and arrogance, and selfishness
And sorrow, and anger, and fury, and unforgiveness and grudges
All in the name of trying to escape being the nothing we've been told we are
But does all this matter?
Does it change our feeling of being nothing?
Does it make us feel worthy, wanted or even better?
Does it draw new portraits of reality: the reality of who we TRULY are?
Does living to satisfy other people's demands of us make us better?
It ain't nuthin
We can't define ourselves through nuthin-ness
We can't thrive if we remain wanting to define our lives through the words and actions of the people around us
It ain't nuthin

Pain will still hold us captive
We will still live in unbelief
Stress will still make us less positive
Life will still give us reasons to find no relief
People will still find us uninteresting
And we will die with blame games and be buried nothing

Listen...

We need to turn around and stop hurting ourselves and paining those we love
I need to do so, you need to do so
Until we realize we are something in God's eyes,
Until we define ourselves through His eyes: how awesome, beautiful, worthy, loved, cared for... we are
Man will never satisfy our crave for identity...
And we'll die nothing, for nothing
It is in God, in Christ, that all our experiences with men unfold our worth
It is only in Him where our pains and our regrets are turned to worth
He clothes us into something, into His children
And He calls us by name;
"Morris, er, (fill in your name), you are something to me
I gave up myself, my life, for you
I love you... I have always loved you with an unfailing love...
I won't give up on you...
Come to me child, I will never give up on you...
You are something to me - you are my child... you can't be nothing to me..."

To sum up, here's Lecrae's outro from Nuthin'
Hey man, the way I see it
I think we were made for mor
Than just, ya know, the simple things that we aspire toward
We were made for more than just telling stories about
How much money we can get by selling poison to people
It's time to talk about who we are and who we can be
And we need to build each other up and not put each other down
I feel like we not talking about nothing right now

And here is Francesca Battistelli's own words in He Knows My Name;
I don't need my name in lights
I'm famous in my Father's eyes
Make no mistake, He knows my name...

That's how the Creator of the universe wants us to define ourselves: we are not nothing , He knows our names. They're written on the palm of His hand...


Bonface Morris.

Sometimes

Sometimes you understand everything. 

Sometimes you don't. 

Sometimes you walk with your head high, other times you don't. 

Sometimes you're bold - bold as a lion. 

Other times you're shy - afraid even of your own self. 

Sometimes you win, sometimes you don't, sometimes you're just lost between - trying to differentiate the two. 

Sometimes you grow up, sometimes you mature, sometimes you just stay stuck somewhere between. Sometimes you remain the same. 

Sometimes you don't even know where you are!

Sometimes you change - you really do. 

Other times you don't.

Other times you abhor change and trifle and struggle with your rigidity.

Sometimes you fight, and rant, and yell, and roll, and toss on the ground.

These times you are an animal - lost in the madness of self. 

These times you are thunder and lightning, painful and thorny.

Other times you're a dove, a lamb and a butterfly. 

These times you are an angel - swallowing the embers of life with immortal ability. 

Whisking everything with ease and peace.

Sometimes you forget people. 

Other times you don't.

Sometimes you remember them. 

Other times you don't.

Sometimes they are real, other times they are not. 

People are remembered. People are forgotten. 

All the time. 

People exist in the middle of remembrance and forgetfulness. 

Sometimes you wonder why some people are to be remembered at all. 

Sometimes you just sit there and your mind just remembers them. Just like that!

Sometimes you hate it. 

Sometimes you don't.

Sometimes you count your blessings. 

Sometimes you forget. 

Sometimes you blame God, sometimes you blame people, other times you blame the devil, and rarely, you blame yourself. 

Sometimes you only seem to see the half-empty cup. 

You stare at it. You feel disgusted. Half empty. You don't like anything half empty. 

No one does.

Most of the time, you forget that it is also half full.

Man is an incessant creature when dealing with numbers. 

O! What an obsession we have for greater numbers!

Sometimes I wonder why man has to be like so...

Sometimes everything is a mystery. 

Sometimes you feel it is good for everything to remain but a mystery. 

It keeps you safe not knowing things.

Other times you are angry at the mysteries and hidden things in (your) life.

Other times you fight to know.

Sometimes it feels good to be here on earth.

Other times you cry out loud to Heaven wanting to get home.

These times are the toughest.

These times are also the easiest to live. 

It all depends.

Sometimes you are strong, other times you are weak. 

But it is all the same. 

Strength and weakness make no difference at all.

You are weak here, you are strong there, you are both.

You are successful here, you are a failure there, you are both.

It is all the same.

Sometimes you have to act a fool in order to know.

Other times you have to be the one who knows in order to confront the fool. 

I have discovered that life wavers itself between these two. 

Going back and forth. 

Like waves.

Nothing is new. 

It is just a repetition of things of the past...

Ecclesiastes 1:9 (ESV) ​"What has been is what will be, and what has been done is what will be done, and there is nothing new under the sun"

I have found out that the wisest of men is the one who learns (daily) how to balance himself/herself between too much knowledge and too much foolishness. 

The one who learns - but never claims to fully know - about things. 

Who patiently awaits his/her moment of wisdom and truth.

Because sometimes, yes sometimes, there is actually no difference between the two. 

They are all the same. 

Yes, wise people and fools are all the same.

It just depends with who is saying so.

Bonface Morris.