Thought Picnic: For love that stands the test

The tests of purpose

There are moments in life when we are called to the test, in relationships that matter more than any other to face the many trials that might stress the bonds of attraction and affinity.

The test of character is one where your honest and true allegiance is put forth, for who that is pledged to must know without any doubt that your commitment is unshakeable by the trivial or the critical. For this one hopes to stand steadfast through it all.

The test of time is one of progress and growth, for it takes time to know, to learn and to understand. In it, you see to observe, you hear to listen, you touch to feel, you speak to affect. Much as time can heal, time will seal the bits that can make two hearts be as one.

The tests of resolve

The test of distance is distance is one that taxes the most, for proximity is lost in the expression of feeling and intimacy. This requires work, to keep the fire burning, to give confidence that the bonds are solid. In the absence of communion, communication becomes the link, the link to keep the relationship watered, sunned, and pruned during the time of being apart.

The test of hope is the look beyond the present, towards the plans for what might change that the tests and the trials are left for the testimonies. The mystery of love is the many tests and trials of person, experience, circumstance, situation, character, time, and distance that it faces down, challenge after challenge without failing, fainting, waning. It finds new strength with each test, for the prize is worth every battle.

The triumph of love

Love conquers all, forgives all, encourages all, lifts up all, and brings forth the happiness of the soul and the joy of the heart.

We have the faith to move mountains, we have the hope to make a future that exceeds the expectations of our wildest dreams, but as we reach for completeness, where faith, hope and love endures, the greatest of these is love. [I Corinthians 13:13]

Thought Picnic: Many trials and seven vials

Amsterdam seriously and fleetingly

It is a whistle-stop visit to Amsterdam and it will cause offence to the many it would have been nice to see but I cannot because of the shortness of time and the many activities that one has to complete before returning.

In some ways, I miss Amsterdam, I lived in this beautiful bijoux city for 12 years and a good few things that have become part of the narrative that is my story happened here.

I did not come to Amsterdam by chance; I came on purpose and for a purpose to rejuvenate a sagging career, a bored existence, a broken relationship and obtain a new lease of life.

I suppose I obtained 3 out of 4 and the one that appears to matter the most once the other three are taken care of is one that is of the heart, of the mind, of the soul and just so important for wellbeing – I don’t do the conventional, those who are so concerned will just have to learn to live with that.

Bloods of travel

In any case, it was the day of the bloods and it meant my medical consultant did not have much data to play with apart from the more general questions.

As usual, the journey to the hospital no matter how mundane is rarely without event, this time since I was travelling from out of town, the trains were not running from the nearest station, had I followed my deepest premonitions, I would have stayed on the bus until the central station; eventually, I got a train to get me to Amsterdam and it even had free wireless Internet connectivity which made for a few Twitter exchanges on my way.

Getting the Metro from Amsterdam Centraal Station - the 'aa' is typically Dutch, I got off at Weesperplein and considered walking; the guide gives an estimate of 9 minutes, rather than waiting for the tram but within minutes I spotted the tram from afar and waited to board it.

A rotten survey

At the hospital, after registration, I was given a Dutch survey on archiving our medical information online and the kind of access people should have to the data. The first 4 pages I filled in with ease but by the fifth page, I was lost and I believe many others will be too, the questions have taken on an air of bizarre Dutch official-speak, I was on the verge of writing as an observation - This is a bad survey when my doctor came out to fetch me.

Submitting the half-filled form, I told the nurse that it was both difficult and bad in Dutch before following my doctor to his office where he introduced me to an intern and understudy.

The final note on that survey is that the apparatchiks will implement whatever they want having convinced themselves they have done due diligence, it will be a rotten implementation and in the end it will come to grief.

Teaching the future doctors

I have never had issues with interns sitting in on our consultations, they are usually briefed about who will be coming in and they have opportunity to observe matter, conduct, conversation and banter that makes for the consultations I have - it is important that there are others who can carry on with knowledge that my doctor shares for the benefit of others who might need the kind of care I am receiving at a future date.

A dossier of my medical history was created in the event I might want to use doctors in another country and we talked about my situation, my health and other related issues and he was glad to see that the partial facial paralysis I had complained of at our last meeting in August had gone.

The drag of losses and gifts

Before getting to the hospital, there was a lot on my mind, little niggly things that seemed to compound a situation I was still coming to terms with - I realise that the circumstances might be difficult to articulate but I have to find the right tone, manner and words to raise the issue.

It got to a point that I almost felt physically sick but at the same time, I had to arrest myself from the grip of that situation before it become psychosomatic.

Health readings miscellany

As the meeting closed, my doctor wrote out my prescription with instructions to the pharmacy to give me a 6-month supply of drugs and an appointment was made for 4 months hence.

The scales showed a weight I was not comfortable and my blood pressure has remained quite healthily steady over 9 months of measurements.

I bumped into my treatment consultant who was tanned having just returned from some triathlon activity in the Canary Islands, we chatted about the changes and expectations promising to keep in contact.

When it came to give my blood for testing, it was 7 vials; the results will be posted by email to me in two weeks.

Other people

An acquaintance from my old neighbourhood was at the hospital with his partner, it so happened that the last time we met, I had taken my curtains for cleaning at the rotten local dry cleaners where I was charged a fortune by people who are really clueless about the difference been a suit and separates of a jacket and a pair of trousers. We chatted from a few minutes and he had also moved away, it was quite uncanny to learn he was also from the Black Country, what you learn from a brief chat.

I did not get to see the Catholic pastor; he was in a group straining their vocals practicing Christmas carols for the Christmas Eve service at the hospital chapel.

By the time I left the hospital, I had lost my gloomier self but I did wonder about how I might eventually get my point across, or maybe I'll just write about and get it completely off my chest.

Thought Picnic: In Forgiveness I Feel Hurt Deeply

Forgiven

I cannot recall the collective noun he used for the 4 types of forgiveness my pastor preached about in church today but I found that I could well put myself into a muddle on this matter beyond what I have ever considered before.

He started with the fact that we had been forgiven, forgiven by God, that is and with it comes redemption, righteousness, justification, sanctification and peace. Much of what I can remember of what I have read in the Bible.

As I meditated on the words of his message on my walk to the lake in my neighbourhood, I was caught in the throes of feeling so inadequate and forlorn.

Drawing parallels with the prodigal son, there is the element of forgiveness Godward and there is that which is man-ward.

I wondered if I had been forgiven by the many I have interacted with in my lifetime, my parents, my relations, friends, colleagues and whoever else. This was not looking good, I decided not to dwell on it.

Forgiving others

Then it was the matter of forgiving others; that came with its attendant baggage, there are things I have not begun to handle of my parents, my relations, abusers, bullies, some friends, slight at indifference and the apparent lack of concern I felt others might have towards me.

That again seemed to plumb the depths of unnecessary depression, it was something I needed to let go off and stop it from taking root in my life for there was some indication of bitterness that for all intents and purposes was unhealthy and worrisome.

There is work to be done on this that I most definitely need help, much help, I must confess.

Forgiving myself

We need to forgive ourselves, he intoned, that was a really difficult one because as I did walk down to the lake, a very ugly thought crossed my mind like it did some 32 years ago. Would it not be such a great pleasure to kill myself?

All seemed dark as I seemed to gasp for air and grope about as if to grasp at something to hold onto that I posted the following tweets.

Left to myself, thoughts wander in my mind that I should never consider because I dearly want a better story than this.

Closing doors to rooms where I can't breathe and opening doors to rooms with no light, I've become a stranger in my own home.

The serenity in the distance is distant because I cannot run fast enough to walk on water, my boat is gone.

I shed my blood and I shed my tears, feeling and emotion though for a while is negative, this will pass.

I think I have not forgiven myself, I must write to expiate this melancholy.

I am the ruthless saboteur of my life may it is time to turn myself in. I laugh at my folly.

The lake with the other shore over 2km away has succumbed to the optical illusion of looking like a wall just 2m high, I can do this.

Then it dawned on me that I have to forgive myself for who I am, forgive myself for what I’ve become, forgive myself for what I have done, forgive myself for what I have not done, forgive myself for where I am, forgive myself for how I got here, forgive myself for not seeing the child in me, forgive myself for not being the man in me and forgive myself for not forgiving myself.

As I bled from the blister I had pricked I shed some tears for myself wondering about an unsure future that lay ahead of me.

Forgiving God

Which brought us to the topic of forgiving God, I have stories I have not even begun to tell for which the questions still start with why.

Time has passed and time is passing as things seem to unravel with no particular resolution in sight. Pastor said that we should reach beyond our faith to trust, we need to trust in the faithfulness of God that He is for us.

We need to get to that point where we can say regardless of what might be our circumstances we are nevertheless fully persuaded of the love of God for us and that His sovereign purpose is well beyond fulfilling needs.

But, I have grown weary in battle, I don’t know if I have strength, much less faith or I am just bluffing my way through life in the hope that all will eventually turn out right.

Never have I needed one to confide in as much as I feel I do now, a hand to hold, shoulder to find my humanity and frailty along with just a stronger assurance that it will all pass.

Forgiven, to forgive, to forgive and to forgive is a whole process of letting go of much hurt and pain exacerbated by trials and adversity. If I cannot look around for I am alone, I am left to look up and draw on sustenance that has no doubt helped me in needier times that this.

It is well with my soul.

Editorial: In court with or at the court of Al-Mustapha

All sensational theatre

The past week has provided amazing sensationalist fodder in Nigerian courts with the long-awaited trail of the former Chief Security Officer of Sani Abacha, Major Hamza Al-Mustapha.

He stands charged and accused of the murder in June 1996 of Kudirat Abiola, the wife of Moshood K. O. Abiola, the generally accepted but unaccredited winner of the June 1993 Presidential Elections. He seems to have his hands deep in all sorts of criminality all of which should be proven in court and then met with adequate sanction if found wanting.

Now, Al-Mustapha’s trial is literally headline news and though I have posted a number of tweets on the matter, this blog was inspired after certain reactions to his testimony have begun to obfuscate the quest for the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

Much to process

Facebook being where a short status along with a quote can be pasted and elicit rather strong passions; there is a time that one needs to step back and examine the circumstances and hopefully interject with the hope of letting reason prevail in these somewhat uncertain times.

For all the claims and counterclaims in reaction to the testimony being given in court, what is in the courthouse is really what matters and that is what we must focus on, those who have been tarred by the testimony have it within their prerogative if able to submit incontrovertible defence, those who cannot defend themselves because they are dead might will become casualties of history.

However, I am of the belief that those revered dead were of the old school of journal keeping and meticulous documentation of their affairs; those journals might well need examination because the events to which they have been linked are not in any way insignificant.

The reality of advocacy

The most important thing is to understand what the defence strategy is and hopefully the prosecution does not end up being mesmerised with the entertainment that they are in dereliction of their brief – judges however should not be expected to do job of either the prosecution or the defence, they are there to ensure that the course of justice is served and to the letter, hopefully, the spirit of the law is adhered to.

For all said and done, this is where things are, Al-Mustapha was in court narrating his side of the story as any defendant would. Everyman no matter how imperfect our justice system is should be allowed the presumption of innocence until proven otherwise.

In court or at court

If the prosecution has not found grounds to truncate his “diatribe” with a convincing objection by suggesting to the judge that Al-Mustapha is argumentative, speculative, suggestive, diversionary, digressing from the substance of the issues and/or failing to contribute to the essential matter of adequate defence strategy, then we will have to hear every big and little story Al-Mustapha has to tell.

If on cross-examination the prosecution cannot take each assertion and use it to destroy the basis, premise, character, dignity, standing and credibility of the witness, then his testimony becomes germane to essential investigation for the truth and veracity as pertaining all those mentioned - death or alive.

Maybe Al-Mustapha is a dying man clutching at straws; even a dying man sometimes has a few last words - note them.

However, not to afford Al-Mustapha his full, rightful and untrammelled day in court after a 12-year incarceration will amount to a travesty and miscarriage of justice.

A fat brief

We can so easily get reactionary with every sensationalist claim made, it will not change what is being said, maybe there are people who do need to answer for a lot and there are other dots that need to be joined up - in the end, with all the keen interest and theatre of the macabre that this presents, it is incumbent on the prosecution to determine without doubt who the murderer is, who the accomplices are, who the conspirators are and who benefited from that sordid and sad part of Nigerian history.

It is a fat brief and the prosecution had better be up to the task or justice will be served but there will be no justice for all concerned.