Forsake not the lost

There at the rendezvous. At the time when the stars was fading for dawn. Flipping through the pages of my life manual--the bible.

There, caught my attention this portion, over which I perused for a length of time which I could rarely tell.

For the whole day. From that hour at which the night shadows receded for the sun rise, till the hour when the sun began to dip for dusk. I reminisced over all I had absorbed from my sine-qua-non. Yeah the accompanying nostalgia can't be fathomed

The aura which had emanated from reminiscing over it is indescribable with words of the mortal.

If only a few could be brought to the flank of its ocean, from where we could journey into it's thalweg.. the wonders who can tell.

The feeling though exciting, wasn't without exfoliating to reveal a side of it stratified with fears, and it's likes.

What could this be? You do be wondering.

It's that which reads:

*Be happy, young man, while you are young, and let your heart give you joy in the days of your youth. Follow the ways of your heart and whatever your eyes see,...* (Eccl. 11:9)

How interesting it is to find endorsement for the erring soul which is been seeking for justifications for it's untamed desires. This!..Who can help it?

This seeth the young man and shouted, *"Yea! To enjoy I must"*

He then wanders into the streets, seeking for happiness which is not. That which is locked up in him, searcheth he for in the tomb-- there the lost and dead are found.

The way to his maker--the giver of true happiness, he knoweth not. If only one could direct him, to navigate aright his course

For that which enshrouded his judgement, he seeth not the later part of the text. Or perhaps, considers it not.

That would contradict his forced-to-allign comfort. One wrongly justified, with an incomplete text. A deliberate distortion of truth, it is.



Show him this:..

perharps he do return to his senses.

*...but know that for all these things God will bring you to judgment.* A completion of the text.

Into my ears were those whispers of love. One filled with hope.

With quivering mumbled my lips. Words to tell the young man.

He who takes solace in bottles, and obtain courage from wrapped papers.

Even to his sister yearns my soul to see gain understanding. The implications of her today's actions, she sees not.

Oh! That the sacred temple of his lover be turned into a public Cinema. A trend, and fashion she calls it.

There's a better way to peace, and a more dignified way to fame.

His August-persona!, desireth my soul to behold and admire.

A wife and mother she would become. A builder of the home. But what then if her bodily home is not secured.

Happy she isn't, living loose. Help she needs. But who can understand. All she ever gets is condemnation. For this she has vowed to live to suit what she's been called. No! Together we shall have her won back.

In his loneness came one from the tomb. An offer of escape from torment, he offered him. A status in the voracious space, he promised him.

A reason to consent he found. Those who should have cared first never showed up. Now he's got a place to belong. One to call family. In the tomb they would all live --what follows, he cares not.

Hated and rejected he has always been. All for a little mistake --he thought. Where is the love preached? What heaven is the life shown him leading to?

The life he has chosen. This is best, he concluded.

Should we let the living live in the tomb? There, the dead live.

How soon have all forgotten the masters instruction--let the dead bury their dead.

Why offer we the living alive, to live amongst they in the tomb? Just for breaking an arm. That's no death.

Though his body be there. Like the Macedonian voice, calleth him for help.

Though she be naked. Though the world, through her social media accounts know her to be a whore--all for her ignorance--the internet doesn't forget. Yet should we not give up on her.

Like Mariam; Moses' sister. ought all to stand and watch, to see what would become of her. Coming out from hiding to help in best way we can.

If we can't contain her, there would always be a Hebrew woman to whom we can hand her over. The same sits upon the throne of David.

Non ever gets lost in her hands. Till the one in her care grows to know better, she wouldn't stop nurturing.

Send the young girl to her. This you can do through the vehicle of your knees. The distance not being longer than, *In Jesus name*

Until you have done that for her. You have no right to condemn her. Though she be lost. She's not dead. Act now to save her! The master loves and needs her too.

While the ink still desires to flow. The humble instruments thinks to condition it to pause here.

A fore-plan for the river flow, made he not. But as the master wills and instructs, he yields.

All to the end that you live intentionally.

Love being your propeller.

Together we keep soaring.

#beintentional