Category: Poetic Redemption Discourse

The Caged Bird’s Escape

Poetic Redemption Storytelling

5C0F8006-8EDD-4F47-95B1-9E2BADA2D3D3Introduction
After watching CEO and inspirational speaker and best selling author Lisa Nichol’s inspiring video (check it out on the Gold cast Facebook page or You Tube) of a life transformed after suffering domestic abuse by her fiancé, I felt inspired to engage in some scribal indulgence telling a story of redemption but from a view point that considers the abuser’s mindset and triggers, not as a means of justification but shedding some light on some of the “hidden demons” in play in such situations.

The Caged Bird’s Escape:

Desired with his enticing eyes, colourful words and decorated with roses and alluring scents she felt on top, the executive of his heart, the CEO of his life.

In one night her dreams had come true; from reams of beauties she was chosen by one of the Hedge-Fund crew.

To him she was just meat, one of many slaughtered for devouring, bought in a club in one of many spending sprees he called sport.

A business man, bonus acquiring sharp talker in the square mile by day and by night a gigolo, a Casanova in clubs he called “cattle markets” bidding with his eyes for the best cow.. he laughs “that’s the woman- A COW!”

Flashes of his mother often appeared before his eyes, waving to him, a 6 year old “mummy is going to the shop, I will return” She never did.. “liars all of them”!

Sly as a fox, an expert in his game, he waited until the image of her was locked in him, he, a mirror that defined her significance. Now he had god-like relevance, the Fowler’s cage was her home.

One day was as living in a romantic play pen; his voice soft and soothing and to love songs they were waltzing.

Another was life in a torture chamber under a man-child’s bitter verbal whip and slaps with hate-filled vomit until she suffocated in fear and self hate. Every morning she braced herself for what was amiss, the ready for work psycho’s bullets of abuse and punches in her abdomen with a goodbye kiss.

A cycle of confused voices reeled in the cage “I love you”, “I love you not” as the battered bird wailed without a sound. In his “you are to blame! blame! blame! she felt grief and shame! shame! shame!

A rude awakening was the uncontrollable pain in her abdomen. The day of reckoning had come for from the abyss of farce living she heard the voices of many women thundering “call the ambulance or die!” The freedom fighter from deep within joined in, beckoning.

“How are you today, my dear?”
Startled, she opened her eyes and saw a face beaming at her “I am Claire”
“Claire?”
“Yes, I am your nurse, you called the ambulance, they broke in ‘cause you fainted after the call. Julie, your internal wounds and bleeding were serious. Thank God you came on time! You will be fine”

Julie shut her eyes. Smiling the risen woman within spoke:
“Yes thank God!
To a “A just in time” God: thank you!
I was that woman destined for a bright future based on scripture, even the prophetic word, then I lost my way and met a trickster and by him I became nothing but a caged bird in a home any woman would dread.

I was able to walk away, escape from the snare of the Fowler, but for him in compassion I daily kneel to pray and for caged birds unlike me who for reasons choose to stay, I shall sing a song of deliverance, that one day sunshine shall overtake the dark clouds of their circumstance.”

”Our soul is escaped as a bird out of the snare of the fowlers: the snare is broken, and we are escaped.

Our help is in the name of the LORD, who made heaven and earth.”
(Psalm 124:7-8)

©11/11/2017 Deborah E Nyamekye

All that Glitters is not Gold

image.jpegThere was a pretty young lass who desired to accomplish much, and set her sights on writing fiction. Befriending achievers she became popular by association.

So called friends, the learned and posh and dimwits with a lot of dosh passed through her life leaving their opinions
and thoughts. “Wow that’s a bestseller!”, “Excellent work get a publisher!” said they full of praise. Her ego was raised and she became full of self praise.

This lass became a spendthrift to fit among the top notch, made regular purchases of new bags with shoes to match. Also dating a rich publisher to her was quite a catch. The lass cared not for old friends, shunned them and laughed at mama’s prayers and tears.

The knock on the door was almost unheard as in unison thunder announced the coming storm. A delivery of newspapers it was, for the day of media reviews of the book had dawned.

Her face beamed with a smile, looking back with delight at her gold trimmed writing world with a sugar daddy for a publisher and top class publicity. The promise of free book signing events she received in a club was to her a seal of his unending love.

Sitting pretty awaiting her man, she began to read review after review…
As lightening struck, her smile cracked and shattered in an instance, tears streamed down as she prayed to awake from the horrible dream.

A dream where she was pinned down by critical words as sharp daggers causing unbearable pain. Her sobs were as the sound of the raindrops and became wails, louder than the hurricane late into the night!
Such was her state, in shock for two days.

Mr lover man, the publisher answered not his phone, nor did he and her uppity friends return her calls. In shame she called her mama who sobbed on the phone and rushed to cradle her baby girl, home alone.

Mama the wise, her tongue uncoiled as a scroll and out came these words:
“Have a vision, run with it but never leave your true self and her backers behind. People in shallow places, pout what they know their peers want to hear, to tease the ear.

To be in the click, they stroke each other’s backs and throw kisses as enticing cats. You were too naive and tame to know my child that with them elevation at all costs for fame is the name of the game.

Mama repeated her words into ears as sink holes and a heart as quick sand, creating in mama’s girl a desire to depart from the old, so that she craved for a new start. Mama prayed, she repented and with bags packed,
homeward bound they drove with mum singing praises at the wheel.

The lass fell asleep and saw a man, then he became the Door and in she went. There a pasture of beauty appeared, full of books and scrolls embedded in the soil “as potatoes ready for the picking…” were her thoughts.

She heard a voice say “Now you know trusting self and the deceiver avail nought and all that glitters is not gold. A repentant heart is my writing board, a place wherein I impart my vision.

The reality you now see, a field of finished works are for an appointed time, my dictates of truth from your hand to bless the world.”

From henceforth I commission you to write in pastures green where a dreamy destiny does become reality.”
Then a pen was placed in her hand, on it was written her name “Jemima” and the words:
“Reverence for God and His True Word are more desirable than Gold”

©Deborah E. Nyamekye 20/09/2016

Scriptures

John 10:9 KJV: “I am the door: by me if any man enter in, he shall be saved, and shall go in and out, and find pasture.”

Psalm 19:9-14 NLT :
9Reverence for the LORD is pure,
lasting forever. The laws of the LORD are true; each one is fair.
10They are more desirable than gold,
even the finest gold. They are sweeter than honey, even honey dripping from the comb. 11They are a warning to your servant, a great reward for those who obey them. 12How can I know all the sins lurking in my heart?
Cleanse me from these hidden faults.
13Keep your servant from deliberate sins! Don’t let them control me.
Then I will be free of guilt
and innocent of great sin. 14May the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be pleasing to you, O LORD, my rock and my redeemer.