Loving Pieces!


“Unreserved; unrestrained

Your Love is wild, Your Love is wild for me.

It isn’t shy; it’s unashamed

Your love is proud, to be seen with me.

To be seen with me.

Cause you don’t give your heart in pieces [no no]

You don’t hide yourself to tease us.


Your love’s not fractured; it’s not a troubled mind

It isn’t anxious, it’s not the restless kind.

Your love’s not passive; it’s never disengaged

It’s always present, it hangs on every word you say.

Love keeps its promises

It keeps its word

Honors what’s sacred, cause its vows are good

Your love’s not broken, it’s not insecure

Your love’s not selfish, your love is pure”

               -Excerpt from song ‘Pieces’; Bethel music and Steffany Gretzinger.

Ever since I heard these lines for the first time, my heart hasn’t stopped humming along every day because these words mean more than the world to me.

Ever imagined a man who loves a woman (in his mind) but is not sure if he wants everyone to see them together, for reasons best known to him?

Or what about loving a woman so heart broken and battered at heart, a woman who has had her own share of disappointment in the ‘loving thing’?

I don’t know what you think about being in love with a man who isn’t proud to be seen with you, or a woman who only has a broken heart for you to love; for me, I personally do not want any of those ‘loving kind of things’.

One thing is certain for sure, you cannot enjoy love overdose from any these ‘loving people’- I think that I am hearing myself sound like my own Sophie Dawodu right now, LOL! Just go and see that ‘Shedding Skin’ video on the Christapoet YouTube channel (her lines always have a way of getting into my own pieces, LOL!

I don’t know if you have ever had to resist the temptations of constantly checking on the object of your love or even going as far as deleting their numbers for a while from your phone so you’d stop ‘obsessing’ over them; sometimes it could even be more frustrating especially when you find that your fingers can retrieve the numbers from your head when you are trying to do something ‘meaningful’ with your phone. So, one way or the other, the person will get you, get you…..LOL!

Some other times you might have determined in your heart, to intentionally not pick up your phone at least after one call from them gets missed, so that you can get them to ‘want more of you’ aka miss you, and call you more than they already do- after all, that was what your favorite love doctor recommended for you and all your fellow loving-struck people!

You know, a big part of my mind call those ‘loving stunts’, manipulations! They are selfish because they revolve on one’s own self and not even the so called ‘Beloved’.

Ama tell you two stories now, I hope you are not getting bored already. It is Favouromeje writing, okay? And she hardly knows how to write short because her words are just too many, okay? LOL.

Story 1

Jack and Jill have a thing for each other. I think it is a ‘loving thing’, and I also believe that it is a really strong thing too!

Jill loves Jack’s attention, especially the way he stares at her. Jack is kind to everyone and very particularly tender to Jill. Jack is also yet to say a thing to Jill.

One day, Jill wakes up thinking about Jack and she feels that a call would be all she needed to start a great day. So, she picks up her Nokia device and starts scrolling for Jack’s phone number. Seeing his name on her phone screen, her heart begins to pound really fast. Did I tell you that his voice which was very much richly deeper than a baritone, startles her in a pretty nice way and that the very air of his presence was the oxygen that she wanted more? Hmm!

She almost touches the green button of her Nokia mobile phone before she thinks to herself:

‘No, I called him yesterday evening already, I know he likes me a lot but I shouldn’t be calling him yet again’.

I just have to make him miss me plenty, so that he’d love me more and more. You know, I don’t have to be too cheap and easy to him’, she says dropping her phone for her writing pad to make her day’s to-do list. She promises herself a new pair of chinos pants, should incase she succeeds in pulling out her ‘loving thing no-calling stunts’ after 4 straight weeks. In fact she wrote her ‘loving thing’ project goal on her writing pad and stamped her decision on her journal.

She decides to intentionally miss calls at least once every other time he calls, so that he’d not feel that she Jill was that into him Jack!

Story 2

‘Bae and Boo like no other’, have a big thing for each other. I think it is a loving thing too, and I also must confess that they are both on a very long fine thing. I have been watching them with my pair of binoculars lately!

Bae loves Boo’s attention, especially the way he gets carried away staring her in the eyes. Bae thinks that the gaze from his very pair of eyes were stronger than laser.

Boo on the other hand, is good to all of them brothers and sisters, but speaking of them sisters, Bae is to Boo, his white rose among thorns. She was just it to him. In fact, I have personally noticed it myself because I am his sister too. ‘Bae and Boo like no other’ are loving strong but Boo is yet to spell it to Bae, and I think Bae is waiting too! Bae doesn’t mind waiting-loving for a thousand years because she likes her ‘loving things ‘slow, steady, non-intense, and building up like a crescendo.

One day, Bae thinks of Boo and decides to give him a call; if not for anything, she loves the startling effect of his better-than-a rich-baritone’s ‘hello’ over the phone.

So, she picks up her phone. I think it is also a Nokia mobile device like Jill’s. She does not have to scroll for his number for too long because ‘shamefully’, it is the very last number she dialed the night before. Bae knows that Boo would always be her favorite person in the whole world, and she in fact admits to herself that he is her most basic obsession, at least lately. In fact, I can personally tell you that Bae could run her airtime shamelessly for more than 30 minutes calling ‘MAN’ and this man is Boo!

Bae almost touches her Nokia green button but she refrains and says to herself:

I am a basic and a major distraction to this man and I don’t think that this is very good for him. I need to do him a favor and let him to just be, so that he can at least have enough time to be useful to himself’

‘Besides, I know that I am who he needs but this can never be good for him, at least not for his ‘male-getting-happiness from-a good hunting’ mind’. This she says out loud, dropping her phone for her writing pad. She needs to make her to-do list which she couldn’t

write the night before as she ritually did.

You might want to count and compare the number of ‘I’ and ‘Me’ or ‘he’ and ‘him’ in Jill’s and Bae’s musings. You might find out who was ‘loving selfish’ and who actually was loving. Love can never revolve around the subject but the object and that is just Jesus loves.

I think that Bae is a little more like my Abba Daddy than Jill.

Abba Daddy is too love secure to manipulate me by teasing me with his presence. He doesn’t have to manipulate me with punishments or fear of hell in order to get me on His side. He loves so wild, so unreserved, so unrestrained and I know that He loves me pieces without any heart in pieces. He is not using His death on the cross to play any mind games on me like many people might want to think that he does. His ‘Loving thing’ is whole and complete, actively loving me and engaged daily with His commitment to me, His commitment to come back for me.

It is the knowledge of my ‘Crazy in love-with me- Father’ that gives me the boldness to pour my love on anybody I want to, even if he has to be ‘MAN’ because I know that my Abba Daddy’s love has made me too invincible to be insecure and broken!

By Favouromeje, February, 2017.


The Last Post



When I was much younger than I am now, I enrolled into the Boys’ Brigade, a paramilitary church organization for boys and men. It was the custom with our family. Grandpa and my elder brother were members; all the older boys who stayed with us were  members. Only dad was not a member. So it was simply traditional for me to join as soon as I came of age. So the year I turned four, I joined the Anchor Boys’ rank of the 17th Benue Company and later would be promoted to the rank of an NCO. I would stay on that rank until I grew older and attended several camps and then I’d be promoted and become an officer. However, I did not stay that long.  My activities with the Boys’ Brigade ended when I was eleven and had to leave for my secondary education.

During my seven years with the Boys’ Brigade, we engaged in lots of paramilitary activities. We were taught discipline. We attended camps, went for rallies and on few occasions had to go for funeral services and ceremonies of our members. It was on one of such funerals that something unique happened to me. We had lost a member, a young boy of my age. A very painful one! We had gone camping in Makurdi very close to the Benue River and the first instruction we had received was to stay away from the river. It was dangerous. A lot of people had died in there.  But how could we? Young, exuberant, high-spirited  and highly adventurous boys not play with the river water? Was it not River Benue afterall? Our river? We had heard so much about it and we would be foolish not to have a feel of it. So we decided we’d wait till a day to the close of camp and pay the river a visit. And a visit did we pay.  We went seven but returned six. One of us (I can’t recall his name, he was from a different battalion) had drowned. The fire alarm sounded but little could be done to save him. He had drowned in the vast waters. His turgid body would be recovered two days later close to the north bank of the river. I’ll save you the reader all the details.

Two weeks later we were gathered in a small village, Mkar in Gboko, Benue State for his funeral. The wake keep was dreadful. I guess it must have been normal for others but dreadful for me. I had dreaded it right from when the burial was fixed. At night, I was sorely afraid of everything. The unexpected start of the brigade drums, the piercing silence afterwards, the thick wall of darkness. I saw his face when my eyes closed and when I opened them, he stood somewhere in the dark corner, sad, smiling. At times, he was the one sitting next to me and when I felt the urge to urinate, I dared not stand for he’d be waiting for me in the darkness. I knew though that all of these were simply my imaginations yet I was so stricken by fear and I wouldn’t take chances. Did I want him to pull me away and drown me in the sea of darkness that enveloped us? I’d rather pee in my pants.

A little while before dawn we were awoken to get set. Those who could have their bath did while some of us, especially the junior boys who needed no bathing simply dressed up in our uniforms. The ceremony had begun and all the procession had taken place peacefully.  There was so much going on around and in my head that I really paid attention to nothing. Then finally, the Commanding Officer gave the command for the bugler to blow the tune, the last post. I had heard it a couple of times. That solemn tune that reminded people to cry, for they cried more after it had ended than ever before. However, this last post began with a shrill in my body. I shook. I had been expecting it, but I shook all the same. It sounded more solemn and ominous than all the others I’ve ever heard. It was the sound of sorrow. A sorrow that I was very much involved in; a sorrow I’d very much played a part in, my sorrow.  It was here, that the real essence of the last post came to me. So later when it would be played again at my grandfather’s funeral, I’d read more meaning to it than anyone else. Grandpa’s funeral would be the last brigade funeral I attended up till now, and there again, the last post sounded.

Whenever they played the last post, everyone stood still. It was the last honour given to the dead. When the last post had sounded, the coffin would be lowered six feet beneath the earth. That would be the end. So the last post served as a reminder that truly this person was gone, never to be seen among the living again. If you had nursed any hopes before that something miraculous would happen, the last post seemed to dash all of such hopes. The last post brought reality upon many.  So immediately after the last post, wails and screams poured in from different parts of the compound where the grave was. But the last post had come to mean much more than tears to me. It had become a question.

Is the last post really the end of it all? It’s been eleven years since when I last renewed my membership with the boys’ brigade. But I hope to, and will certainly renew it before I die. Then would the last post be sounded at my funeral. Would it be the end? Certainly not! Fifteen years ago the last post seemed to me a reminder of the brevity of life and the certainty of death if Jesus tarried. But now, as I look through the years, I’ve come to see that death is only a beginning, an opening to a new world just like birth. If you are reading this and you do not believe in life after death, please hold on. Don’t stop yet. I’m still coming to that. So for me, when my last post has been blown, what next? That became a question that troubled my soul for several years. And I’m glad now that as I write, I’ve found answers, several answers to that question.  When and if my last post sounds, I’d be in paradise watching the events on earth. There I’d await the end of the age when My Lord Himself will come down from heaven, with a loud command, with the voice of the archangel and with the trumpet call of God and I, dead in Christ and many others like me, will rise first. After that, those who are still alive and are left will be caught up together with us in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air. That’s for me because I believe in God, the Father almighty, creator of heaven and earth. I believe in Jesus Christ, God’s only begotten Son, our Lord, who was conceived by the Holy Spirit, born of the Virgin Mary, suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died, and was buried; He descended to the dead. On the third day He rose again; He ascended into heaven, He is seated at the right hand of the Father, and He will come to judge the living and the dead. I believe in the Holy Spirit, the holy catholic and apostolic Church, the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and the life everlasting.

Hold on if you don’t believe in any of these things. At least you believe in the certainty of death. To deny death would be to deny your very existence, to deny science. You remember MR NIGER D? The D is constant. Whether it be the last post or some kind of solemn hymn or speech, there’d be a last something in your honour even if you’ve lived the most worthless of lives. Where would you be when that last something is going on in your honour? If you’ve ever believed that you are made up of more than your body (flesh and bones and blood), then where would the rest of you be when your body is lowered six feet beneath? Do you ever actively remember death? The reason why most people live as they do is because they hardly ever actively remember that they’ll die. Think again and again.

If you believe in resurrection and life after death then think of eternity. Think of the seven year marriage ceremony with the lamb. Think of the millennial reign with Christ and endeavor to be in paradise when your last post sounds.

The Trumpet shall sound


I await patiently the sound of the trumpet

The shock and joy

being caught unawares,

in the middle of what?

The trumpet shall sound when

maybe, it’s those

it-doesn’t-really-matter moments

When maybe,

you are not just interested anymore,

or maybe,

when it no longer makes sense

and the romance of the world has

a lure that is awe and

the Lord seems obscure in

a world so impure.

When the Christ-like attire

creates an ire and

you’d rather hire the

devil’s regalia,

the trumpet shall sound.


It’s gonna sound

when our choices become

horses and we ride at our wills

up the hills of sin,

when our conscience at the mills

has been ground like peas

it now swims like dust in the winds, blown away.

When the Church is in bed with

the world, a drunken world whose

boisterous snore’s so loud

the trump shall sound.