The tales of the traveller 

(Inspired by Thomas Frimpong & Eric Agyeman’s song – Menenam Mu)

The tales of the traveller should only be told by those who have walked those paths. For those who have never taken those paths assume it is an easy feat.

A fairytale of sorts.

The dares of the life of the traveller are many – and before one knows it, the traveller has been catapulted to a place where the return home is treacherous.

The traveller will see what must not be seen. The traveller will sleep where one must not sleep. The traveller will hear what must not be heard. However, many are the lures that keep the traveller fixated on the path where return is another new dream. For whatever negative the traveller encounters, he will comfort himself, mostly with the brightness of a future, which is the better day to come.

The curse of the gold that needs to be returned to its home pushes the traveller further into many unthinkable feats. Before he knows it, the traveller is convinced return can only be possible with the cursed gold.  

Though cursed, the gold must build a home – a home he may never live in but contented it sits empty, surrounded by grass. And that’s even a happy ending. With the gold, he must ensure no one is left behind. Even if he must sleep in hunger or on a bed that tires his bones. It must be done.

As the elders say, the bird that fails to fly will sleep in hunger. And thus, the traveller must keep gathering, even where food is farthest from their nest. 

God I beg

Prayer stalwarts say that God answers prayers that are scripture based – we should avoid the blabber of words. That He prefers prayers that are consistent – thus we ought to keep knocking. And that midnights are the best times to seek God in prayer – we should beat sleep and stay up to pray. 

However, there come certain days when the spirit indeed wills to pray – long consistent scripture based prayers in the quiet hours of the night, yet the flesh is weak. Sometimes, all we can manage are murmurs and whisperings, for elaborate wordings fail us. 

On such days when we are torn apart and weary, and all we can manage are the one-sentence prayers: 

       “God I beg” or  “God help me” or  “God have mercy on me” 

For on those days, our memories fail to reconcile with Bible verses. Our strength is feeble, our pain very real.

All we have on those days is the faith that we have a father above who hears us even when our words are whispers and one sentence prayers. Because we believe we have a father who wants us to call Him on the day of trouble – even when words are few – He will come to the rescue.

So until the days when long prayers enriched with Bible verses return, and flesh brought to a low , I will call anyhow and anyway I can to my father who hears, sees and feels me each day! For He will come through! This I am certain!