A link to my neighbours/Community · Hope · Inspiration - Motivation · Life · Quotes For You · Success · Weave that Dream

The Rolling Train Of Thoughts…

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It is very easy to sit down and dreamily wish for the niceties that life has to offer, but the bare truth is that those niceties come at a certain price. That price entails working smart and being less slothful.

Achieving most of our life’s goals emanates from our minds, which now transforms itself into the required energy.

So in essence, how we treat this powerhouse (our minds) that controls virtually everything that we are or we aspire to become really matters.

We have to choose daily, the seeds that we plant in our minds very wisely.

A weevil eaten seed is already faulty and is likely not to germinate into anything, much less giving any yield.

Our actions or in-actions emanates from our thoughts or lack of thoughts.

When we change our thinking, we change our lives.

If our thoughts are not working for us, it is time to switch into a better route of thinking.

As my people will ask with a proverb, “If you are building a house and a nail breaks, do you stop building or do you change the nail?”

As we plant the seeds of our thoughts wisely, may we hold onto belief, hope and grace to bring about increase and a bountiful yield.

This is applicable to everyone, irrespective of our religious or non-religious incline.

Thank you Vincent Wambua for inviting me to partake in the 3 quote challenge. Let me extend the invitation to other inspiring bloggers in the house.

Here are the rules:

  1. Post 3 quotes on 3 consecutive days
  2. Thank the person who nominated you
  3. Nominate 5 new bloggers each single day of the challenge.

Neveradullbling

Atomic Words

Tildy

Adriennea

Pam Witzemann

 

 

Dubai · Family · Gratitude · Inspiration - Motivation · Love

….And We Get To Rest.

Oh Yes! In the presence of the Lord,Each day
I will bring my gift,
In thanksgiving and joy,
There is joy in my heart,
It is flowing like a river,
And I will praise the Lord,
In Thanksgiving and Joy.

For today’s gratitude challenge, I am thankful that I don’t have to jump out of bed early for a couple of days and rush around like a headless chicken, to ensure that the children are ready for school.

It’s National Day celebration over here, so we get today and tomorrow off school which spills right into the weekend. Yes!!!

I am thankful for the season that we are in. I feel the joy in the air. Even in this city that is Muslim dominated, there is so much liberalism at this point.

Christmas decorations are popping up at the malls and Christmas tunes float in the air from several shops. It’s amazing and I am thankful that we are in a city that is tolerant of other peoples’ religion.

I am quite sure that you have something to be thankful for today.

Blessed Love.

© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha

“If you want to turn your life around, try thankfulness, it will change your life mightily.” – Gerald Good.

 

 

Devotions · Hope · Inspiration - Motivation · Musings · Poetry/Poems · Weave that Dream

Praise!…

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Praise gives us lots of Grace.

Some boundless strength to run the Race.

So, let’s keep up the Pace,

Voices we lift, as we increase the Base.

© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha

Let everything that has breath praise the Lord! Psalm 150:6

Little rants · Social critic

The Minister’s Clay Feet…

going to church

He strutted and postured,
His fists pounding the podium from time to time,
In a bid to pontificate his points,
To give breadth to his enunciation’s.

His oily words rolled off his tongue,
Slick, cajoling and compelling,
To a crowd captivated by his glittering Italian shoes, which served in disguising his hideous clay feet,
His expensive shiny suit strained to contain his well rounded tub; fed fat by the grease of other hands,

His bugled eyes, beady, shrewd and greedy,
Stood out in his plump and shiny face,
With his wobbly rich jowls,
Bouncing with every step,

Amen; Shout Alleluia he bellowed,
Taking note of each and everyone of them,
Those whose envelopes bulged,
Those with the slimmer ones and those with none at all

He blessed the thieves, the roguery politicians,
And the lying tongue,
Nary a word of love or repentance was uttered at all,
Prosperity, Prosperity, Gain and more gain,
As his oily basket grew bigger by the second,

But the poor in their cast-offs,
A pity to behold, at odds with the glitterati,
Hardly a seat could they find in the pews nor warmth to enfold,
Whatever on Earth is happening to the Salt of the Earth?

What manner of pervasive erosion is leeching our hearts and our minds?
Robbing us blindly of our timeless essence and values;
And replacing them with decrepit morals,
Lack of conscience and loss of empathy,

Is it a wonder that the World is what it is today?
I guess not….,

The statement that says “you reap what you sow”, must indeed be true.

Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha

 

Fiction · Short story

Just whose type are we?.. A short Story

Interracial

Meera dipped the second stick into the collection of urine and within minutes the line appeared again. The instant pregnancy test read positive a second time.

Her suspicions were firmly confirmed. Butterfly flutters of excitement filled her stomach. She couldn’t wait to tell Kevin her good news. It would be a nice surprise, she hoped. He would be back in two days from his visit to his hometown – New Orleans. He went to see his ailing mom. It was not news that she wanted to share on the phone. His expressions mattered. Apparently, their excitement at graduating summa cum laude and having jobs already lined up at the prestigious Texas medical center has yielded dividends. This was a bit unplanned, but that is the likely result of getting carried away.

She fretted a bit over how it would affect her new job. She wondered if she would make a good mother. For some reason, she felt sure Kevin would make a great dad. For a huge guy, he was very gentle and caring. Meera daydreamed. She could visualize the adorable bundle of joy. The baby’s features would be a merge of Kevin’s dark handsome looks and her delicate Asian look. For a moment, she paused a bit on how her baby would be classified, but she did not ponder seriously on that question. This is America, where everything is almost possible. Her child/children would have the best upbringing that they could possibly afford to give them; and they would be loved very much – that was the most important thing.

They had dated secretly for a while but she was tired of pretending that he was just a friend in front of her friends and family. Their love affair had blossomed from their respected friendship as two medical students studying together. They were both very intelligent and supportive of each other. They found they shared a whole lot in common except their race, and religion, but Meerah felt that these issues were not insurmountable.

Kevin, made her feel very cherished, and most times, in the duration of their relationship, he deferred to her a lot. His handsome, calm and confident demeanor had left her tongue-tied at the onset of their study, but his dogged, and positively infectious attitude had finally managed to draw her closer. She knew she had found her soul mate.

It was time to introduce their love to the World. She hoped her parents would grow to love Kevin as much as she did. Especially when their grandchild arrives. Her parents are enlightened and educated. Her father is a talented surgeon whilst her mom who has been a home-maker all through was quite abreast with the changes in time.

Kevin’s reaction was as expected and more. He was ecstatic but expressed his concern about her family. Assuring him that her family would come around, she advised that they break the news to them as a team over the weekend.

Saturday evening’s dinner ended in a fiasco. Kevin had been to the home of the Misra’s before, but that was in a party of other friends. They had come for Meera’s birthday as well as the festival of light – Diwali and the festival of colors – Holi. Now seated as the only stranger in their midst was not a very comfortable feeling. Meera’s mother did not appear quite as warm as before and Dr. Misra was very polite to the point of distant.

He liked curry, masala and all the Indian dishes that he had tasted in the past, but tonight he could hardly swallow a bite. The meal was barely over, when Meera decided to break the news of their engagement to her parents.

Her mom flew up in surprise, knocking over the flask of black tea, her brother flew into a tirade and the situation went downhill very fast. Tears, table banging and hot invective exchange of words in Hindi flew up and down the room. It was chaotic. Kevin could not understand what was being said but knew that it did not sound good. Dr. Misra asked him to leave and out of respect he left with a lot of unease.

The heated argument went on with a lot of acrimony and blame passed from one end to the other. Mrs. Misra chided her husband for not supporting her proposal to find a husband for Meera earlier than now. Now she was about to lead them into a mess. How would she live it down, she wondered.

”You cannot mean to marry him?” she queried her daughter harshly.love is color blind

”I do mama, I love him” Meera replied.

”No you cannot”, she continued. ”We always marry our own”.

”What is wrong with him”? ”Just who is our own”? Meera wailed. This was not the reaction she had expected. She knew they would be taken aback but not this difficult.

”Deepak, please talk to your daughter”, Mrs. Misra implored her husband.

”Well, I am pregnant and I would like to marry my baby’s father”, Meera declared adding fuel to the fire.

Her mother squeaked very loudly and sank in the couch in a half swoon.

Her brother promised to kill Kevin.

The dog ran and hid behind the big potted plant.

Sanjay’s wife Amira shrank into her seat like a frightened mouse, her kajal darkened eyes standing out starkly in her face.

The only person who seemed to maintain a semblance of control was Dr. Misra, the only sign of his distress was the increased tick of the veins by his temples.

Meera stormed upstairs to her room. She fumed as she thought through the whole scenario. She had never really liked the clannish, caste systems of her people, where the discrimination even amongst her people was so visceral. Their caste system was so wickedly divisive that she still could not understand why some people were considered ”Dalits – untouchables”.

She hated the arranged marriages of two strangers; her brothers marriage was a case in point. Amira, her sister in law never looked happy and never spoke much. She suspected that Sanjay was being too overbearing towards his wife. She suspected that he beat her, but nobody said anything.

She could not understand her parents, especially her mothers vehemence towards Kevin. They got on fairly well with their African American neighbors and the handsome Sudanese couple that taught in the school district. She was glad her orientation was not like theirs. It would be a rough path to take, but if running off to be with Kevin would be the answer, then so be it.

Mrs. Misra calmed down and started plotting. She knew that antagonizing her daughter would probably incite Meera’s rebel heart into eloping with that black boy. If it was a nice white boy, maybe, it would be easier to condone. But this! It was unacceptable. Now she could see why Meera always took her recent supportive stance against the police for what she perceived as a persecution of the black race. The whole situation was still incredulous but she had to thread with caution. She still felt angry with Deepak for failing to heed her advice, but as a mother, she had to take charge and correct things before they got out of hand. They will be off to Mumbai as soon as she can make plausible arrangements.

There was an uneasy calm in the house. It seemed as if everyone including the dog tip-toed around each other the following day. Having thought through her plan, Mrs. Misra made her daughters favorite soup, which was strongly laced with herbal condiments to stimulate uterine bleeding and take care of business. She knocked on Meera’s door, waving a flag for truce and invited her to come and eat with her.

Thankfully and mindlessly consuming the steaming, tasty bowl of broth with chapati, Meera listened to her mothers chatter.

© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha