A Constant God
by Mobayode Akinsolu
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A Constant God
Fast flowing rivers may eventually run dry and the great light that rules the day grows weary and seeks for shelter after a while. The mighty oceans fluctuate in their depths just as the tides thereof, rise high and drop low invariably. The lofty mountains may eventually wash away following an increased feat in external or internal reactions. Rocks of fortitude and moxie still raise a question in the hearts of every solitary soul seeking solace. The signposts of home and the sighs relief often fail to refresh the weary traveller who has lost his way. There will always be more roads than one can possibly tread and more questions just as there may be answers to life’s propositions. Faithfulness may be nurtured in the face of doubts that query the veracity of devotion and strict adherence to a hope that glows from within. In the face of many more uncertainties surrounding the theosophy of existence, there is a witness in every true heart that He lives!
Men, women and children all look the same in the mirror and beaming light of divine knowledge. The frail thoughts of understanding may find a nest to hatch into maturity if prudence and obeisance abide thereat. Wisdom chooses and futility does the same, but who knows what road eventually leads to fulfilment and gain. Who can really tell if the story of a chosen people told time and time again, will be an adequate testimony for fruitful living? Will the unalterable sure words of history and prophesies be potent in swallowing the insanity the hearts of men have birthed? It is true, every smile wanes and men will only drink at a table where equality is served without prejudice. In all, the barred roads of righteousness and the cravings of gender’s tenderness will forever be understood looking through The Eyes that run to and fro the earth. And the Right Hand that upholds the just will safely guard from the noise and turbulence of a changing world.
A silent night or a busy morning; an old sleepy cathedral stashed in renaissance or a busking new age chapel booming in gusto; what is the true description of the home where the savoury aura of grace dwells? Offence and greed reeks like a bad breath in most assemblies and every gathering is cladded in facades. There is a nudge to ask, where is the substance of the faith the patriarchs professed? Two bended knees and silent words of prayer; an agonising cry for freedom or a furious shout to an adjudged angel. There is a conflict of wisdom and the dimensions of worship wrestle ferociously in doctrinal fallacies. The heat of passion is repressed and extinguished desires are hidden beneath the surface of busyness without business. It is either a mistaken identity or a lost image. Where are the true shepherds who speak without holding anything back? And where are the children who love remorselessly without a competition for attention before their Father? A people who stand up for the truth without hiding behind the cold bars of connivance and manipulations? Oh, where is the congregation in whose midst that infallible name is consistently and persistently hallowed?
There has been a refinement in most gestures to ridicule the forte that acknowledges the very essence of existence. Worse still, colloquialism has lent credence to the idiocy portrayed in naming the only reason we live, move and have our being. Whatever happened to the sense of awe as of old? And where are the voices who proclaim salvation’s true gospel in true reverence? Many an experience is a far cry from what the good old paths teach and portray. The heat of desires eventually ruptures a willing heart in a generation where living by the tenets of piety seems not to be fashionable. The streets are becoming more polluted and many more men are living in despair than before. Blindfolded by a rise in feats and achievements, women are stricken with pride and submissiveness has been misjudged to be passiveness. The children are left to battle with a lost heritage and a missing sense of direction creeps in at every tier of education. Nonetheless, the foundations of eternity stand sure with a clear inscription of a hereafter and an expected end.
What hope is possibly left for a failed generation? And what remedy is there for a fortress whose foundation lies waste? Is there still room for the inquisitive minds who seek the true wisdom that wrath the mighty wonders yore? Will the heavy unscrupulous hearts find a place of rest and deliverance? Will the sheep outside the fold be forever lost wandering on strange pastures? What time will the reapers be fully prepped to walk the field of souls? Everyone pays a price for choices made and every good will seeks after a place where peace flows like river; a habitation where justice remains incurable like a mighty fountain. The generous mind eventually ascends the hills far from the wailing and pains of want and lack. And even in the face of incredulity, instruction reaches to the heart of those who chose to pray and not faint.
There is a Bosom that nurtures the creed founded in faith, hope and love. Words resonating in silence and a beaming light on the dark treacherous paths of human dreams and pursuits. So, hold fast to that which you have found and don’t falter in this sojourn. This is not a paradigm; it is the earnest fulfilment of the virtuous promises boldly foretold in the oracles of salvation and redemption. Why question the occasions and times of a rejuvenating epiphany? Or why wait until there is a burst of light in the sky blinding every sphere of human influence? Yes, tomorrow may never be and yesterday appears forever lost. But, let today be all that you need to share these words of faithful living to another of like passion. There is a constant God in this changing world…
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