Repentance is of change in behaviour.
Unbelievers with no misbehaviour,
Do they so need to repent?
Yet believers do lament...
They are so far from Jesus- the saviour.
February 9 Praises to God Bible Meditations Based on Leviticus 24-25
Key Verse – Leviticus 24:4 He shall order the lamps upon the pure candlestick before the LORD continually.
PRAISE BE TO GOD WHO LIGHTS US
WITH HIS LAMP CONTINUALLY
Praise be to God for lighting us with His lamp continually to:
Lead us with His might
Liberate us by His mercy
Let us learn from His miracles
Look at us along His magnificence
Listen to us through His ministry
Leviticus 24:12 Praise be to the Lord
Who shows us His mind amidst our:
Sins resulting to guilt
Strivings along iniquities
Struggles brought by discontentment
Shame in hiding transgressions
Sorrows due to misbehaviour
Leviticus 25:17 Praise be to the Saviour
for admonishing us to fear Him toward our:
Rest in His providence
Restoration along His protection
Redemption-rejoicing by His peace
Reaping with His provisions
Reward according to His prize. Amen!
February 9, 2024
As I entered the house
I met fire
I felt heat
her face turned to flames
her eyes, a flame
I realized her fury
I quivered
as if it was Winter
she was sweating
exuding sweat like a Summer's rain
breathing heavily
a thunder-like breath
I knew it was going to rain
I doubted
whether backwards or forward
should I walk
if forward then I suffer
if backwards what if I fall ?
I turned with haste
I vamoosed
faster than her eyes
I left home
because of fear
not fear of sjambok
but embarrassment
of what I had done
so disrespectful
as we speak I am out-away
in an unknown forest
home I cannot return
because of my misbehaviour
that caused my Mother's wrath.
Drencho POET Loads
...to My Mom
She was always in the kitchen,
kneading pastry with good humour,
blending garnishes and gossip
as she wove her magic wand
and it was dinner time.
Struggling with algebra
I'd agonize for hours, 'til frustration
got the best of me, she tucked me into bed.
In the morning she was ready with
two fried eggs, the answer, and a hug.
Music was her gift to me, along with
many others, the sound of her soprano
voice still mellow in the air,
the wrath of God was nothing to
her tantrums at my misbehaviour.
Sights and smells come bursting through
as if it were just yesterday,
gentle guidance, remonstrations,
blending like her recipes
for cakes and codes of conduct.
...to My Mum
She was always in the kitchen,
kneading pastry with good humour,
blending garnishes and gossip
as she plied her magic wand
and it was dinner time.
Struggling with algebra
I'd agonize for hours, 'til frustration
got the best of me, she tucked me into bed.
In the morning she was ready with
a fried egg explanation and a hug.
Music was her gift to me, along with
many others, the sound of her soprano
voice still ringing in the air,
the wrath of God was nothing to
her tantrums at my misbehaviour.
Sights and smells come bursting through
as if it were just yesterday,
gentle guidance, remonstrations
blending like her recipes
for cakes and moral codes.
I envision your touch when i awaken each morning,
But ... i recall the times i ignored your warning,
I see your smile in every breath that i take,
But ... i remember our fights that i know i made,
I surrender to your love and have sweet memories thereof,
But ... i cannot forget how i pushed you away so much,
You silently endured my torrents of misbehaviour,
Yet you smiled your smile and stood as my saviour,
Drenched in my volatile words you accepted defeat i know,
Yet not a curse you uttered to unleash the fury i sowed,
I still remember the flowers you sent to apologise for my words,
Sweet words of lament at our love so rashly i threw,
Alas beware young lovers of the curse of my temper,
Be wary of my plight and endeavour to do better. . .
Folorn i sit alone and afraid,
Malignant in the destiny i made
She talks often of dusty surfaces
and laundry, more
I think, these last months, of leaving
the housework and me;
she tells in barbed epithets of
past indiscretions and wrongdoings
attributed to the mechanisms of
my capricious personality.
Each wicker basket filled with garments
of misbehaviour, and
comments and actions performed,
things I didn’t but should have done;
collectively, shirts of neglect, vests
of distaste, pants of misdeeds
thrown into automatic spins,
until their natures and colours run.
There is no denying, for each article is
labelled with my name, there
for all the world to see, rags and
dirty dealings in her beautiful laundrette;
niggling collars of failings, sleeves
of emotional blackmail, socks of sarcasm,
dirty washing strung up and aired
dripping acidic, fresh and wet.
So, I carry my basket with me, wherever
I go, and some things I put
away, and others I toss in the trash and
certain things I keep and wear;
for their feel to me is a reminder,
their scent a primal keepsake, of each
goading snipe as it chisels and chips
predictors of how soon before I cease to care…
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