Desiderata

Something to chew on....

Answer Her, Lord.

I am seated in the corner of my room, surrounded by a deep darkness… a darkness of soul and body. I am failing to comprehend how a God many refer to as being Father, Friend may be so heartless, and so distant when needed…

How is it possible that you choose to stand by while one person you claim to be your child, gets wounded, hurt and bruised? Does your love not hear or sense their cry for help? Are you suddenly too busy to notice, too busy to care?

All I ever wanted was some reassurance, to know that you are near… but it seems the more I asked, the further you stepped away… you just left nothing but empty pieces of a broken heart, all because you chose to stand by and watch me burn!

Each time I cried to you, it almost felt as if you turned a deaf ear to my cry, and you chose to cover your face because the sight of soaking face seemed to displease you…

My entire life has been a torment, a torture- I can only look at what I want from the lenses of others. In all these, I begged, pled and entreated you to take it all away, but no! You just stood still, silently still.

They said I should keep trusting you, that you are there in the storm… honestly, is it so hard to just pop out your little finger as a means of reassuring a despondent child that you are there? I tried to tell them that what I needed was not their empty words of encouragement; what I needed was Him! But He never came through. So I am here wondering what was meant by ‘seek and you shall find’ because I have been seeking alright, He just chose not to be found!

And so my pain, anger, confusions, emptiness carry on, while you just watch!

I try to exercise faith and lean on forlorn hope. I get up and try to believe that you still care. I push myself to the altar, hoping that this time I will find you. Staggering, I carry myself, with a glimmering faith… but like a little child whose father keeps breaking promises to, my heart is wounded again! It seems the more I try, the more you walk away, and bombard me with more hurt. Tears are definitely my language, and I hope the sight of my little face makes you happy!

So tell me, what did I do wrong that you hide your face from me? Are all my ‘am sorry’s’ not good enough? Should I cut myself, go on a pilgrimage just to show my remorse? Carest thou not that I perish? Do you not see my tears? Why do my pleas for help seem to fall on deaf ears? Why do requests seem to go unattended?

I stare in the blue sky, and ask myself where I got the idea that you are looking down on me, because honestly, blue sky is all I see… and feel!

Paint Me A Picture Of God

She walked about with a face downcast, clueless, faithless, and sometimes hopeless. As usual, she had the smile on her face, the smile that ‘confused the masses’ and made it seem like all was well- but it was not.

All along, she had faced it all: life’s highs and mostly its lows, heartbreak, heart rent, shock, disappointments, maybe even un-appointments. Through it all, she had carefully, albeit gracefully carried the burden with her and made it seem like, well, all was well, but it wasn’t. The only thing she wanted was a perfect understanding of this so-called God that the pastor spoke about, the God that the choir sang about. But, surrounded by a million people, who are apparently supposed to be His representatives, she failed to clearly see God.

And so she carried her burden, her anger, her pain. Every day she looked up to the sky and failed to decipher how He, who apparently so loved the world would torture her like this. Sometimes she wondered why He bothered to go to Calvary because the only thing she wanted was one who would help her carry her load, as opposed to dying for her because heaven knows that what she needed more was a constant friend as opposed to someone who had hang on a tree some 2000 years ago.

And so the search continued, craving for attention, craving for recognition, craving for a sign that the Omnipresent was there with her, but nothing. It hurt the more she thought about it. Could it have been a lie all this time? Does Jesus really care? Did He really leave foot soldiers?

All she ever wanted was a picture of God, a picture of grace, a picture of love. She sought it but found it not. You know why? It was not because God does not exist anymore, nor was it because He was not as powerful too… no! The picture of God could not have been painted because the person with the paint brush had refused to use it. Rather, the person with the paint brush had used it to paint another picture!

It is quite disheartening to note that God would choose you to paint a picture of Him. Disheartening because it is a sacred trust, whose impact is almost never realized. So what did y’all think He meant when He said your parents shall be like God to you? You thought it was a light-hearted ‘bring em up in the fear of the Lord’ kinda thing? Well, guess what? He meant just that- not the light-hearted thing, but the ‘they shall be God to you’ kinda thing!

That when a child is born has their parent as their first point of contact should remind you of how Adam felt when he awoke from nothingness. That the child looks a little like you should remind you of ‘created He them in His image’. That your breasts get all sour when you child has awoken sure should remind you of Isaiah 49:15!

You, mama and papa are the first picture of God your child will see. If you get the paint brush wrong, your mess up the little girl or little boy’s perception! Girls and boys struggling to see God in their life do so because their father-figure was a mess!

And so what if you are not a parent? Do you think you profession of Christianity is just enough to help you slide into that innocent girl’s DM? Ever heard of the line ‘you are the only Jesus someone may ever see’? Well, guess what, they mean just that!

There are places God would rather be, there are hearts God would rather touch but He seemingly doesn’t because He has put you there to do the comforting, encouraging and blessing. But alas, the only picture of God we paint is a flawed one.

Leonardo Da Vinci does a better job!

What If Jesus Was Black...

So I sit here… wondering how we all go to the point of looking down on others, sidelining one another and having these myriad dissentions. How did we get here? From whence do we get the audacity to state that one colour, race or tribe was superior, better or smarter?

And so I ask this question, what if Jesus was black? Yeah, like dark-skinned, walking the African soil, being beaten by the blazing African sun kinda black… would He have black disciples? Would He tell His followers to keep their hair kinky, to drop the drum beating or would He let them be comfortable in their skin?

What if Jesus were black, would He be found chanting #BlackLivesMatter? Would part of the reason He would be crucified be because of His skin colour?

Would He let our elders preach in their shirts only, without requiring a jacket? Would He tell the white and black sisters too, to shun from braiding their hair and work on the inner man? Would He allow a few brows off on some, and tell others a little lipstick makes you look like Jezebel sister?

Would He encourage the payment of lobola, without calling it too barbaric?

If Jesus were black, would He mix with white fellows? Would He still sanction that the gospel be preached to the ends of the earth or that it just be kept in a little calabash? Would He dance to the African beat? Would He have Christmas celebrated in the northern hemisphere, yet call it a pagan feast in the south?

You see, it would make no difference if Jesus were black, because I am persuaded that a black Jesus would be as loving and as empathetic as a white one too. Because Jesus is the same, yesterday, today and forever, I am persuaded that He would do away with all these disparities between the blacks and whites!

Am almost certain that if Jesus were black, life would still be the same as we know it now! So maybe the problem isn’t the history of Christianity, the problem is with the Christian! There is need to step out of our race, skin colour, intellect, career strata and see people for who they are, for what they are because in the end it all won’t matter, except do you have the Son?

Do you have the Son? Not the black Son, not the white Son, but the Jesus Son, the one that came to seek and save the white, black, poor, rich lost! Because if Jesus were black, the Bible would still have 66 books, with the same words, and the same message- the message of love, and salvation!

So, is it a black Jesus we need, or an experience that rises above the strata we have created?

There Is You, And There Is Me

A glass of water sitting on the table, filled with liquid, but not to the brim, slightly less than three-quarters.

She sees it half-empty, I see it half-full.

Is either of us wrong? I don’t know. And, that is the law of perception; directly tied to it is individualism.

See there is absolutely nothing wrong with seeing things a certain way, but what is wrong is forcing your opinion on another. In fact, what is worse is forcing your personality on another.

It is indeed a notorious fact that no two persons are the same, take Jane and Jennipher, identical twins but totally different. It would be a huge aberration, if not treasonous to force Jane’s ideals on Jennipher. Why, because there is Jane, and there is Jennipher.

Sadly, we do not want to accept these differences; instead, we make those who are slightly different uncomfortable in their uniqueness. Because we forget that if there is more than a thousand fish, then there will be more than a thousand human beings. But, we hate what is uncommon and make it seem like the dreaded.

The only thing that irks me the most, apart from failure and betrayal is superficiality, a wanting-to-fit-in kind of mentality that destroys individuality. See, if God wanted a world replete with calm people, He would have, with a simple “Let there be.” Instead, He said let there be, and out came shapes, types, kinds and categories of people. So then why is it seemingly an offence to be oneself? Why are people never taught to be confident in their skin? From whence do we get the ideology to let people feel out of place, judged and harassed simply because they are sanguine?

One day, someone said something, that I feel went to the very root of my individuality. I felt insulted. So to everyone out there who is too boxed to embrace, who is too short-sighted to discern beauty in apparent messes, to anyone who thinks we should be cut out from the same cloth, it is time to come out of the mediocrity and embrace the diversity. There is nothing wrong in being different, and nobody should feel there is.

Attack my incompetence, my irrationality, my irresponsibility, but never my individuality! There is beauty in being different.

“I took the road less travelled, and that made all the difference.”

Two Knocks And There Was A Damsel

Class was long, and heavy… if that’s an accurate adjective, but right now not even a Grammar Nazi can argue against the use of the word ‘heavy’ to describe the past four undisturbed hours of many a student’s nightmare: class. And so when the clock hit 1, I was one of the many delighted students to escape the doors of Law Class 3, somewhat hurriedly as if the whole thing was about to burn down (well, it could burn down for all I care. Am not a bad student all right, but there are days… and Monday was that day, pardon me, all Mondays are those days.)

Not to bore anybody, I stormed out of class, rushed down the staircase and quickly found my almost pale body on a mass of fleeces, blankies and pillows. I did not intend to sleep (even if I tried, am not one to sleep during the day, unless am sick or really upset), and so gazing through the lifeless ceiling, I begun to unwind. I was coming to the end of my academic tenure in less than four months, and I was upbeat about the future… and so my mind wandered like Alice in Wonderland… what to do, what to do… amidst all this, I was shoving my feet in rhythmic motions, trying to make a melody in my mind, weird ways to unwind I must add.

Suddenly, my thoughts were disturbed. A soft knock was heard from the other side of the door and yep, I thought I knew who it was.

“Bags, lipstick, clothes, BC payable ba sister”? Yes? No?

You can’t blame me for being prejudiced; those are the kind of voices we hear each time someone knocks and so I was ready to scream no thank you, but my courtesy instincts nudged on me to at least say, ‘please come in’. And boy somebody came in!

And so the door was pushed gently, softly and a tall glass of beauty walked in, clad in a quite expensive navy blue suit, with nicely done hair. As I continued my gaze, I saw some files firmly fixed in her arm, whilst trying to cautiously position her handbag on the other arm. She looked darn gorgeous! She was about in her early 30s, turning 33 or 34. She didn’t look like she was married, never mind having given birth before. She was just there! But who could that be?

Quickly, I brushed her off in my mind and thought she was my roommate’s guest; in fact I was about to scream, “Ethel, are you there? I think you have a visitor” when my thoughts, and my mouth were stopped by a “Hi Madaliso,” from this stranger.

“What the?? You know my name?”

Of course I didn’t say that, I just stared at her with my mouth ajar…

“What an interesting way to welcome guests,” she continued with a smile.

When she smiled, I saw an expression that looked familiar. I saw a dimple on the left cheek, and then a slightly smaller one on the other cheek. She had eyes I had seen before and a body that was beginning to look familiar, the more I weighed it.

“Oh forgive my manners, please take a seat.”

“Thank you,” she said with a wink.

The next few moments shocked me.

She begun to do things I knew, acted in a way that was familiar. My mind was screaming, “who is this person and why does she looks incredulously familiar, I mean she even has two black beauty spots on her right hand!”

Wait, did I just say two beauty spots? I looked at my hand, and bum I had those two, in the same position as hers. Suddenly, our gazes met and so did our thoughts.

“Oh come on now Maddy, does it have to take you so long to figure out that am the older version of you? Ok, am Madaliso Daka, a 33 year old lawyer. I thought the navy blue suit would make it easy for you to recognize me, since we are ‘navy blue striped people’?”

Now that last line is like my only child. I guard it jealously, securely. Navy blue striped people is my one-liner, nobody else’s, well unless you are me, from the year 2027! What! Did she just say everything about me in less than 3 seconds? Could she really be my older version? What in the world is going on?

“Madaliso, what are you eating for lunch?” asked Ethel, my roommate.

And suddenly I awoke from my righteous imagination. It had all been a product of my imagination. There was no 33 year Madaliso; it was just me, still shuffled up in those comfy fleeces.

Truth be told, my imagination works overtime, but this is not the point. The hard cold point am trying to drive securely into the sockets of my head (and yours, I hope) is that our future us is out there somewhere, maybe in the year 2025, or 2030 (hopefully time won’t last long enough), and truth be told our future self is only but a carbon copy of who we are now, only older. Yes, our future self may be that drunk, crooked man or that blesser-loving, sleep-your-way-to-the-top lady. Nothing about age changes a person.

A month ago, I attended a seminar where the lesson driven home was that getting to the future is hard. I somehow refined that principle: getting to the future you want is hard. My 33 year old self will come in 2027 whether I do anything about it or not. However, the choice lies in my hands whether the person I’ll become in 2027 will be one I’ll be proud of.

This whole chat reminds me of earlier sentiments I shared with a friend. I asked her what we would be like after we become associates, and her response was that we would be the same person, only in bigger bodies! I couldn’t agree with these thoughts more.

So today, I remind myself that a good character is not by chance, accident, never mind age; a good character is made by painstaking efforts. You will not suddenly be a knowledge-thirsty, ethical and downright honest lawyer, if you daily, right now in law school, embrace mediocrity in study schedules, or minor deals with friends and family.

Getting to the future you want is hard, but it is worth it if you want to love the person who will walk in those doors five, ten years from now.

A Taste of Heaven

I opened the gate to a trail of green grass, tall tress and big brushes... All this rich verdure canopied a sparkling body of water, carefully packed by the Creator in what man calls a "lake." But, the wonder of all wonders was the thick fog that enshrouded this magnificent sight... gliding through the green grass, being caressed by the misty fog with the mesmerizing chill of fresh air, I thought to myself "this must be heaven!"

Lost in my senses, I didn't notice the approaching footsteps.. hump, thump, hump, he walked... Suddenly, the music stops and my heart skips a beat. Noticing a silhouette figure over my shoulder, my heart skips more beats, or five to be precise... I was engulfed by a feeling, a feeling called fear!

What? Realising the meaning of this emotion, it hit me.. This isn't heaven. Heard have I about its beauty, imagined have I about its awesome scenery and beautiful people, but it has never gone into my imagination that heaven would be a place of fear... That I was afraid of the approaching foot soldier was proof that I was not there....yet.

See heaven is not the absence of sorrows, much as I want the sorrow to end;  heaven is not just a place where the painful blow of death doesn't strike, much as I despise death; heaven is not  only a place where little girls are not raped, defiled, mutilated... Heaven is not a place where flowers do not wither and leaves never fall... Much as I am tired by the cares and concerns of this world, of losing friends, opportunities, dreams, and beautiful nature, I do not look forward to place that is all bliss.

Heaven is peace, quietude, and security in the Father's love. Heaven is being able to sleep even in a raging storm because you know that the One in you can calm it. I guess heaven is the state of not being worried about sin, because you know that it is sin that takes away your joy, your peace, your serenity...

If heaven was the absence of sorrow, death, hunger, God could have easily given us all this but trust me, we would still not be satisfied... Heaven is therefore God with us; the reunion of the estranged prodigal with his loving Father!

Heaven, no matter how fair, is not heaven if God isnt there!

You Are Not The Girl

When I first met her, I was greeted by innocence. They called it naivety but I thought otherwise; it was just a flare of purity. She wore clothes, in the very sense of the word in that her body was always completely covered, giving no room for a lustful look at her posterior. Her conversations were always pure and true, rarely engaging in quick chats (what they call gossip), but firm as a reed in defense of her faith.

There were things that you downright knew she wouldn’t do, like don’t even bother asking what she did over the weekend because it was the same old routine: church, church and more church. It was a church meeting, or a training … at church, or picking up books from… yeah church.

She was passionate about her Master’s work, seldomly giving excuses. She was willing to spend and be spent.

That is the girl I met, knew and grew to love.

But life came and taught her otherwise. That ‘you need to work hard’ was welcome advice until hard work became the order of the day… leaving little or no time for anything.

She was then taught about the beauty of appearance; not that she wasn’t beautiful before, but somehow she was now being taught that she needed to go an extra inch to look the part; a few brows out, a little make-up on, and before anyone knew it, her face completely changed, from once natural beauty to ‘I can’t live without my make-up’ kind of girl.

Oh and her dresses became shorter too, struggling to reach near the knee. Parts that for long had been a mystery begun to show openly, like at a market square.

Busy about her Master’s work still? Ah no, new excuses begun to be invented.

“Sphere of influence!” She argued. It sounded pretty cool, everyone liked the idea but little did they know that she was beginning to sound and look like everyone else.

Her conversations changed, so did her way of spending her free time. There was no longer a stark contrast between she and them. It was even the more difficult to tell apart what she would or wouldn’t do.

I looked at the new girl that stood in front of me, and I knew in my heart of hearts that this is not the girl. She is not the one whose innocence made it like heaven to be around, she is not the girl who left me mysteriously wondering how and why she was this dedicated, she was definitely not the girl who slowly crept into my heart and set my soul on fire.

And so with tears in my eyes, I sat her down and said:

“I know you want the good life, we all do. I know you want to be loved, we all do. I know you want to be accepted, and as much as I sound like a broken record, we all do. But not in this kind of way. What happened to my little girl, the one who took pride in who and what she was? What happened to the girl who gracefully carried the modesty tag? The success you are enjoying has become the sponge that is slowly rubbing off your faith and grip on God.”

“You are now making excuses and being apologetic about things you never compromised on. You are no longer the girl! It’s a slow fade when black and white turns to gray!”

See, we have been led to turn away the fountain of living water and then hewn for ourselves broken cisterns that do not hold water. And so we thirst but only vinegar is available to us. But unlike the Son on the cross, we don’t turn away but gulp the vinegar down our throats and call it the best drink we’ve ever tasted.

But no, there is a chord, a sound in my ear that is calling me deeper. This is not what He meant by abundant living. The command was to seek ye first, then the rest will be added, but only after you seek first. Now, it has become okay to run away with the gifts and forsake the giver; it has become okay to lift up the busy flag when asked about your devotional life, and no, that is not okay!

And so if you meet my girl, please tell her this is not you; you are not the girl! You are no longer living out your purpose or calling; you are not the girl!

To the little girl who has gotten caught up in the cares of this world; little girl, please come back.

Umm, me? Pharisee? No!

On one Sabbath, they walked in as they always do, with their long garments, spiced with that Sabbath-best look of holiness. Carefully diced, rightly sliced with a dash of cinnamon. They owned the show. And so they went about their business; busy here and there. Not stopping to look, not stopping to care. Why should they, why would they? They are the leaders, remember?

Oh but one entered through the same gates, quivering, desperately crying for attention. Guess what happened! They rushed to help and all was well, right? I also thought so but nay. Nobody paid attention to him. He held his mat tightly to his chest, as if it was the only possession he had. But the truth is the mat knew all his pain, his anguish as he fought for his life; if mats could speak, his would sure tell how he shrieked in pain all those decades he had been sick.

The day wore on; it was business as usual. Then hushing all the music, some ‘strange’ sight grasped their attention. Smack-dabbed, their eyeballs seemed to pop out. It could be an understatement to say that they were all shocked at what they saw… but there he stood, the once sick man. He was uprightly standing, with an elastic step that easily made him the healthiest in the room. He had been healed!

Amidst shocks and gasps, one of them gained the courage to speak.

“Howbeit that you carry your mat on the Sabbath day?”

Ha-ha! Yeah why carry it on the Sabbath brother, you know better, no?

Ok straight face on, really? Is that the question to ask? What happened to ‘how did this miracle happen?’ or ‘praise the Lord you are finally ok!’?

Talk about missing the mark!

Sometimes we get so caught up in rituals that we miss out on the important detail that lies in wait of being understood, and being appreciated. Sometimes, we miss the mark so greatly that the things that were meant to be blessings have become yokes, huge burdens that people do not want to bear.

Rules, rules, rules! That is all people see. What happened to the God behind all these ‘rules’? Do people know Him, do we even show Him? Holiness is not right living; rather it is Christ in us, the hope of glory! Christianity has become a set of thou shalt nots, that breaking the law is the central focus and not breaking the heart of the Friend that gave the law.

This is not even about being liberal or conservative; it is about missing the point. Why is it that they failed to recognize the Messiah when He was in their midst? Because they had run away with the doctrine and left the Man of the doctrine. It had all become about sticking to rules, doing it right… on your own. Why, because the one who gives power was ousted, completely from the picture. And as is all self-righteousness, it made them cold, heartless, and gave them a form of godliness that denied the power thereof.

There is so much we need to unlearn; we all need that life-giving power that will breathe life in all of us. It won’t make us lower the standards, neither will it make us tolerant, it’ll just make us realize that we can be cheerful, caring and loving law-keeping Christians, because that is who Christ is!

Entangled

She had this way of doing things; it was not entirely common so much that everyone thought it was quite weird. I mean, most of the time, if not all of the time, she had a different perspective, a different way of regarding things so much she would easily pass as the strange nerd only without glasses.

But, like everybody else, she had a story.

She still had some imaginary friends… pretty creepy right? I would say the same thing, well until I knew her full story.

The worst part is they all had names, the imaginary friends that is. There was the smart one, the lazy one, the ladies-man and then the strong woman, more like the woman of steel. She described all of these with a strange precision that almost made you think that they could be alive somewhere. Could it be the reason why she was all over the place, like she had conversations going on in her mind?

Digging deeper, I discovered that those were actually defense mechanisms; methods she had developed to express certain emotions that she dare not blurt out for fear of being looked down on, misunderstood or prejudiced. So she bottled all the envy, the fear of failure, the shock, the pain, the anger, the lust, the grief… she bottled them all up in a place where no one would find out. And for a while, it seemed to be working. Everyone thought she was pretty tough, like she would bear all the reproach, all the scorn without expressing a wink of defeat, or sorrow, oh but when the lights were out,  a few Curious Ears would hear her sob all night long, surrounded by this deep darkness that she couldn’t break open. Then when morning came, she was the same person as the day before, bubbly and social.

And so am wondering… do we live in a world that stops people from being themselves, do we live in a world that easily judges people who are different simply because they are different, without at least trying to understand their story?

Are we so quick to put out a candle then curse the darkness?

Sometimes, if we only cared as much as we judged, loved as much as we hated, embraced as much as we criticized, then maybe people would be less depressed, maybe people would be less distrustful… if only we had a world that embraced in love, and then sought out to correct your flaws than a world that first uses the rod!

And so somewhere out there is a weirdo, and she might continue to be that way until someone will be bold enough, loving enough to let her share with you what is it really that bugs her, what is it really that brought her to this level, what is it really that makes her the way she is… so until that happens, don’t lift your hand to criticize, don’t even think about making her or him the laughing stock, don’t be the one that thrives on inflicting more pain… if you can’t help then don’t hold anyone in derision simply because they are a little different…

“God grant me the courage to change what I can, the serenity to accept the things I can’t and the wisdom to know the difference.”

Mostly quoted, mostly loved but rarely applied words.

Sustained Revival

The countdown was officially over, the Mission Empowerment Conference we had all been praying and planning for had finally come. And so, sitting in the corner, looking at how everything was coming together, the excitement on people’s faces and everything that goes with it, I was so excited to be part of what promised to be a reviving experience.

Sermons, seminars, lunch, seminars- the cycle went on until five days later. And then I found myself in that empty hall again, this time with no people, no décor and no sermons being preached, and it finally dawned on me that that was it; the conference was done. Time for life to continue as usual, or should it?

So often we attend weeks of prayer, revival campaigns, evangelistic seminars but all these eventually come to an end and so does the spiritual zeal. But should that be the case? Are we entitled to only have a five-day, or four weeks long revival? We are all too familiar with that spiritual high experience, the peak of our religiosity that makes us think that should Jesus come today, I am ready for translation! But weeks later, we are back to our usual self, the flickering flames of our so-called revival burn out and what remains is a dark, cold, lifeless fireplace. However, such should not be the case. I believe the purpose of all these revivals is not only to create a spiritual thirst but also to encourage a continual growth that quenches the thirst.

And so like many others, the question that really bugs at the back of our heads is how do I stay fired up? How do I ensure that this revival am experiencing is not short-lived? The good news is the Bible provides an answer. Jesus told a parable in Matthew 13, which He aptly explains in verses 20 to 23:

“20. But he who received the seed on stony places, this is he who hears the word and immediately receives it with joy; 21. yet he has no root in himself, but endures only for a while. For when tribulation or persecution arises because of the word, immediately he stumbles. 22. Now he who received seed among the thorns is he who hears the word, and the cares of this world and the deceitfulness of riches choke the word and he becomes unfruitful. 23. But he who received seed on the good ground is he who hears the word and understands it, who indeed bears fruit and produces: some a hundredfold, some sixty, some thirty.”

So, there is a Sower or a bearer of the message as well as the message itself or the seed but the results are different. The problem is not with the seed, neither is it with the sower, no. The problem is with the ground. Sometimes we receive the world but because we have not yet surrendered entirely to God, the experience only endures for a while. There are still those cares and concerns of this world that we have not resolutely decided to let go of and consequently, the word we receive is choked and we go back to life as usual.

There were, and still are times when I come back from a wonderful worship service and am convinced that I had been with the Lord but going back home, because I have not uprooted those thorns and thistles that always stand in my way (notice the word uproot and not cut), days later am back to my old self, with an inconsistent devotion. This experience even gets more real when you read the excerpt from Christ’s Object Lessons.

“The seed sown upon stony ground finds little depth of soil. The plant springs up quickly, but the root cannot penetrate the rock to find nutriment to sustain its growth, and it soon perishes. Many who make a profession of religion are stony-ground hearers. Like the rock underlying the layer of earth, the selfishness of the natural heart underlies the soil of their good desires and aspirations. The love of self is not subdued. They have not seen the exceeding sinfulness of sin, and the heart has not been humbled under a sense of its guilt. This class may be easily convinced, and appear to be bright converts, but they have only a superficial religion.

It is not because men receive the word immediately, nor because they rejoice in it, that they fall away. As soon as Matthew heard the Saviour's call, immediately he rose up, left all, and followed Him. As soon as the divine word comes to our hearts, God desires us to receive it; and it is right to accept it with joy. "Joy shall be in heaven over one sinner that repenteth." Luke 15:7. And there is joy in the soul that believes on Christ. But those who in the parable are said to receive the word immediately, do not count the cost. They do not consider what the word of God requires of them. They do not bring it face to face with all their habits of life, and yield themselves fully to its control,” COL 46.3,4.

Deep! But, there is hope… it is not God’s will that we should be he hearers who are likened to the stony or thorny ground. In fact, Inspiration records that God is more than willing to bestow such good gifts as an unbroken and consistent walk with Him. Just notice the word privilege in the passage below.

“It is the privilege and the duty of every Christian to have a rich and abundant experience in the things of God…The bright beams of the Sun of Righteousness shine upon the servants of God, and they are to reflect His rays,” New Life: Revival and Beyond, p. 18, 

What! Privilege? In other words, it is a right, an entitlement for every Christian to enjoy a rich and abundant experience. However, this cannot be done by ourselves.

“But the stony-ground hearers depend upon self instead of Christ. They trust in their good works and good impulses, and are strong in their own righteousness. They are not strong in the Lord, and in the power of His might. Such a one "hath not root in himself"; for he is not connected with Christ,” COL 47.1.

We cannot seek to enjoy this rich and abundant experience by our own might or strength; rather a power without us can achieve this in us but we need to let Him work in our lives, we need to surrender.

“Many feel a sense of estrangement from God, a realization of their bondage to self and sin; they make efforts for reform; but they do not crucify self. They do not give themselves entirely into the hands of Christ, seeking for divine power to do His will. They are not willing to be molded after the divine similitude…Christ asks for an unreserved consecration, for undivided service,” COL 48.2,4.

So herein lies the answer to the quest for a long-term revival: surrender. The admonition is to surrender our all and let God work in us. To let go of anything and anyone that can come between us and God, then and only then can we have that long-lasting revival.