VIGIL AFTERMATH

My bubugaga bathed me today and I felt 10 years old again. It's her thing, whenever she's home she would force me to bath and when I refuse, she would carry me off to the bathroom to bath me herself. Though I often protest, I secretly enjoy it.

It's humbling how she sees me, like that 2-year-old child who wouldn’t stop crying. So when I try to act all grown up, it’s amusing to her. She literally watched me grow up.

For me, it’s a reminder that no matter how grown I become, I’ll always be her baby, her 2-year-old. There’s something comforting about that, the way she cares for me, the way she reminds me that love can be soft, playful, and childlike.

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Anyways, yesterday was FOH last vigil and grand finale, and i did present a poem. One i consider well written, even though not all too well performed, i enjoyed doing it.

Well, here it goes;

FOH POEM

We do not serve a high priest,

Who is untouched by the pulse of our pain

He is the one who reads between our silence,

And understands the language of our tears.

For 50days,

We have sat under the torrents of his revelations

We have drank from the deep,

From Wells of light, and God's wisdom 

And feasted on the simple knowledge of our identity in him.

Now I ask thee...

What are your expectations?

Because expectations are not passive 

It's the posture that builds an altar

Because expectations is the sound before the sound 

The invisible that births the seen 

What is not good is not yours

Because our God is good, abi not?

So good that his mercies are new every morning 

And his signature is "Goodness".

Did you not know that our wealth is not,

In the weight of our bank accounts 

But in the riches of his glory 

The kind of abundance that never runs dry

That is why we call him "The Oshimili Atata"

And no, we do not give up

We have learnt that the weight of the storm

Is only proof that the clouds are heavy

And when the cloud grow heavy, it does not threaten, it pours.

Now, as we step out of this hall,

Back to our everyday life

May there be evidence that we've tarried 

That we qavah-ed till our knees learnt the rhythm of surrender. 

May there be proof that something rested on us, something ancient, something divine. 

Remember Elijah's altar?

How it was drenched, soaked in impossibilities 

But God's fire did not negotiate, it consumes

Isn't that why we call him, the consuming fire.

This is the advantage we have, 

The rhythm of a God who answers without bluffing 

With a consistency that beats human understanding 

Did he not say in Isaiah 43:19

"Oh lord,I have heard of your fame, I stand in awe of your deeds, repeat them in our day!!. 

And truly we are that repetition.

The revival reborn.

Ladies and Gentlemen; Arise and shine for the light you carry is not waiting to appear, it's already rising. 

We are the mirror of his movement. 

May it be said that we did not just attend a move, we became it.

So lift your voice and echo the anthem of our becoming, "oh lord, do it again"

@favvy_Okwans🖤.