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…simply GRACEful

Its December Baybe!

So,  i’d like to officially welcome y’all to my best month…my birth month. I pray you a prosperous and thank-full December. For this particular one, I’ve set out to do a sor…

Source: Its December Baybe!

Its December Baybe!

So,  i’d like to officially welcome y’all to my best month…my birth month. I pray you a prosperous and thank-full December.

For this particular one, I’ve set out to do a sorta countdown to my day with a count-your- blessings-each-day theme. Consequently, I’ll be celebrating some people and events specially from today till the 20th Day.

The beautiful thing about this is…we get to do this together with the #CountYaBlessingsTill20 💕on any social media platform. Just choose someone or something you’d love to thank God for specially and include the hashtag.

Thanks in advance😘. This means a lot to me.

Let’s Do This!

-cHés❤

P.S: Don’t forget to follow @mhz_cHesca on IG and Snapchat😊

He Saves…

Grace blew me a sticky wet kiss
I caught it but still ran to him
Held him close
Just won’t let go

‘Cos this GRACE…
He saved me!

Never let go of what Saves you…

Journey Out of Self

Hello friends,

Its been a long while since I posted anything here. Truth is I’ve been extremely busy with school work and I still am but then I miss writing here. So, i’ll just like to share what i learnt today.

Today, I didn’t go to church 😦 my excuse is too lame, so I’d rather not share). I didn’t go to church but i tuned in to a radio station where I heard this wonderful message. Although, i did  not get the title of the message, I gave it one.

A cause beyond Ourselves. 

The preacher’s focus was basically on GIVING. ” If you keep taking and not giving, you live small and attract small things and people to yourself- that’s a mediocre life”…” is there ever a time in your life that u become a giver and not a taker, have you ever thought of anything other than your own survival?”

“…have you ever thought of anything other than your own survival”

That line hit me hard and my response was a NO. Now, don’t get it twisted. there are times I think of the things I want to give back to MY friends, MY family and all of that stuff. but, you see, if you check through and screen it well, it all comes back to Self. [note the MYs]. i go to school, study hard, not get distracted because i want to be successful, i want to be rich, give my children a good name. At this point, the preacher asks:

“Is there anything you believe in and Labour for other than yourself?”

Can I be studious because i want my society to be better?, can I choose to study my physics courses well so that the next community can have stable power supply and not because I want to be rich and have the best cars [not that having nice cars is terrible tho] . Can i choose to design clothes so well, so homeless kids can have trendy clothes and not so that cHes’ Designs could be known internationally? Can i have three jobs to support not just myself and my family but also that teenager who just lost his mother? can i actually do something tangible for someone that’s not family and not expect profit?

In our world today, its quite difficult. I know. we neva chop belleful. 

the preacher went on and said:” Christ didn’t pick jobless/ unemployed men as disciples, He chose men who were not idle – men who worked…He said to them ‘ If any man would be my disciple, He has to deny himself first- take up His cross and follow Me’ ”

then, i realized [ not like it was new tho] that man wasn’t made for a job but for a cause. He even gave you that job that you have now, for that cause you were made to act on.  Now, the question is what is my cause? what purpose am i to fulfill?

” Energy not channeled to the right cause is Leakage- Oil spill” and that’s why our community is filled with insecurities, crimes and all.

The basic thing here is this: there’s too much that you have that you’re not giving. Its not just about money. It could be great ideas, talents, wonderful abilities, skills, gifts, too much love that you’re not giving at all or you’re channeling to something of no good. Pursue a cause! It doesn’t have to start out big and perfect but at least you started.

We await a society where everyone is not just about their pockets or their stomachs but after the wellness of the next fellow. If i’m not being useful, it’s a waste of life don’t you think?

… if you had to bargain with God for another week to be alive, what will He get in return?

Have a splendid week!…Remember to give something 😉 ;*

TEACHERS?!… Oh man!

teach

I’m a Teacher

Remember that lesson i helped you understand

I’m a Reach-er

Stretching forth my hand to raise them that can’t stand

I’m a Preacher

Pointing out your wrongs with true words rather than a rod in hand

I’m a Changer

Changing lives, changing nations and changing the world

I’m a Saver

Trust me; the ‘Ignorance-is-bliss’ days are long gone

I’m a Pitcher

One large vessel filled with sempiternal knowledge

You can call me a Helper, a Trainer, a Leader, a …, whatever

I’m someone who helps you behold your world with totally different lenses

The same one who takes the veil off your eyes so you can view your community from a whole new chemical perspective

Showing you a way around other biological relationships; from those pretty roses to the stubborn weeds, the sneaky mice to the dirty pigs

I know about that need for you to go all technical and technological these days- how you are so curious about power, media, structures and still want to prove those faulty machines wrong

I’m not oblivious of the beef you have for the physical and mathematical laws- they are actually not so bad.

Finally, I’m sure you haven’t forgotten that Charity begins at home- well, basic experiments start there too

Now, this supposedly abstract-but-fun life might pose some difficulty,

But with me guiding you through to a permanent change in your visuals, attitude and behavior, you’ll be just fine…

I’m the Science Teacher!

Mr. Moe: A Black Man Bleeds Red

HEY guys,I stumbled across this short story on the blog “Two Drops of Ink“. Enjoy and Learn.

p.s: let me know if this story reminds you of anyone in particular.

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The V.A. is a terrible place. As I walked in that day I felt like I was walking into an old Soviet Politburo building. Nothing looked modern or state-of-the-art. It smelled musty. It felt like slow death. I was there on a routine visit to check on my benefits so I followed the signs down the hallway to the waiting area. No one smiled. No one seemed to care. Like robots in some sterilized factory, everyone walked as if they were in a hurry…yet nothing ever seemed to get done. People just stood or sat. Frozen in rime.

I walked into the waiting area. The hallway opened up into a grand room filled with chairs that looked like something from the fifties. WWII décor maybe. No padding on them, no fluff or frills, just wooden chairs that could easily be mistaken for `Ol Sparky in the Atlanta Penitentiary. I saw a few young guys sitting—waiting—God only knows how long. Then I saw him. He was in the corner, an old black man. He looked to be in his seventies. He sat slumped over with his elbows on his knees. Like a statue, not a muscle moved. He had a black cane with a white handle between his hands. His head rested on the handle. He was dressed extremely well. He wore a suit—black—a derby hat, and a fantastic looking pair of shoes that glistened like spit-shined Army Boots. His eyes were closed and I wasn`t sure if he was awake; but, I chose to sit next to him. I was drawn to him; I didn`t know why.

I sat down next to him as quietly as possible—everything in the V.A building echoes like a cavern in some deep cave. I studied his face. His jaw line was square, strong, and clean shaven. His skin was light colored for a black man, and in spite of his grey hair, his skin was smooth and well kept. He looked like a man with a deep sense of dignity. In my mind, I imagined him to be a war hero. That`s when it hit me. The emotional wave of sorrow was so deep and profound that I felt my eyes begin to water. Here was a man that had no doubt given himself over to the barbarism of combat in some foreign land—probably during a time when no cared about a colored man’s plight—and I knew I owed him for my freedom. I wondered if anyone cared. As I sat daydreaming of the mystery of this man and his life—without moving any other muscle but his mouth—he said, “Long wait.”

I answered with a rhetorical, “Excuse me sir?”

“It`s a long wait. I been here since `bout nine.” I looked at my watch and it was 12:13 in the afternoon.

“My names Scott.”

“I’m Maurice…folks call me Moe.” Trying to find common ground, I leaned toward—an attempt at humor.

“Mr. Moe, you look like you just came from a wedding. That`s a sharp suit.”

He finally lifted his head and turned toward me. His eyes were a brilliant gold color, set deep in his face with barley a wrinkle. There was a humbleness in his eyes. They were filled with wisdom and grace.

“Mama always said you ain`t gotta have no money to have class.”

“Yes sir,” I answered.

“Mr. Moe, you mind me asking which war you fought in.” There was an awkward, long pause before he finally answered.

“I was in the 761st Tank Battalion in `44”

“We fought with Patton `cross France and froze `ar asses off at the Bulge in the Ardennes. Damn it was cold…wooo weeee. I`s a machine gunner. I loved that `ol thirty cal.”

I just sat back and listen to the old man. He settled back into his meditative position—resting his head on the cane handle, his hat was tipped back a bit.

“Them krauts thought us colored boys wasn`t up to the fight…weez less than they was. They learnt` different`…ar` blood was jest` as red as they`s was. We whooped `em all the way to the Rhine. `Ol Patton himself say he was proud to serve with us no matter who we was.”

I just sat and continued to listen as the old man told me stories of his comrades, their victories, and their horrid defeats. I didn`t dare interrupt. I didn`t move a muscle. Like being shot through time, back in history, I followed Mr. Moe from Normandy to Germany.

Just as I was about to ask him more questions, I heard a voice from the loud speaker call out for Maurice Denton. Mr. Moe, as I had decided to address him, lifted his head up from his cane. He slowly and a bit wobbly pushed himself up with it and walked toward the desk never even giving me a look.

“Mr. Moe!” I shouted, “thank you for your service sir!” His back toward me as he walked away, he just lifted his hand and waved. I never saw him again.

When I got home I looked up his battalion and its history.  The 761st was the first African-American Tank Battalion sent into battle on D-Day in Normandy. They were referred to as the “Black Panthers” and their citations proved to be quite impressive. They had at least one Medal of Honor recipient and more than ten Silver Stars awarded in their ranks. Unfortunately, like many other colored soldiers of that day, his battalion had suffered the bigotry and racism of the South where they trained. The sheer glory, in my mind, of a man who would fight for a country that didn`t give a damn about him, brought me to tears. I only wish I would have had the time to ask Mr. Moe more about the memories that lay behind his eyes of gold.

S.W. Biddulph

Start-up Piece.

HI,

CheslyHearts  begins with this simple piece. Enjoy!

White Roses, Red Roses

All smiles, no poses

drip… drop, small doses

quick turns, chapter closes.

heavy downpour, beauty fades

glaring sunshine, nothing shades

afflictions rise like Iron blades

rise and fall, empty charades

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