Pastor Adeboye, Buying a Plane to see God

By Tunde Fagbenle
Sunday Punch Newspaper, Nigeria
Sunday, Macrch 15, 2009

Have you heard the news? That our pastor, Pastor Adeboye, has acquired a brand new aircraft for N4 billion? Jesus is a mighty God, a mighty God, Jesus is a miracle God.

"Sharaap! Are you mad? So what business of mine is that? Now you see why I am not a Christian, and certainly cannot be your kind of mumu Christian. You are hungry and jobless and you are singing praises to Jesus that your bishop has gone to buy an aircraft for 4 billion naira! I am sorry for you. Please, get out of my sight."

"Na bad belle dey worry you. Can't you see the glory of God in that? A Gulfstream 4XP aircraft, whao, that's a pleasure ride, man, I mean a pleasure fly. Our pastor is the first to buy that kind of aircraft and he didn't even borrow a kobo to buy it. Cash down. I told you, our Redeemed Christian Church of God is the biggest and best church in the world, and buying this plane has just confirmed it, he has beaten others to it. We lead; others follow. Hallelujah!"

(Shaking his head) "Are you sure you're well? So, tell me, where did your pastor get N4billion from? With that kind of money, do you know what industry he can set up to provide employment for thousands, the likes of you jobless graduates who throng his churches in droves seeking the "salvation" of a job? In a land full of poverty and deprivation, a "man of God" goes ahead collecting monies from the poor and rich, promising them the kingdom of God, and going ahead to buy such luxury aircraft. Psshhh!"

"What you fail to know in your ignorance is that that money is not just our collections, not just our tithes and offerings, it is the blessing of God. How is it possible to collect N4billion just like that if God did not bless it? It is like the miracle of the five fish and two loaves with which Jesus Christ our Lord and Saviour fed five thousand people. These things are not possible except through God. Look at all the wonders that are happening to us, look at the size of our churches, look at our university, everything. And we can still buy a N4billion aircraft and you think that is done by man? You are ignorant. May God open your eyes and let you see His wonders."

"O, I see! You guys collected N4,000 and your pastor performed Jesus miracle, prayed on it and it turned to N4billion! I wonder where is the taxman. About time religion stops being the excuse for not paying taxes. I am ignorant, ehn? Well, I would rather remain so than belong to your "enlightened" group."

"So, what's your gripe, anyway? What's an ordinary N4billion aircraft when even smaller boys own bigger planes in America, and even here in Nigeria? After all, Bishop Oyedepo of Winners Chapel, also has an aircraft. But ours has beaten his own."

"So, it's a case of 'my Mercedes is bigger than yours'? Hehehe."

"Stay there. If only you know how busy our pastor is and the magnitude of the evangelism he can achieve by being able to fly all over the world at short notice and convert people and expand our size, then you wouldn't be saying the nonsense you are saying. With that plane, now you have to know that no matter the money you bring to God through our church, you know our pastor is bigger than that. You bow."

"Hmmmmm, I see. But tell me, when will you get a job, now that your bishop has bought this plane?"

"Leave that alone. What you don't know is that in the same way that God has been faithful to Bishop Adeboye and granted him his wish for this plane, so will He be faithful to the rest of us and grant our wishes. Even with this plane, how do you know it wouldn't be a means for our bishop to be able to carry our supplications to God in heaven faster?"

"O, I see. You must be right. The plane flies in the sky, and heaven is in the sky, sebi? So your pastor will literally fly in his new plane to take your supplications to God? O pari o!"

"The fool says in his heart, there is no God. Please stop being a fool. I want you in paradise with me."

"I pass. Your pastor should be enough company there."

"So, what about the N100 I asked for? I'm really hungry, man."

"N100? Hundred naira ko, hundred kobo ni. Adeboye no dey there?"

The Christian Marriage II

By Ema Eirewele-Momoh

It is me again with my sustained interest on the Christian marriage. I am not one to over spiritualize issues but I feel that the pressure to preach what I practice (I prefer this to practice what you preach there’s a slight difference) since I wrote the piece precluding this on the Christian marriage has been heightened.

I am almost regretting sending that piece because I hesitated a great deal before I sent it. But no way; no regrets, no retreat no surrender I guess the issue of being in the battlefield comes to mind right now.

Lately (after that piece) I have been under immense pressure in my home just little provocations here and there that I would ordinarily (before I got enlightened in this area WHILE WRITE THE FAMOUS PIECE) have said “what rubbish” and be quick to remind my spouse that marriage is not a do or die affair (them no dey die put- the pidgin English version) and release all kinds of negative statements about the marriage. But now I ‘know’ better and I try to restrain myself. Please don’t get me wrong by restraining myself I do not mean that I did not give full vent to my anger. It is just that for one, I did not talk about moving out or being tired of the marriage or ask myself what I was doing here. To buttress the difficulty it was to restrain myself, I cried. Cried for the change I was going through; cried because I could not say those words chosen to deliberately hurt and tear one down, with the intent of transferring the hurt one feels to the ‘PHYSICAL’ cause of the hurt; cried because I felt really foolish exposing myself to be hurt (by loving wholly) AND DOING NOTHING ABOUT IT.

Someone once said that the devil is deliberately attacking the family unit subtly but steadily. In fact, the attack is being heightened in the face of the current status of the global economy. According to analysts, more men are being laid off from their jobs for the singular reason (it seems at least in the physical) that they were the higher paid of the 2 sexes anyway, but what is underlying that we need to be discerning is this: Homes become skewed from God’s original plan (of the man being the bread winner and the woman being the help, meet for him to fulfill his God given role). Then we have more women headed homes (they abound even before the crises). Now the woman takes up the responsibility of producing, reproducing and caring. She soon begins to succumb to the pressure of the weight she is carrying, she begins to be fed with lies (in her mind nothing external yet) from the pit of hell that she really doesn’t need the man to the point that she begins to believe it. The cream on this brewing tea will be a rapid successive barrage of the usual provocation that comes from living with somebody else that man (Homo sapiens) must exhibit, then it is only the grace of God that will keep the home intact (the good news is: HIS GRACE IS SUFFICIENT FOR US).

Let me at this point crave your indulgence to lift as is, what was written for Day 69 of Calvin Miller’s Daily inspirations for those who await the saviour- UNTIL HE COMES (hey by the way my husband bought it for me-now I am posing do allow me)

Dividing the Indivisible
Mathew 5:31-32
“And it was said, ‘WHOEVER DIVORCES HIS WIFE, LET HIM GIVE HER A CERTIFICATE OF DISMISSAL [Deut. 24:1,3]; but I say to you that everyone who divorces his wife, except for the cause of unchastity, makes her commit adultery; whoever marries a divorced woman commits adultery.”(Emphasis his not mine).

To divide anything that longs to be whole sins against unity. To cut off the roots of a great tree and separate them from the tree destroys it. For the leaves feed the roots as the roots nourish the leaves. Roots and leaves are vastly different, yet each makes life possible for the other.

Marriage is the grafting of two souls into a wonderful, spiritual interdependency. Life becomes a oneness that did not exist before a promise made a single organism out of seperateness. Marital love arrives where the paths of mutual submission meet. When a man and woman voluntarily surrender their private agendas to each other, each promises enduring commitment to the other’s welfare. They vow that in sickness and health, through ultimate trials of soul, they will live for each other.

But if they are not disciplined in their loving, divorce may divide them. The lure of new passions will smother them in the ashes of their lost integrity. Have they not promised “for better, for worse forever”? Then why this voluntary selling of their souls to promote their own private agendas? Did they not agree that they would have no private agendas? Did they not say what’s mine is yours and yours is mine? Now do they dare to take back their words, reschedule their oaths, or sell their secondhand promises to others?

Mark this: there is no such thing as self-seeking love. The two terms cancel each other out. A marriage altar is a union of high promises, not the welding of errant self-interest. So when I(Christ) said that he who divorces his wife sins, I(Christ) was really saying this: All breakers of holy union are committing sins of broken integrity. Think long and hard before you make a marriage promise. Then commit yourself to all you promise. If you say “till death do us part”, never make secondary vows with lesser texts. Determine to be a person of integrity.

Prayer
Lord Jesus,
Help me never to join that permissive
war of arrogance
by which the self-excusing
excuse themselves of their integrity.
Help me to honour every vow
and to mean it when I say
For better, for worse, forever.
Avoiding such poor marriage surgery
is but to keep my vows from perjury.
Amen.

I think this is a good place to sign off as I leave us all to ponder on these things.

Make Room for Daddy

By Damon Syson

United Airlines Hemisphere Magazine


Is being a stay-at-home dad an enlightened gesture, or a dastardly parent trap I’ll never escape? One man’s journey to paternal maturity.


TWO YEARS AGO, I HAD THE PERFECT life. As a London-based freelance journalist, I was sent on a variety of international assignments. In one year, I traveled around southern Africa with Bono, underwent astronaut training with Richard Branson, and sat wide-eyed in the stern of an America’s Cup boat as yachtsmen were swept overboard and masts snapped around me. Okay, so my salary was irregular and I had zero job security, but my life was exciting, spontaneous and fun.

Then we had a baby. And everything changed. Bethan, my partner, has a full-time job, so together we decided that once her maternity leave was up it made sense for me to curtail my foreign exploits and do the lion’s share of the childcare. Almost overnight, editors crossed me off their “will pack bags at a moment’s notice” list.

These days, the longest trip I ever take is to the local café. My luggage has gathered dust, my passport sits dolefully in a drawer and my world has shrunk to a mile’s radius around our house. Having once been flown to LA to interview Hollywood celebrities, I now go for entire days talking to no adults except the staff at Ava’s daycare and the occasional supermarket check-out worker. The edgiest my life gets is trying out an adventurous pasta recipe from Annabel Karmel’s Baby and Toddler Meal Planner.

I should stress that I haven’t entirely given up work. On the three days of the week when Ava is in preschool, I have the luxury (and it really does feel like a luxury, in a way that it never quite did before) of a 9-5 working day. But because I work from home, the majority of domestic chores—shopping, cooking, cleaning—also fall to me.

I’m not alone. I know at least three other men who have scaled down their careers—temporarily, they are always eager to point out—in favor of bringing up small children. If your wife earns more than you and has greater job security, it makes sense, especially in these turbulent times, to reverse the traditional roles. And with the looming specter of widespread job losses in 2009, I expect I’ll be one of a growing band of disconsolate, unshaven men pushing swings on weekday mornings.

I’m not complaining about my new life. Actually, maybe I am. But I know full well that I can’t expect any sympathy—neither from men, who probably view me as a cautionary tale, nor women, who can be forgiven for enjoying seeing the tables turned. And yet adjusting to my role as a domestic drudge has been a challenge. I’ve always thought of myself as a progressive, modern male—a fellow traveller in the march toward gender equality. And yet as much as I try to convince myself that being a stay-at-home dad is a worthy occupation for a man, I can’t help but feel like my masculinity is under attack. I can’t help feeling… well, like a housewife.

The other day, for example, I sulked for half an hour when Bethan arrived home at 10 p.m. I’d spent hours preparing a complicated vegetarian moussaka and she’d ended up working late and eating at her desk. Recently, during a minor dispute about doing the dishes, I caught myself uttering the words: “You don’t even notice half the things I do around the house!” It’s only a matter of time before I start a knitting circle.

Although Ava, who recently turned two, is a delight, and I recognize that the time we spend together is a privilege, I have to confess that I haven’t always enjoyed parenting (at least, not the way I enjoy, say, traveling around South Africa, staying in luxury hotels). The biggest challenge for me has been adjusting to the long stretches of forced inactivity. Most of us go through life wishing there were more hours in the day. I now know that parents of small children instead spend large chunks of the day wishing time away. Only two hours until dinnertime, you find yourself thinking, then bath time, then bedtime stories, then a well-deserved glass of Shiraz for Daddy.

For someone whose life was goal-orientated, the frustration of ending the day with an untouched to-do list was maddening at first. I would set myself a minor task (“Today I will pay the phone bill!”) and fail to achieve it. In talking to friends, I’ve found that men feel this frustration more keenly. Out at the playground, it’s always fathers you see attempting to read newspapers or squinting at their laptops. Initially a lot of men think they can slot parenthood into their normal life like a rather time-consuming and expensive hobby. We soon learn otherwise.

The worst example was a friend of mine who thought he could simultaneously play a competitive, 90-minute game of Sunday League soccer and baby-sit his infant.

“Are you nuts?” we inquired when he arrived in the locker room pushing his three-month-old daughter in a stroller.

“It’ll be fine,” he shrugged. “She’ll sleep.”

How wrong he was. From the moment the whistle blew, the infant wailed, forcing her hapless dad repeatedly to sprint to the sideline and make goo goo noises—and severely hampering our offensive game. He wound up bailing at half-time to take his squalling cheerleader home for a nap.

Perhaps all this explains why I was more excited about Ava’s first day of preschool than she was. The moment I dropped her off, I was overcome with an incredible sense of freedom, like a sailor on furlough. I even went to the gym! But arriving at 5 p.m. to pick her up, I could hear the familiar sound of her wails a block away from the school. “How long has she been crying?” I asked. “Oh, not long,” replied one of the daycare workers, looking uncomfortable. “Perhaps you should have come a little earlier.”

One might expect for all my efforts that Ava and I would be deeply bonded. No such luck. Apparently absence really does make the heart grow fonder. Last night, for example, I spent 40 minutes rocking her to sleep, 30 of which were spent listening to her bellow, “No! Not you. Go away. I want mommy!”

Friends with older children insist this is just a phase. “In a few weeks she’ll be a total daddy’s girl, you watch,” one father of three said comfortingly. “Your time will come.” He later admitted that in the case of his daughter the phase had lasted six years.

The amateur psychologist in me has run through the possible reasons for this rejection. Since I’m the one who takes her to day care, in her mind I’m the bad cop. And when I pick her up in the evening I’m generally too busy making dinner to play hide-and-seek, whereas when Bethan gets home it’s all fun and games. And since she feels so guilty about being away from Ava, the word “No” never passes her lips. Once again, I’m the bad cop.

Of course, it would be much easier for fathers to embrace a larger share of parenting if childcare didn’t still feel like a female dominated occupation. Even though I live in a bohemian neighborhood where the sight of a man wearing a BabyBjörn is routine, there are still times when I feel like I’ve gatecrashed a bachelorette party.

The other day in the park I was surprised to bump into a group of Ava’s friends and their mothers attending a birthday party. The hostess looked embarrassed. “We wanted to invite Ava,” she mumbled. “But we didn’t have your number.” It suddenly occurred to me that while I’d had my head buried in the sports pages, the moms had all become friends! Their children got together for regular playdates, and they had a network of people to call if a last-minute childcare crisis came up. I felt like I had let Ava down just by being too male.

Sometimes this awkward distance turns into hostility. Last week at the playground, I had the rare pleasure of bumping into another father I know. As our kids played on the slide, we chatted animatedly for a few minutes. By the swings, I noticed a well-dressed woman in her sixties staring at us intently. Finally she strode over and jabbed an accusatory finger in our direction: “The playground is for children!” she hissed. “Not for grown men to shoot the breeze.”

I pointed to my daughter, who at that moment was digging in the sand box. “You know, men can be parents too,” I told her with a forced grin. “Look it up.”

Though the woman was apologetic, her comment stung. I’d given up my career, put aside my masculine pride and bucked social convention—all to take care of a dyspeptic, if adorable, little creature who didn’t especially appreciate my efforts—and here I was being treated like a common criminal. It struck me then that this full-time daddy track wasn’t such a bright idea after all.

The turning point happened a few months ago, when Ava came down with a cold and wound up staying home from daycare. Under normal circumstances, a day of baby-wrangling would be broken up with a walk to the playground or the grocery store, and a much-needed cappuccino. But a howling thunderstorm and Ava’s Vesuvian nose meant I was trapped in a small flat with a crotchety toddler for the forseeable future.

Having already driven both parents to the brink of insanity by waking up hourly from 2 a.m. onward, Ava now proceeded to wail inconsolably all morning long.

She didn’t want to play with her toys, she didn’t want to eat (making the point by knocking her breakfast off the table with an imperious swipe) and she refused to be put to sleep, or play, or do anything but hang onto my neck.

At 10:30 a.m. I looked at the clock and felt crushed by the weight of the hours to go before Bethan would be home. It was one of the longest, hardest days I’ve ever experienced. Then, at around 3:30 in the afternoon, something unexpected happened. I lay down on the sofa and Ava fell asleep on my chest. This Hallmark image was something I’d assumed would be a regular part of fatherhood, but up to that point it had never happened, not once. She wound up sleeping for an hour and a half. We both did.

That night, I told Bethan how frustrating I’d found the day. “I achieved nothing!” I proclaimed.

“Yes you did,” she responded. “You achieved looking after our sick daughter.”

I nodded. “She fell asleep on my chest, you know,” I said, turning off the light. And though I knew we’d probably be woken up in a couple of hours, I went to sleep smiling.


Find Article here: http://www.hemispheresmagazine.com/2009/02/25/make-room-for-daddy/

The Christian Marriage

By Ema Eirewele-Momoh
March 1, 2009

I was just flipping through the bible and the passage of marriage being honourable and the bed undefiled jumped right at me, pricking my conscience to write this because I have been meaning to.

I am writing on the subject of The Christian marriage. This subject has piqued and held my interest for a long while now. Maybe because my marriage has not manifested as a Christian one and so cannot be called that right now though I am tempted to, based on the scripture that says, I quote

“For the unbelieving husband is sanctified by the wife.” 1 Corinthians 7:14a.

I am not one to look for scriptures to defend an action by trying to interpret it to suit the situation so I am still confessing and praying. Okay then having said that. Let’s not get distracted from the issue. CHRISTIAN MARRIAGE.

I was in a service once and the pastor commented that he was in a meeting (so this is strictly hearsay, or better still anecdotal, it is not the fact because no research has been carried out) and it was said that about 70% of Christian marriages are unhappy and a large percentage of the total marriages that end up in divorce are Christian marriages. He (i.e. the pastor) said he believed it was true because according to him, this statement was met with absolute silence from the congregation. If it were not true, the congregation would have made remarks like “I reject it in Jesus name” or “it is not my portion” (and very strongly too, snapping their fingers as their hands go around their head for emphasis....trust the congregation in Nigeria) to refute the statement. I know for sure that certain Christian homes are shaky and some others have ended up in divorce and remarriage (in Nigeria-sorry for the emphasis this is quite abominable even “outside” the church setting except a certain religion I know that permits it). There is one incident that has made my every bones cringe and that is because the Pastor, Minister, Father-in-the-Lord, Daddy (and so many other acronyms by which this Man of God is called) who joined the couple in the presence of God and witnesses ACTUALLY (I hear because I did not witness it but I know the parties involved) formally dissolved a marriage he conducted and did pre-marital counseling for by the authority vested in him by God in the presence of witnesses (some key members and elders of the church) and certified the woman fit to RE-MARRY. I am here with my bible reading and re-reading 1 Corinthians 7. In verse 10 of this part of the scriptures Paul emphatically said; in fact let me quote the scripture: 1 Corinthians 7:10-11 reads:

"Now to the married I command, yet NOT I BUT THE LORD: A wife is not to depart from her husband. But even if she does depart, let her remain unmarried or be reconciled to her husband. And a husband is not to divorce his wife".

Please don’t stop reading. Right at the beginning of verse 12, it says

“but to the rest I, NOT THE LORD, SAY:……"

Please I am not judging this man of God the bible says what right do I have to judge another’s servant…………. I repent if it comes across as that.

The point is: What is happening to Christian marriages????? This is just a one off example maybe it is heavy because a man of God dissolved it. What happened to working out the purpose of God? What happened to all things work together for good to them that love the Lord and are called according to His purpose? There is no need asking if God’s standard has changed because I KNOW it hasn’t. Before this article (so this is actually preaching to me) I used to be a proponent of divorce especially in the case of physical abuse but I don’t think it is right at least not anymore. While I am not advocating that the recipient (we always assume it is the woman that would be physically abused but not necessarily) of the abuse stays put till they are abused to death, I think they can pull away for a while and keep praying for a change in the situation (my head is fighting this even as I write but deep down in my heart I know it is right), empower themselves and GO BACK WHEN THE SITUATION CHANGES. It is not an excuse to run amok and go marry that TDH you have had your eyes on.

This case in point, the lady actually sited Paula White as an example who gave up her marriage to pursue her ministry. I don’t know the Paula White details and I really do not care. She is not the one I am looking up to; I look up to Jesus the author and finisher of my faith. What ministry are women pursuing???? Is it not the same God who says a woman is relieved of any vow she made if her HUSBAND stops her from fulfilling the vow?????

Having said or written this much, I think we Christians should look beyond ourselves and look at the big picture which is the purpose of God. Even if we did not have the consciousness when we were getting married that God will work out his purpose through the union, even if we were not born again when we got married, or we got married to an unbelieving man in total defiance and disobedience to the instructions of God (like me) the earlier we recognize the sovereignty of God and the fact that EVERYTHING HE MADE (US ESPECIALLY), He made with a purpose and He is committed to bringing that purpose to pass the better. Even when we think we made a mistake, as long as you are a child of the Most High, He said He’ll work everything out for our good because we love Him and are called according to HIS not our purpose.

I had told my husband that I’d rather be happy single than unhappy married (my excuse for wanting to pack up and go), I repent I said that (how foolish). That advice is only valid before marriage. It is not about us it is about God. I believe when we realize that our life is about working out the purpose of God on the earth then true and unspeakable JOY not happiness will be our portion.

Let Go of the Ego, Get Rid of the Id

By Akin Ojumu

February 25, 2009

Where was I again? Ah yes! I was reveling in one of my weeks of pride. Soaking in the sun as it pours down from a clear blue sky. These are days of my life when I’m at the mountain top of victory, having vanquished the fiercest of foes that could be dug out of the pit of hell.

But there are also days when I – allow myself to – wallow in the shadow of defeat, and made to eat dirt, having failed to live up to the measure of the stature of the fullness of Christ.

These latter days are particularly very painful. For a million minions of wickedness make mockery of my claim to membership in the chosen generation, lineage of a royal priesthood, and citizenship of the holy nation. As I sit there shrunken, nursing the wounds of my licking, and feeling sorry for myself, the pity party seems to send the enemies of my soul into a frenzy of schadenfreude. I hear them, intoxicated and euphoric, whisper gleefully into my ears,

“……Go up, thou bald head; go up, thou bald head!!!!!!…..” (2Kings 2:23)

Indeed days such as this one are like a baldness of the soul to me. It feels that way because the areas of my Christian life where I’m most easily defeated are the very same areas where I seem to claim invincibility: a haughty spirit that comes just before a fall.

“Wherefore let him that thinketh he standeth take heed lest he fall.” (1Corithians 10:12)

This is the story about my second battle.

It is a battle fought on the Hills of Haughtiness; on the heights of blatant and disdainful pride. It is a clash between my id and ego on one side, and the new man in me on the other side.

You see I’ve come to know something about myself that scares the living daylight out of me. It is that I am a hard man. And I don’t mean in the complimentary sense at all. I’m a pain in the “you know what”; a mean, manipulative, controlling son-of-a-gun.

According to the Merriam-Webster online dictionary, “hard”, “difficult,”and “arduous” are all synonymous and they mean:

“Demanding great exertion or effort. Hard implies the opposite of all that is easy . Difficult implies the presence of obstacles to be surmounted or puzzles to be resolved and suggests the need of skill, patience, or courage . Arduous stresses the need of laborious and persevering exertion .”

All these are what I am, and probably much worse. You wouldn’t know this at all by looking at my calm and unassuming demeanor. I must have fooled a lot of folks into thinking I’m some kind of a holy man cloaked in a garment of pious righteousness. To you I’m probably that nice, easy going fella, who doesn’t have a whole lot to say. Well do not be fooled at all.

“The heart – of man – is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked: who can know it?” Jeremiah 17:9.

You’re probably reading this and going, “How could he say such nasty things about himself? How could he be so negative?” Actually, what’s the point of not saying these things, if they are true? Let every man examine himself, the scriptures say. And I’m sure you all are also familiar with the saying,

“You can fool some of the people all of the time, and all of the people some of the time, but you cannot fool all of the people all of the time.”

Well I’m sick and tired of fooling around. As a matter of fact there’s one person I’ve not fooled at all. And that person is my beloved wife.

You see I’m married to the sweetest – and cutest – woman alive today. The best thing that’s ever happened to me, apart from my salvation, is being married to this Godly and God-fearing woman. She is God’s grace personified in my life; I don’t deserve her for sure.

This gentle-souled woman has borne the brunt of my nastiness. She’s been at the receiving end of my id and ego. I’ve hurt her feelings, crushed her emotions, and have trampled on her pride several times I can’t even begin to count. She has seen and experienced it all. She’s an eyewitness – God’s witness – to my blame and shame.

Yet through it all she has put up with me, and stood by me. Her resilience, and her willingness to accept me the way I am, makes me ashamed of the man I see staring back at me from the mirror.

For that reason alone, I’ve vowed to win this battle over pride and its destructive influence. In this war against haughtiness, there is no retreat and there is no surrender for me. I will put up supernatural effort, and put on all of God’s armor, to win the battle over the super-ego in me. I will not give up, I will not give in. When I fall, I shall rise. When I fall again, I shall yet rise up one more time. I owe this to my Lord and Savior. And I owe it to the kind-hearted woman He has blessed me with.

Bro Akin What’s Up?

By Akin Ojumu

“Hi Bro Akin wat’s up???????????????????”

That was a message an old friend posted on my facebook wall-to-wall a couple of days ago. On the face of it, there’s really nothing unusual about my friend’s question. I probably know that my friend was simply trying to catch up with me after many years.

I’ve been asked – (and have asked others) – that same question in the past…….a gazillion times perhaps. It is a standard colloquial. So my initial – shall we say, reflex – reaction was to shoot back right away with, “fine, how about yourself?” However something about the question stopped me in my tracks. In a brief moment of reflective thoughtfulness, I couldn’t bring myself to respond with a cliché laced “fine, hw abt ursef.”

Now don’t get me wrong. I’m not one of those folks capable of analytical ruminations; I’m usually a fast eater and not given to chewing the cud at all. But this is a very rare moment of insightfulness for me.

So the question I ask myself is, “What’s really up with Bro Akin?”

The answer, my friend, is actually very simple. Bro Akin is up at war that is being fought on many fronts.

The first battle I’ll call the Civil War.

No one serving as a soldier gets involved in civilian affairs – he wants to please his commanding officer (2 Tim 2:4 NIV).

This is essentially my identity crisis. It is a battle to remind myself whose, and who, I am: that I’m, first and foremost, a lean and mean soldier enlisted in the Lord’s army who ought not to get mixed up in civilian affairs.

I’ll be deceiving you if I told you this battle has been a cakewalk for me. I struggle daily to remember that I’m no bloody civilian. I’m scared silly to climb on the spiritual scale, because I know it’ll probably scream back at me,

“Obese, obese, obese!!!! You ain't fit to stand in the frontlines of the battle against the hordes of Hades!!!”

You see I wake up at the crack of dawn each morning. By 4am, on most days, I’m done sleeping already. By the time I’m done with all the morning rituals of accessorizing the flesh it is 5am and I’m pulling out of my driveway, hitting the road and heading for work. And that’s my routine each and every day of the week. So what time do I have to pump the iron for – (i.e. work out) – my salvation? How long do I have to stay in the drill at my spiritual boot camp? We’ll let the answer hang in the air for now.

So why do I rise so early in the morning? I do so because I take – preoccupied with the – thought of what I shall eat, what I shall drink and wherewithal shall I be clothed. I easily forget that I’m much better than the birds of the air: they do not need to plant or harvest or put food in barns because my heavenly Father feeds them.

Now there’s absolutely nothing wrong with hard work. In fact God abhors the sluggard.

How long wilt thou sleep, O sluggard? when wilt thou arise out of thy sleep? [Yet] a little sleep, a little slumber, a little folding of the hands to sleep: So shall thy poverty come as one that travelleth, and thy want as an armed man (Proverbs 6:9-11).

And there is a rule that applies to all who will not pull themselves up by their boot straps and work:

Whoever does not work should not eat (2Thessalonians 3:10).

However the battle I fight is that my civilian job is crowding out my eternal responsibility. Instead of making my schedule fit into God’s eternal purpose I struggle daily to squeeze God into my packed schedule.

Does it then surprise you that I quiver in fright - and pee in my pants - when the principalities and powers, the rulers of the darkness of this world, and spiritual wickedness in high places, bring on the fight.

I lose many of these battles because I often forget – and probably clueless as to how – to use every piece of God's armor to resist the enemy in the time of evil, so that after the battle I will still be standing firm.

The battles I win however happen when I'm able to muster enough courage to stand my ground, putting on the sturdy belt of truth and the body armor of God's righteousness. I surprise myself at those times when I rout the cohorts of hell, by exercising an itty bitty mustard seed faith in the Word of God.

The best days of my life have been those times when I’ve assumed the mindset of a Christian soldier; seeking first the Kingdom of God and its righteousness with laser focussed intensity. On those days it seems as though I have all my ducks in a row. And on those days the sun seems to even shine brighter, pouring forth through a clear blue sky.

Well it does not ever remain that way though. There are still other battles to fight and many more mountains remain to be climbed and moved.

So stay tuned for the second battle.

You Can’t Friend Me, I Quit!

Steve Tuttle
Newsweek Web Exclusive

I was a late convert to Facebook, the social-networking site that turned five years old Wednesday. I joined about a year ago at age 47, swept up in the massive wave of people turning the corner to the back nine of life, and pitifully trying to do what comes so naturally to our sons and daughters. My own 16-year-old, Grace, literally cried from embarrassment when I told her I was signing up, and she begged me through her tears not to do it. When it was clear that I was serious, she made me promise never to "friend" her. Since I didn't know what that meant at the time, I agreed. Last week I redeemed myself in her eyes, because I signed off of Facebook forever--or at least until Tuesday.

I had one of those Hallmark movie moments. I was sitting here at work thinking up my next pithy "status update," which is where you broadcast to all your online buddies in a few words what you're up to at that very moment--and finally came to my senses. "What the hell have I become?" I cried.

So goodbye 157 Facebook friends, 75 of whom I wouldn't recognize if I saw you on the street. Goodbye super nifty "Pieces of Flair" application, and the 1,332,359 members of the "I Don't Care How Comfortable Crocs Are, You Look Like a Dumbass" Crocs-hater group. Goodbye, William and Mary alums I barely remember from 25 years ago. Not you, Tom, the other Tom. Hello to actually working at my job again. Well, a little anyway. I wouldn't have been able to write this story about quitting Facebook if I didn't quit Facebook because I wouldn't have had the time.

When I think about all the hours I wasted this past year on Facebook, and imagine the good I could have done instead, it depresses me. Instead of scouring my friends' friends' photos for other possible friends, I could have been raising money for Darfur relief, helping out at the local animal shelter or delivering food to the homeless. It depresses me even more to know that I would never have done any of those things, even with all those extra hours.

I was so addicted to my imaginary playgroup, I put the Facebook application on my BlackBerry. That way I could know immediately when some kid who used to pick on me in elementary school was reaching out across the years to remind me that I still had cooties. Once I was so entranced reading my Facebook page on my handheld, that I lost sight of the actual faces of the people on the street around me, and came to only after I fell into the lap of a man in a wheelchair. I was hurt when he rebuffed my attempt to friend him, but it turns out real life doesn't have that feature.

Nothing personal, former Facebook friends: I'll miss those wall updates about doing dishes and changing the kitty litter. I'll miss seeing those artsy photos of beach sunsets and city streets covered with snow. I'll miss posting those, I mean. I'll miss your constant name dropping and updates that make sure we all know you're camping in a hemp tent on a sustainable emu farm in Costa Rica, or that you eat only dolphin-free tuna, and I should too. But most of all, I will miss those hundreds upon hundreds of baby pictures that remind me daily of how insanely happy I am that my kids aren't babies any more.

Then there's the whole anxiety-inducing to-friend-or-not-to-friend minefield that I won't miss at all. You get a request from, say, Spiffy McGee, but the name doesn't ring a bell. You see that you share a friend, so maybe he found you that way. Or you note that he went to your college, which makes sense, because there were a lot of WASPy "Old Virginia" guys at William and Mary with names like Biff or Buff or Ridge. So you think, what the hell, and you add him, and within minutes your wall is peppered with posts like "Spiffy McGee feels a deuce coming on" or "Spiffy ate the worm!" with photos to prove it. Then you feel pressure to say what you're doing to outwit Spiffy, so you write: "Steve is in a Honey Smacks mood this morning." Seriously, I wrote that.

Facebook status updates are the literary equivalent of inane cell-phone chatter, like when you're on Amtrak and the man in front of you can't stop talking loudly on his Bluetooth for one second, so you're stuck sitting behind him and have to listen to stuff like: "Hi, honey, I'm on Amtrak now. I'm sitting in my seat now. I'm taking off my coat now." Yes, I could always sit in the Quiet Car, but one of the last times I did that the train attendant kept waking me up every five minutes yelling: "This Is The Quiet Car! This Is The Quiet Car!"

Being on Facebook is like volunteering to receive spam, and the more successful you are at finding friends, the more spam you get! In the end, Facebook is really the emptiest, loneliest place on the whole World Wide Web. It's all static and white noise, and the steady streams of status updates start to look like ASDF, ASDF, ASDF after a while.

So I've decided now to do something more worthy and productive with all of my new free time. I'm going back to the original reality-based Facebook, the local bar where everybody knows your name, which for me is Off The Record at the Hay-Adams Hotel here in D.C. Status updates there are said in real time to real people, like: "That guy's got a problem with alcohol. I see him every time I come in here," or "How would the Civil War have changed if Abraham Lincoln had octopus tentacles instead of a beard?" (Thanks, Cliff Clavin). So goodbye, potential and former Facebook pals, all 150 million-plus of you, and hello, John Boswell, the best bartender in America. If any of you need to get in touch, check the third stool in, right side. If you want to friend me, buy me a beer.

URL: http://www.newsweek.com/id/183180

PRESIDENT BARACK OBAMA

Barack H. Obama is the 44th President of the United States.

His story is the American story — values from the heartland, a middle-class upbringing in a strong family, hard work and education as the means of getting ahead, and the conviction that a life so blessed should be lived in service to others. With a father from Kenya and a mother from Kansas, President Obama was born in Hawaii on August 4, 1961. He was raised with help from his grandfather, who served in Patton's army, and his grandmother, who worked her way up from the secretarial pool to middle management at a bank.

After working his way through college with the help of scholarships and student loans, President Obama moved to Chicago, where he worked with a group of churches to help rebuild communities devastated by the closure of local steel plants.

He went on to attend law school, where he became the first African-American president of the Harvard Law Review. Upon graduation, he returned to Chicago to help lead a voter registration drive, teach constitutional law at the University of Chicago, and remain active in his community.

President Obama's years of public service are based around his unwavering belief in the ability to unite people around a politics of purpose. In the Illinois State Senate, he passed the first major ethics reform in 25 years, cut taxes for working families, and expanded health care for children and their parents. As a United States Senator, he reached across the aisle to pass groundbreaking lobbying reform, lock up the world's most dangerous weapons, and bring transparency to government by putting federal spending online.

He was elected the 44th President of the United States on November 4, 2008, and sworn in on January 20, 2009. He and his wife, Michelle, are the proud parents of two daughters, Malia, 10, and Sasha, 7.

Barack Obama's Inauguration - A Dream Fulfilled

I am happy to join with you today in what will go down in history as the greatest demonstration for freedom in the history of our nation.

Five score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand today, signed the Emancipation Proclamation. This momentous decree came as a great beacon light of hope to millions of Negro slaves who had been seared in the flames of withering injustice. It came as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of their captivity.

But one hundred years later, the Negro still is not free. One hundred years later, the life of the Negro is still sadly crippled by the manacles of segregation and the chains of discrimination. One hundred years later, the Negro lives on a lonely island of poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material prosperity. One hundred years later, the Negro is still languished in the corners of American society and finds himself an exile in his own land. And so we've come here today to dramatize a shameful condition.

In a sense we've come to our nation's capital to cash a check. When the architects of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir. This note was a promise that all men, yes, black men as well as white men, would be guaranteed the "unalienable Rights" of "Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness." It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note, insofar as her citizens of color are concerned. Instead of honoring this sacred obligation, America has given the Negro people a bad check, a check which has come back marked "insufficient funds."

But we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt. We refuse to believe that there are insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity of this nation. And so, we've come to cash this check, a check that will give us upon demand the riches of freedom and the security of justice.

We have also come to this hallowed spot to remind America of the fierce urgency of Now. This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism. Now is the time to make real the promises of democracy. Now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to the sunlit path of racial justice. Now is the time to lift our nation from the quicksands of racial injustice to the solid rock of brotherhood. Now is the time to make justice a reality for all of God's children.

It would be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment. This sweltering summer of the Negro's legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an invigorating autumn of freedom and equality. Nineteen sixty-three is not an end, but a beginning. And those who hope that the Negro needed to blow off steam and will now be content will have a rude awakening if the nation returns to business as usual. And there will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the Negro is granted his citizenship rights. The whirlwinds of revolt will continue to shake the foundations of our nation until the bright day of justice emerges.

But there is something that I must say to my people, who stand on the warm threshold which leads into the palace of justice: In the process of gaining our rightful place, we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred. We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. We must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again, we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force.

The marvelous new militancy which has engulfed the Negro community must not lead us to a distrust of all white people, for many of our white brothers, as evidenced by their presence here today, have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny. And they have come to realize that their freedom is inextricably bound to our freedom.

We cannot walk alone.

And as we walk, we must make the pledge that we shall always march ahead.

We cannot turn back.

There are those who are asking the devotees of civil rights, "When will you be satisfied?" We can never be satisfied as long as the Negro is the victim of the unspeakable horrors of police brutality. We can never be satisfied as long as our bodies, heavy with the fatigue of travel, cannot gain lodging in the motels of the highways and the hotels of the cities. We cannot be satisfied as long as the negro's basic mobility is from a smaller ghetto to a larger one. We can never be satisfied as long as our children are stripped of their self-hood and robbed of their dignity by signs stating: "For Whites Only." We cannot be satisfied as long as a Negro in Mississippi cannot vote and a Negro in New York believes he has nothing for which to vote. No, no, we are not satisfied, and we will not be satisfied until "justice rolls down like waters, and righteousness like a mighty stream."

I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations. Some of you have come fresh from narrow jail cells. And some of you have come from areas where your quest -- quest for freedom left you battered by the storms of persecution and staggered by the winds of police brutality. You have been the veterans of creative suffering. Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive. Go back to Mississippi, go back to Alabama, go back to South Carolina, go back to Georgia, go back to Louisiana, go back to the slums and ghettos of our northern cities, knowing that somehow this situation can and will be changed.

Let us not wallow in the valley of despair, I say to you today, my friends.

And so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.

I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal."

I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia, the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.

I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.

I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.

I have a dream today!

I have a dream that one day, down in Alabama, with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of "interposition" and "nullification" -- one day right there in Alabama little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers.

I have a dream today!

I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, and every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight; "and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed and all flesh shall see it together."

This is our hope, and this is the faith that I go back to the South with.

With this faith, we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith, we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith, we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.

And this will be the day -- this will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with new meaning:

My country 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing.

Land where my fathers died, land of the Pilgrim's pride,

From every mountainside, let freedom ring!

And if America is to be a great nation, this must become true.

And so let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire.

Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York.

Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania.

Let freedom ring from the snow-capped Rockies of Colorado.

Let freedom ring from the curvaceous slopes of California.

But not only that:

Let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia.

Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee.

Let freedom ring from every hill and molehill of Mississippi.

From every mountainside, let freedom ring.

And when this happens, when we allow freedom ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual:

                Free at last! Free at last!

                Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!

What I Want for You and Every Child in America

By: President-elect Barack Obama
Publication Date: 01/14/2009

Next Tuesday, Barack Obama will be sworn in as our 44th President. On this historic occasion, PARADE asked the President-elect, who is also a devoted family man, to get personal and tell us what he wants for his children. Here, he shares his letter to them.

Dear Malia and Sasha,

I know that you've both had a lot of fun these last two years on the campaign trail, going to picnics and parades and state fairs, eating all sorts of junk food your mother and I probably shouldn't have let you have. But I also know that it hasn't always been easy for you and Mom, and that as excited as you both are about that new puppy, it doesn't make up for all the time we've been apart. I know how much I've missed these past two years, and today I want to tell you a little more about why I decided to take our family on this journey.

When I was a young man, I thought life was all about me—about how I'd make my way in the world, become successful, and get the things I want. But then the two of you came into my world with all your curiosity and mischief and those smiles that never fail to fill my heart and light up my day. And suddenly, all my big plans for myself didn't seem so important anymore. I soon found that the greatest joy in my life was the joy I saw in yours. And I realized that my own life wouldn't count for much unless I was able to ensure that you had every opportunity for happiness and fulfillment in yours. In the end, girls, that's why I ran for President: because of what I want for you and for every child in this nation.

I want all our children to go to schools worthy of their potential—schools that challenge them, inspire them, and instill in them a sense of wonder about the world around them. I want them to have the chance to go to college—even if their parents aren't rich. And I want them to get good jobs: jobs that pay well and give them benefits like health care, jobs that let them spend time with their own kids and retire with dignity.

I want us to push the boundaries of discovery so that you'll live to see new technologies and inventions that improve our lives and make our planet cleaner and safer. And I want us to push our own human boundaries to reach beyond the divides of race and region, gender and religion that keep us from seeing the best in each other.

Sometimes we have to send our young men and women into war and other dangerous situations to protect our country—but when we do, I want to make sure that it is only for a very good reason, that we try our best to settle our differences with others peacefully, and that we do everything possible to keep our servicemen and women safe. And I want every child to understand that the blessings these brave Americans fight for are not free—that with the great privilege of being a citizen of this nation comes great responsibility.

That was the lesson your grandmother tried to teach me when I was your age, reading me the opening lines of the Declaration of Independence and telling me about the men and women who marched for equality because they believed those words put to paper two centuries ago should mean something.

She helped me understand that America is great not because it is perfect but because it can always be made better—and that the unfinished work of perfecting our union falls to each of us. It's a charge we pass on to our children, coming closer with each new generation to what we know America should be.

I hope both of you will take up that work, righting the wrongs that you see and working to give others the chances you've had. Not just because you have an obligation to give something back to this country that has given our family so much—although you do have that obligation. But because you have an obligation to yourself. Because it is only when you hitch your wagon to something larger than yourself that you will realize your true potential.

These are the things I want for you—to grow up in a world with no limits on your dreams and no achievements beyond your reach, and to grow into compassionate, committed women who will help build that world. And I want every child to have the same chances to learn and dream and grow and thrive that you girls have. That's why I've taken our family on this great adventure.

I am so proud of both of you. I love you more than you can ever know. And I am grateful every day for your patience, poise, grace, and humor as we prepare to start our new life together in the White House.

Love, Dad