Mud cloth Artist. Posted by Valerie K. 4/29/09
It was a dry and sunny day; I stood in the compound of the Fulani’s tribes men in Kingtom village on my way to Prince of Wales secondary school. I was eleven years old. I was dressed in my white poplin shirt and khaki shorts white sneakers partially covered with dust from the unpaved road I had traveled. It was about eleven o’clock am, the sun was ascending to its prime, and I almost stood on my shadow.
The smell of fresh bread being baked in a traditional wood oven was in the air and a couple of men were getting their baskets ready to prepare for their delivery to the local Fulani shops. The cries of little children were in the air as they crawled on the earthen floor as if to signal to their semi-clothed mothers that they were hungry. You can hear the topless young girls about my age pounding rice to make flour in their mortar and pestle in a synchronized musical rhythm. The women were moving around the shacks with a sense of urgency attempting to prepare a meal for the family.
A blackened pot supported by three stones was on a fire fueled by some pieces of wood. The water was boiling as the insects buzzed around aimlessly. A dog was laying down not too far under the mango tree gazing into space as if it were standing guard over the pot and waiting to pounce on any item of food that would be dropped on the floor. Occasionally it would attempt to catch the flies walking on the sores in its ear.
The tapping noise of two pieces of wood clapping caught my attention. I turned around and looked. There he was, a weaver sitting on the ground in front of a wooden, hand made tapestry machine powered by the pedaling of his feet. His hands were moving the threads at his will and every gesture was significant to the threads and the grand design. Without a script or a picture, he wove the threads. The intricate patterns locked in his mind came alive as he nudged his hands, nods his head, dropping sweat from his brow and pedaling with his feet. The grand design was unfolding. I greatly admired his creativity. I watched him work silently, he was oblivious to the crowd of school children that now stood around him guessing what the complete design would be.
He had a plan for every color of thread in his hands, only he knows but he will not utter a word. The mid day call for prayer from the nearby mosque rang in the air. He immediately stopped to prepared himself for his ceremonial washing, I walked away at that moment declaring to myself that the show was over as I walked away and was imitating the actions of his hands as I approached my father’s house.
It has been twenty two years later, I see and hear the voice of the Grand Weaver of Universe stopping by to tell that African boy that He has a plan for his life and that He (GOD) alone carries the threads of my life. The Grand Weaver is holding the threads of my life, and if I would only respond in obedience to his nudge as He, moves the shuttle at His will.
God is holding the threads of my life and fashioning and extraordinary pattern. My life continues to vacillate on the shaft of his machine because of the dignity that God has invested in me. My humanity gives me my essential worth, and who I am as an individual gives me God’s prerogative of reflective splendor. My THEOPHANY matters, my SPIRITUALITY matters, my DISAPPOINTMENT matters, my D.N.A matters and my HUMANITY matters.
During those years my desire was to live with my father in his house and now as a young man living in America my pursuit and yearning is for my Heavenly Father. The appetite for a Father and a Fathers approval is ever present in my life. I have to restrain myself from expecting that approval and love from the great men in my life like my bosses. That might be the reason why I serve them well in pursuit of purpose and meaning in my life.
I have grown to understand that my relationship with my Heavenly Father matters and my eternal Destiny is to be conformed into the image of my Him Father and to live in His House.This revelation has allowed me to review the Bibles account of Adam’s family and empathize instead of casting the blame on Adam, Eve and Cain.
Cain lacked acceptance approval. He also had a lack of personal identity with no sense of belonging. His father had experience rejection from God. Adam communicated that rejection to his son either through words gestures or in spirit. Did Adam hide in and emotional cave after being thrown out of Eden as most men do when the experience rejection of feel as thought they missed the mark? Did Cain become angry and bitter because of his inability to understand the magnitude and effects of this sin nature which his generation is confronted with?
When God removed his presence and character from Cain, he lived his life in a state of independence from Adam and his Heavenly father. Cain built a city that was outside the presence of God the Father. The Bible describes his descendants as being a talented and gifted group of people but the character and presence of God was absent from their lives. They fell short of Gods moral standard. Cain lives aimless without an eternal purpose because he missed and lacked presence of the Moral law giver.
Cain and his offspring cannot live morally because they did not know the moral law giver. They developed philosophies but could not master it because they did not know the Father of philosophy. They tried to develop character but lacked the Character of the Master. They excelled in their talent but talent alone cannot be sustained independently from God.Talent It needs character and integrity to support it. Cain and his offspring lacked the character of their Heavenly Father which is the mandate and requirement for humanity.
Excepts from my I.C.B paper.Inspired by Dr. Ravis Zacharis and Dr. A.R Bernard.
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