The Wait

It’s been a long time, Lover
Since my pen met paper to sing Your praises
Apologies…
But I’ve been too busy waiting,
For You.
I’ve been waiting for ages
To see Your word become flesh

You said the doors were open to me
Yet it seems I’m stuck just at the entrance,
Unable to step in

I’ve waited quite patiently too I might add,
Still. Quietly rocking back and forth
Occasionally pacing and peering through the windows
Marking the dates and wondering which one would
Bring home the job and the king you promised
Alas! I been missing the whole point

I’ve barely listened for Your voice
So eager to leave this season of waiting
That I forgot just how patiently You can wait
To drive home Your point—Sigh!

You made me sit
And washed me with the water of Your word
Until I found contentment afresh in You
That nothing else could bring

I’ve occasionally lapsed into fits of anger and resentment
Wondering how You—Father, Lover, Friend could
Keep me waiting for so long and still say
“Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on Your own understanding…”
It made no sense even when You whispered,
“For I know the plans I have towards you, declares the Lord, “they are plans for good and not for disaster to give you a future and a hope.”

What?!
While I still waited at home as my friends moved on with their lives?
The only way this made sense was when You hit me over the head with ‘Isaiah 55:8’
“My thoughts are not your thoughts neither are your ways My ways”
At this point I was begging to see the whole master plan
Of course, there was no way You could show me all of it

The one thing that keeps me going is Your love;
Higher than the heavens
Deeper than the deep blue sea
Wider than the oceans
Your love;
Indescribable,
Amazing
Wild

Your love empowers me,
Enables me to trust You more each day
And answer “yes Papa”, with child-like awe each time You call
And so I’ll wait for You

You are all my eggs and my only basket
In You alone will I trust
Saviour, Lover, Friend
You complete me
And satisfy me deeply.
I marvel at You Jesus
As I wait,
All I want to see is Your face.

© Olamide Oti, April 2017

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BRIDGE TO HEAVEN

At the garden of gethsemane,
It became real to me,
Three times, I asked that the cup be taken away
Yet that his will be done

I tasted and felt the darkness encircling me
And their sins becoming one with me
Yet I looked beyond and saw the glory ahead
Darkness truly had no clue

Today, the atonement would be seen in time,
Typified by death on a tree – a man
Condemned to die by the ones whose
Pardon I now seek

For a moment in eternity,
Three hours in time,
Because of their sins,
Abba turned away

Time stopped,
The unseen and seen
Became one on the cross
The battle had reached a climax

Sin was me,
Death was the wage,
I was the price
For your freedom

Just when they thought they had won,
A new order was birthed,
A new man was conceived by His Spirit
Once for all

Do you not see?
Do you not perceive?
Or do you choose to ignore the Message?

(c)Olamide Oti, 2015

The message of the cross is eternal. I pray for a revelation of God’s amazing love to you as you read this.
Happy Easter to you!

The Long Road Home

It’s dark here.
The curtains are masks
Protecting me from the mess in this place
The bed smells of sex and cheap wine
The floor is strewn with dirty clothes
Last night’s meal found solace on the bathroom floor
A bible, long forgotten lay in the corner

Ghosts of memories past filter through
Cracks in carefully constructed barriers
Announcing the charges
And stating the punishment with finality
I was caged in a prison with no walls,
Told that there was no way out
The warden was a merciless task master

One day I
Heard a whisper,
Heart racing, I answered,
I saw Him, running to me in the distance
My steps were hesitant and suspicious
I wondered what manner of man this was
He stood up for me
Silenced my accusers
And gave me a beginning
With an end in eternity

He satisfies me completely, wholly, deeply,
He is Father, Lover, Friend
My heart rejoices for He has made me glad
He redeemed me and called me ‘His own’
What I feel for Him is far beyond words
Yet it is incomparable to how much He loves me
His love brought me home
(c) Olamide Oti, 2016

Of Birthdays and Reflections

A few weeks to my 21st birthday. I met my Lord. It wasn’t until months later that I began to understand what this new life meant. Then words broke through the dam of self righteousness and flowed like a river. The beginning of my pen and paper romance.
For many months after that I still played around with the world. Drifting between two opinions, trying hard to merge light and darkness and fit unequal yokes together. Flirting with the sons of Belial, barely seeing through the foggy lens of my foolishness.
Until something happened that forced my eyes to see the futility of my unblessed efforts. I saw the darkness for what it truly was. Then I heard His voice calling me deeper. His word broke me away from the ties that bind and entangle.
Just when I thought I was doing great and communing with Abba in Eden, a stranger tried to undo what God had sealed…thank God for His mercy! He said “no way, she is Mine”. And so I was shielded and hidden in the palm of His hand.
“Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already arrived at my goal, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me. Brothers and sisters, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus.” Phillipians 3:12-14
I owe Him my life, now I urge you to partake of His goodness; to taste and see that the Lord is good. I invite you to meet my Lover and Saviour. His name is Jesus. He is the reason for my joyous hope, the story behind my flowing ink and the anchor that secures my glorious future.
The message is simple, only believe!
“For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.” John 3:16
Olamide

the making of a son

This poem is dear to my heart, it was written in 2014, a couple of hours to my 22nd birthday. It was initially titled ‘Reflections’ and has passed through the Refiner’s fire many times. It was ‘performed’ at Ablaze 2015 with over 600 freshmen in attendance.I pray it blesses your heart and draws you closer to Abba Father.

………….
My inheritance was the slavery that my fathers sought to keep
It became my own undoing
It was only natural that I walked in the path that was laid before me
And so my journey as a slave began

I was proud of my heritage
And I became an addict
To everything that looked good
My eyes were the end of me

I sold everything for my next fix
I thought that I would die without it
That was an illusion that he painted
And I believed every lie
I became primed for the next best thing
The newest drug on the market- ecstasy

Every high took me to cloud nine,
But the lows, took me to a place where
I thought of ten different ways to end my life
Where I set my clothes on fire
Broke dishes in anger

For it I sold my peace,
It was true love
He brainwashed me, filled my head with lies
Compelled me to forget the one who made me
Gave me something else to serve

I ran until I came to the end of myself
Until the ‘I Am’ found me; strung out and homeless
With bits and pieces of dignity
Worthless, not worth saving, suicidal
I cast my pearls among swine
Content with eating with dogs

Until, you pulled on the strings of my heart
And flooded my eyes with light
Your love for me is red-hot fire burning
Brick by brick, I lay down my walls
Beat by beat, my new heart beats in sync with yours
Step by step, our feet step
Stroke by stroke, my pen is yours

I will forever be chasing after you, as sure as the dawn,
As certain as the sun will rise
Your presence is my heaven, it is where I found myself
Where my mess became yours
You keep me from falling, you continually renew my strength
And you gave me the right to call you Abba
I choose You today, forever my all in all
Without You, living is a dead existence

(c) Olamide Oti, 2014

Machseh(Refuge)

As the tides rise
And my fears with it
My eyes search for the shore
Looking wildly for arms made with clay
As the waves billow
You test the limits of my trust
And ask me to come to You
With steps barely a whisper, I crawl

The ground quakes
Disintegrating into a million pieces
My mind spins frantically
Molding shoulders into existence
Discarding without a thought- precious promises
You heart speaks to mine, reminding me who You are
“Close your eyes and walk by faith” You say

You are my place of rest,
Inside of You I am secure,
Enclosed, shielded from the sun
Wrapped In the palm of Your hand
My eyes look afar off and all I see
Is men given in exchange for me
I will rest in hope
Quietly trusting in You

heartstrings

my mind is a hollow mess of a thousand echoes
bouncing off the walls of my heart
they whisper to me in loud voices
preying on labile feelings and desires

my gaze rests upon glitters and sparkles
with eyes like lust, I stare
coveting the things I cannot have
and the days long gone

this flesh made from clay
craves to be admired and adorned
it needs trophies and applause
it delights in vain glory

lIke the strings of a newly wound guitar
you pluck gently yet firmly
producing a melody so perfect it hurts
you hold out Your hand for a dance
my feet stay glued, tired from the journey of mistakes past

your eyes search mine gently,
I hear the words Your mouth need not speak,
“trust, put your hand in Mine, dance”
I see your eyes swim with tears
your hand is still held out
your body poised to dance with me

you strip me away gently
with hands like love
removing the debris upon my spirit
breathing me to life
you quiet my will firmly
with words like fire
setting me ablaze
breaking me to stillness

Life!

Hi guys! this is a short story written by my lovely sister and upcoming writer, Gbenga Oti. Enjoy! She would appreciate your kind thoughts too, there just might be a sequel.
……
I had waited so long for the day when I would walk down the aisle, with my arms locked into my fathers’ and my eyes set on the man I love. Everything was going as planned, the venue was booked and invitations were sent out.
He travelled for a business meeting. The meeting was successful, I was speaking to him as he was about to board a bus back to Germany, all of a sudden the line went dead and his mobile phone was switched off. I found this very strange as he never switches off his phone, maybe his battery died. An hour later, my mind went into overdrive, flooding itself with multiple scenarios of what could have happened, none of which were good.
The days that followed were tortuous; it is commonly said that “it’s better for someone to die than go missing”, then I understood, you grieve everyday hoping that they will return. I couldn’t sleep, eat or concentrate on my work. I contacted the Embassy and the police in Sweden; I got the standard reply “we are working on it”, this was really frustrating. I could not just sit around and do nothing, what if he had been kidnapped, but why wasn’t anyone calling for a ransom, was he dead? but NO that cannot be. A week later, my phone rang, it was HIM, he said he would be back and the line went dead. He was alive, that was good enough for me.
Then again, two weeks of silence, I could not contact him. I began to worry again; at this point the date of our wedding had passed by, my dream wedding was in shambles, my man nowhere to be found.
A month later, the embassy finally responded, he was arrested for paying for a bus ticket for some men he had just met over lunch. These men were illegal immigrants (unknown to him), his story was verified. I was so happy all this was over, and he would be back by weekend.
Or so I thought…

One day soon

One day soon, our pens will no longer
be melancholic, hoping for change.
Soon our ink will dance on paper,
happy that the days we longed for are here

Those who profited
from a sad narrative- a tale of woes
will search for the words to describe
the joy on our children’s faces

They will sit before
blank sheets and black pens,
praying for the words to describe
our new streets of gold

One day soon, our pens will no longer
be melancholic, hoping for change.
Soon our ink will dance on paper,
happy that the days we longed for are here
(C)Olamide Oti

Black Roses

In a voice dripping with so much empathy it was disgusting, they doled out rehearsed lines, a million times retold. “We are truly sorry madam, we did our best to save her”. Those were not the words i was expecting to hear, this was not a possible scenario. I was supposed to become her mother today, now I’m not sure who I am. “Oko  yin nko“, the nurse was asking me where Ade was, like I was supposed to know. Knowing his whereabouts was not my problem. It was his mother’s. My mind, traitor that it is, remembers. it remembers exactly why this was not supposed to happen.

…………..
“Mum, I’m pregnant”. I blurted out the truth I had known for weeks, as her eyes travelled from her pot to my eyes, I knew she had already figured it out. “Whose is it?”, she asked, “is it that stupid boyfriend of yours?” her voice heavy with disappointment and dangerously veiled anger. She stirred the stew with so calmly that I thought she was going to pour it all over me. She proceeded to tell me what I already knew, she expected more, with eyes glistening with tears, she told me my options, the ones she was willing to give me. “Tokunbo, listen to me very carefully, you can either get an abortion(which is illegal in my country) or you can marry him. If you’re old enough to have a baby, you’re ready for marriage.” Then the real speech began, how she a single mother struggled to put me through school when my father(whom I had never met) left. Then the tears began while I watched, dry eyed.
Two weeks later, mummy Tokunbo dragged me to my future in-laws house to explain how their son and I were stupid enough to put a fetus in my body. His parents were pastors, they had a reputation to uphold. It was decided, we would get married. I was a fresh graduate, he had just finished his service year. He said he loved me, that was before this alien invaded my body, now he looks at me with contempt. I barely remember if the sex was good now, apparently condoms are no guarantee.
His parents would pay for the wedding. Mama Tokunbo had no husband, I was her mistake too. I wish I could tell you that it was perfect, that I wore a lovely white dress, that my father walked me down the aisle. I wish Ade looked at me like I was the only virgin in the room, but that would be a sweet delusion.
I had a dress, it was yellow and it was ugly. I walked down the aisle alone. Their stares were like daggers, they wondered how I could break my poor mother’s heart after all she did to support me Their thoughts ended with ‘like mother, like daughter’, I’m sure. Halfway down, it chose that epic moment to kick.
Ade could barely look at me, He blamed me for being the irresponsible womb that chose to carry his alien. At least, he showed up, albeit unshaven, dishelved, and hung over. What is left of what is right for us is this façade of a marriage built on guilt, and a never-ending blame game.
In my mind’s eye, I tried to imagine what our lives together would be like. Would he become an alcoholic? Would he give up on us? Would he love it? Would he be the father it needed? What would become of it? Could I love it? Would it repeat my mistakes?
I slowly walked down the aisle to my new life, a spineless bag of fears and doubts. The deep baritone voice of the pastor told me that I had reached the altar and it cut into my thoughts unapologetically as he asked, “do you take this man to be your lawful wedded husband?”, with such expectation. My mother’s eyes told me what I must say. I wondered if she would live with him and cook his meals. I allowed myself that playful thought before I heard myself say ‘yes’, when I wanted to scream ‘no’ from the rooftops.

………….
The tears would never be enough, I held her for all of five seconds before she turned blue and stopped breathing. I was supposed to be a mother, she was supposed to make him smile at me again. My heart is ice cold, barely beating beneath my chest, if I could go back…

END

Author’s note: This is based on a true story. There is nothing new under the sun, but a story though a thousand times retold should never lose its ability to stir our hearts.
Olamide