Monday

Time.
How much do we really have? How much time do we have? Really? Have you ever thought of that? We have no idea, as to how much time we have.

An Unknown Author has penned these words.

To realize the value of one year, ask a student who has failed a final exam.
To realize the value of one month, ask a mother who has given birth to a premature baby.
To realize the value of one week, ask the editor of a weekly newspaper.
To realize the value of one hour, ask the lovers who are waiting to meet.
To realize the value of one minute, ask the people who have missed the train, bus or plane.
To realize the value of one second, ask the person who survived an accident.
To realize the value of one millisecond, ask the person who has won a silver medal at the Olympics.

Most of us can relate to at least one of the items listed in the poem above; but

Sunday

Welcome to Lomziz Attic! Come chat with me, and  share with me, as I share with you. So

What's Love Got to do With It?

It's good to be introspective. That's why people who like to write, do for the most part, actually... write. So, today this post is just an introspective look. Unedited. Uncut. As I am getting older, and have a bit more time for reflection, I guess, I am learning various extra things about myself. Painful, sometimes, but cathartic always; and therefore essential for the fine tuning of my character. And at other times liberating, and empowering.

I have a fear of loving people. Maybe most of us do, on some level; after all, who likes rejection? None of us, I assume. However, my issue with loving people is so deep, that I have lived my life until now, not knowing that it was there. Well, I had inklings of some nebulous thought of an illusive knowledge somewhere in my cerebral cortex. Never reaching my conscious thought, I have lived my life in denial of this huge problem that affects my dealings with my spouse, my kids, my siblings, my nephews and my friends. This all pervasive modus operandi of how I live and love is impacted further by the obvious flip side to the issue at hand, that is that I, have a difficult time accepting that I am loved. I do not know when or how this all came about but I see that it is so. Huge concept! The real issue though is: how do I attempt to fix this, assuming that it is a fixable problem--it has to be a fixable problem!

I turn to God, as always, and realize that I have also always struggled with the thought of whether He loves me or not. When things are going good, I assume that He does, but when they aren't, I am convinced that He doesn't. But then I know He does, deep down inside me. So I battle with myself often. It's sad that the circumstances of our lives can mold us to such an extent that it almost seems that even God cannot reach us.... Almost! As I try to find comfort in Him, to ask for the assurance of His love, I see Jesus on the cross, and I am comforted. I am sad that I have to look on such a huge sacrifice to be reassured, but really nothing else would have showed the depth of His love for me. Even in in that He has loved me.

Being loved so completely by God, provides the joy I need to by simply give myself to my loved ones, unabashedly, without fear of rejection. I have decided that I am not going to look for rejection in every glance and raised eyebrow or tone of voice. I am going to live for God first and all my other loves come after Him. If rejection comes, or when it comes, I have my Heavenly Father's arms as a safe place to fall into. That is both liberating and empowering! And joyous beyond measure.....

Saturday

Going Home

Going back home is never easy. In my case this going back home to the country of my birth this time, was extremely painful. The plane ride was an uneventful one, and by my estimation we were almost at our destination. I find myself feeling uneasy. I couldn’t figure out the reason for this kind of sixth sense of knowing something I didn’t know. My eyes span the passengers in my line of vision, until they rest on this man’s hands. I blinked and looked again. The man’s hands looked like my dad’s. A well of sadness welled up within me. I feel like a failure. I feel like a failure, because I had failed my Dad. I welcomed the gentle sobs that softly shook my body. It was 12 noon. Shortly after, the pilot is preparing us for landing.

Getting through customs took forever, literally it seemed. Finally free, I triumphantly walk out into the sunshine. Looking around, I saw my oldest sister who had flown in from England. My sister who lived in Canada, like I did, was nowhere to be found. Before I could think, my subconscious boldly blurted out,

“How’s daddy?” Was there a slight pause, a hesitation? I couldn’t tell.

She shook her head. “I’m sorry, he’s gone.”

I felt like my whole body was reeling. What did she say?

“Huh?”

My sister hugged me, as my knees buckled and she led me to a seat that a gentleman had hastily vacated for me. I realised then that there were people in the open air airport lounge who were all witnessing my pain. For a moment I saw their concerned and sad faces, these strangers whom I will never meet, but who shared such a poignant moment in my life. I crumple down onto the comfortable seat. My thoughts were so jumbled. I felt sick to my stomach, my mind couldn’t, didn’t want to accept what my sister had said. I had a headache coming on. How can this be? This can’t be true!! I was on my way, I was on the plane!? I am here and I wanted to talk to him, to see him alive one more time, just one more time. To tell him that I was sorry for failing him and that I loved him.

Finally we get into the car and head towards my sister’s home that she and her husband maintained here, even though they live abroad. The neighbour who lived next door insisted on accompanying her, for moral support. On the long hour’s drive, we have a chance to talk. I wanted to know everything, but my sister wisely just kept saying that we would talk later. It actually gave me a chance to be with my thoughts, and have some cherished moments with God. ‘He never gives you more than you can bear,’ this is the all pervading thought that I hold on to, on the long drive going home.
© Aloma Durity-Allen

Denying God's Power

November 2, 2007

…having a form of Godliness, but denying the power thereof, from such turn away. 2Tim. 3:5

Who would be so foolish as to disallow the power of God in their life? God’s power is so very impressive, radical, enriching and eternally life changing. Who would pass that up? It’s easy to see someone who does not believe in God, passing it up, he’s already classified in the Bible as being foolish. But what about someone who does believe in God, like me, can I pass up on this power? I have passed up on this power, because I have become ignorant, that is non cognizant, of the fact that I am passing up on this power. I have not been living an authentic Christian life; a life that catches hold of the Power to live in the now, that a follower of God obtains from Him automatically, everyday.

Denying the power thereof is seen mostly in the hidden from view areas of my life. Hidden from my family members and my friends, hidden even from myself…. It’s the thoughts that have become entrenched in me, displayed through my actions or reactions to situations and stimuli. However, these thoughts are mostly hidden.

So God is calling me to make a change, to take the Godliness that He is freely offering me. hat does this Godliness do? It makes me aligns me to God’s character, and allows me to be re-created in His awesome character. Exciting, Invigorating, Life! My life is boring, dull, meaningless, because I have no power to live the free and joyous life that God wants me to live. I desperately want to have that life, the reality of walking with Jesus. To get there from here, takes planning, skill and stick-to-itiveness. I have been powerless for so long that I cannot think that I can do this, which is good, because then I can look to God and take hold of the Power to receive more of the Power.
Going back home is never easy. In my case this going back home to the country of my birth this time, was extremely painful. The plane ride was an uneventful one, and by my estimation we were almost at our destination. I find myself feeling uneasy. I couldn’t figure out the reason for this kind of sixth sense of knowing something I didn’t know. My eyes span the passengers in my line of vision, until they rest on this man’s hands. I blinked and looked again. The man’s hands looked like my dad’s. A well of sadness welled up within me. I feel like a failure. I feel like a failure, because I had failed my Dad. I welcomed the gentle sobs that softly shook my body. It was 12 noon. Shortly after, the pilot is preparing us for landing.

Getting through customs took forever, literally it seemed. Finally free, I triumphantly walk out into the sunshine. Looking around, I saw my oldest sister who had flown in from England. My sister who lived in Canada, like I did, was nowhere to be found. Before I could think, my subconscious boldly blurted out,

“How’s daddy?” Was there a slight pause, a hesitation? I couldn’t tell.

She shook her head. “I’m sorry, he’s gone.”

I felt like my whole body was reeling. What did she say?

“Huh?”

My sister hugged me, as my knees buckled and she led me to a seat that a gentleman had hastily vacated for me. I realised then that there were people in the open air airport lounge who were all witnessing my pain. For a moment I saw their concerned and sad faces, these strangers whom I will never meet, but who shared such a poignant moment in my life. I crumple down onto the comfortable seat. My thoughts were so jumbled. I felt sick to my stomach, my mind couldn’t, didn’t want to accept what my sister had said. I had a headache coming on. How can this be? This can’t be true!! I was on my way, I was on the plane!? I am here and I wanted to talk to him, to see him alive one more time, just one more time. To tell him that I was sorry for failing him and that I loved him.

Finally we get into the car and head towards my sister’s home that she and her husband maintained here, even though they live abroad. The neighbour who lived next door insisted on accompanying her, for moral support. On the long hour’s drive, we have a chance to talk. I wanted to know everything, but my sister wisely just kept saying that we would talk later. It actually gave me a chance to be with my thoughts, and have some cherished moments with God. ‘He never gives you more than you can bear,’ this is the all pervading thought that I hold on to, on the long drive going home.
© Aloma Durity-Allen

Monday

Living Authentically

Living AuthenticallyLiving authentically means living true to me. It is so easy, to define myself through the eyes of those around me. Do I measure up to this one or that one; or even worse, trying to fall into other people’s concept of who I am. I need to be in touch with me. I (under God) define who I am! I want to be the best me I can be, and the only way I have found to do this, is to allow my Heavenly Father to change me and mould me into my authentic self. The passage of Scripture that qualifies this thought for me is found in James 4:8 ‘Draw nigh to God, and he will draw nigh to you. Cleanse your hands… and purify your hearts, ye double minded.’(KJV) Every time I try to fit into someone else’s ideals on life or someone else’s ideas about me, I am double minded, confused because I am not really allowing myself the joy of being me! My hands, or actions to be more specific, become tainted with the borrowed concepts that my heart has frivolously commanded. The only solution is to approach God and surrender my will to Him.
Going back home is never easy. In my case this going back home to the country of my birth this time, was extremely painful. The plane ride was an uneventful one, and by my estimation we were almost at our destination. I find myself feeling uneasy. I couldn’t figure out the reason for this kind of sixth sense of knowing something I didn’t know. My eyes span the passengers in my line of vision, until they rest on this man’s hands. I blinked and looked again. The man’s hands looked like my dad’s. A well of sadness welled up within me. I feel like a failure. I feel like a failure, because I had failed my Dad. I welcomed the gentle sobs that softly shook my body. It was 12 noon. Shortly after, the pilot is preparing us for landing.

Getting through customs took forever, literally it seemed. Finally free, I triumphantly walk out into the sunshine. Looking around, I saw my oldest sister who had flown in from England. My sister who lived in Canada, like I did, was nowhere to be found. Before I could think, my subconscious boldly blurted out,

“How’s daddy?” Was there a slight pause, a hesitation? I couldn’t tell.

She shook her head. “I’m sorry, he’s gone.”

I felt like my whole body was reeling. What did she say?

“Huh?”

My sister hugged me, as my knees buckled and she led me to a seat that a gentleman had hastily vacated for me. I realised then that there were people in the open air airport lounge who were all witnessing my pain. For a moment I saw their concerned and sad faces, these strangers whom I will never meet, but who shared such a poignant moment in my life. I crumple down onto the comfortable seat. My thoughts were so jumbled. I felt sick to my stomach, my mind couldn’t, didn’t want to accept what my sister had said. I had a headache coming on. How can this be? This can’t be true!! I was on my way, I was on the plane!? I am here and I wanted to talk to him, to see him alive one more time, just one more time. To tell him that I was sorry for failing him and that I loved him.

Finally we get into the car and head towards my sister’s home that she and her husband maintained here, even though they live abroad. The neighbour who lived next door insisted on accompanying her, for moral support. On the long hour’s drive, we have a chance to talk. I wanted to know everything, but my sister wisely just kept saying that we would talk later. It actually gave me a chance to be with my thoughts, and have some cherished moments with God. ‘He never gives you more than you can bear,’ this is the all pervading thought that I hold on to, on the long drive going home.
© Aloma Durity-Allen

Friday

Marriage: The Life-Lesson

In the 21st century, it seems as if marriage is alive and well. I say 'seems' because while people are marrying at a record pace, as fast as people marry, people divorce. There are many reasons why people marry, and many reasons why they divorce, and I am not going into the reasons for either side of that equation here.

Marriage, however is truly an institution, as I have often heard it referred to; an institution that was designed to teach us so much. For a Christian, it is an excellent learning tool that God, if we humble ourselves to Him, can use to school us in the ways of forging out a deep and loving relationship with our earthly spouse, as well as an the intimate relationship with Him that we all so desperately need. How, you may ask?

By putting God first, in our marriage. He is the best Father--He's truthful, and can tell us in love when or where we are going wrong. He is the best Confidant--who keeps our secrets, and wipes our tears, and delights in our joys, and eliminates our fears. Need I say more? Our God is truly a soft place to fall as we navigate through our marriage. And, we become better spouses and better sons and daughters of the Most High God.

It is imperative then, that we do not enter marriage ill-advisedly, or hastily. Marriage must be entered into with the thought of permanency, and a sense of deep commitment to each other. This is how we may more readily learn from, and appreciate, the huge life-lesson that marriage is, a live-lesson that God uses as a teaching tool, even as we are living it. Awesome! So spouses, happy learning!