Sunday’s evenings are usually insightful, engaging and entertaining, and last Home Fellowship meeting was no exception. The outline for the day was about the interestingly controversial topic of SEX, with the title “Managing Your Sexual Drive” to boot.
The time had come again for us to painfully tackle questions pertaining to our sexuality. I could only imagine how uncomfortable some of us may have been discussing such a subject openly, especially within the holy ambience of Church. But as always we had to deal regardless of our sensibilities, mainly because of the unavoidable importance of sex in our individual lives and relationships.
As a consequence, I have always held the view that in addressing life issues, such as sex, we must endeavor to be honest and practical in our approach: meaning, I don’t want you to just preach to me but show me the “how-to-d0” of the matter.
As an example, one of my favorite advice from the Word is “Flee from temptation.” It is so unashamedly stark and down-to-earth, as if saying, “dude, run for your life and forget trying to be superman!”
“What am I on earth for?” is the most nagging and most confounding question of purpose faced by the human race.
And it can be the most annoying too, when you consider how purposefully set a creature like the mosquito is in playing its questionable role in the ecosystem.
Imagine, the most obnoxious pest in the world knows its objective for existing very well than a substantial number of the advanced and more intelligent homo sapiens. I may never know exactly why God created mosquitoes. I may never stop hating them, but one thing we can’t dispute is their resolve in being what they are.
Anyhow, this big question of meaning will not let us rest, not just because of our almost general cluelessness, but also because of our deep innate desire to matter. For we fear the possibility of just being a speck in eternity.
I reckon God put such an urge in us and there is absolutely nothing unnatural about us wanting meaning. However, our matter is incredibly complicated, quite unlike the birds of the air, the fishes and of course, if I might add, the incorrigible mosquito.
There are three opposing forces I struggle each day to subdue: the devil, the world’s system and myself.
However, at the moment, the greatest pain is myself, and “self-centeredness” is the keen instrument of choice used by yours truly for my utmost affliction.
It is terrible. I am like single mindedly bent on destroying myself with my array of self-pleasing agendas. Not that I don’t know the Life to live, yet I seem more drawn to the death of me.
Spoiler Alert: This blog post contains spoilers from the last episode of season 6 of AMC’s The Walking Dead, “Last Day On Earth”.
Right from my childhood I have always fantasize about being the great protector of my loved ones and friends, somewhat like Superman is to Louis Lane, except, of course, without the perpetual adherence to social propriety that always seems to be Superman’s greatest weakness (not Kryptonite).
I imagined myself the kind of guy no villain would want to mess with because of my particular method. I take no prisoners but pulverize all my enemies to complete nothingness, and so, naturally, no one would want to go near the ones I cared about. And even if anyone was crazy enough to cross the line, I would always show up right on time to save the day, quite thoroughly.
Hence, astronomical was my ego and perception of what I thought I could do. Plus, it is for this, I can relate very well with the woeful plight of my most favorite character in The Walking Dead series, Rick Grimes (played by Andrew Lincoln).
In the season 6 finale, shown last Sunday, the dude found himself shocked to the fact that he wasn’t really on top of things with regards to ensuring the safety and survival of his people, in an apocalyptic world overrun with zombies and mean-hearted humans.
ABOUT THE CITY
Of course, Lagos is in many ways supreme. Any day, any time, it could boast of the most exciting mix of people from all over the world when compared to any other city in the country.
It is the main and principal financial hub in spite of having no major natural resources to rely on, and though it is set upon a tiny piece of land on God’s green earth, it is undisputedly the largest city in Africa.
However, regardless of all that good, Lagos is also the seat of the most intense and debilitating stress. Stress, the kind that is chiefly and determinedly mental with its accompanying physical effects. Yes, Lagos is that place where you age quickly if you are really in a hurry to get it over with.
In fact, it is the place where the universally daily-accepted 5 minutes madness displayed by normal people is taken to a whole new unbreakable record level of 24/7. For want of proof, a typical Lagos traffic, on a typical day, whether on the island or the mainland, will readily reveal these distinguishing facts.
How do I know? Well, I live in the heart of Lagos and I’ve got about six strands of grey hair already in my beard and am only in my early thirties. Even worse, is the occasional memory lapse my mind experiences due to being overstretched by the daily grind and hustle in a broken system that does very little to inspire you to go on.
If you’ve never paid heed to the words of our fathers, listen now: It is true that “bad” company corrupts. I have kept such company, so I know.
For who would have thought that at the end of 2015 I’d find myself a fanatic of the long distance run. For before then my less than a kilometer early morning jog from my house at Chemist Bus stop to the University of Lagos (and back) was sufficient in maintaining my fitness and vigor. The virile physique I possessed didn’t need much to keep the unsightly features of neglect at bay. But all that changed when my best friend somehow unwittingly convinced me to try something hardcore.
Known for adamantly sticking to my own way – especially when I feel comfortable with it – I am usually never swayed. And so for a long time (precisely up until September 2015) I played true to the script. I was only amused and intrigued when my “brother from “definitely” another mother” would recount his exploits of perpetually running 5km, 10km, and then talk about plans to push even further.
Never for once did I refrain from asking the crucial question, “Why the heck would you want to do that to yourself?” It absolutely didn’t make sense to me why a competent computer programmer would exert himself like a professional athlete preparing for the Olympics.
Oh, did I not mention he didn’t only care about how much distance he covered but also the time it took. It was his goal to reduce gradually the minutes per kilometer, perhaps until it looked something much like what the Kenyans often achieved, like aliens on steroids. Continue reading