WHEN I'M WAXING COLD

Michael Okyere Asante, author: 'Are You Waxing Cold?'

19.02.2016

The semester has been more hectic than I had anticipated. It's quite unfortunate I have not had much time to write posts to occupy the blanks on my blog this year. There are quite a few others that were halfway through their journey on paper, but could not proceed to the next stage of being typed.

This is a product of my dawn moment today, written purposefully for the promotion of author Michael Okyere Asante's newest book : 'Are You Waxing Cold?'.

The expository seeks to help Christians who  have gradually found their love for God grow cold return unto the Love they had first known. Prof. J. K. Asamoah-Gyadu has this to say:

“Michael’s book is one of the most biblically balanced popular books on Christian spirituality that I have read in several years…The topics in this volume are critical to Christian life and even ministry and so the book could serve as basic teaching material for new Christians and mature candidates for Baptism and Confirmation in our denominations. It will also serve the needs of new Christians working to find their feet in Christ.”—Rev. Prof. J. Kwabena Asamoah-Gyadu, Professor of African Christianity and Pentecostal Theology, Trinity Theological Seminary, Legon and Author, Sighs and Signs of the Spirit: Ghanaian Perspectives on Pentecostalism and Renewal in Africa (Oxford: Regnum Books International, 2015)

Michael is also the author of 'The Dangers of Lukewarmness and Backsliding'.

'Are You Waxing Cold' will be formally launched on Monday, March 7, 2016 at the Presbyterian Boys SHS Assembly Hall, Legon.

WHEN I'M WAXING COLD
In the weakest moments of mine

Eyes survey my every part
Lofty eyes that look for stains on the robe you gave me
Not Yours, Lord
Not Your eyes--Yours shine lovingly

You give me a hand
And tell me it's not over
My first love,
When I have wandered in vain,
I will run to You.
When I am waxing cold,
Reignite that agape flame

‪#‎AreYouWaxingCold‬?
‪#‎March7‬
‪#‎Presec‬-Legon

WASTED YEARS

A poem I wrote a year ago

Father and mother perspired under the sun

So that the cocoa bags could be sold to see me one day

Using my stethoscope and writing prescriptions.

I was to defend my primogeniture by means of self-sufficiency;

To extend my hand to the Akuas and Kwadwos

After me. My attitude proved my intelligence

And got all hands on deck;

I determinedly delivered desired favours

And ran errands when I heard the knell

That called for my assistance.

I gave myself away to the follies of adolescence,

For my hard-earned reputation

To be trampled upon,

When secondary school opened its arms

To embrace my arrival.

I never thought Mama sobbed;

I never thought Papa cried.

The little they had strained every sinew

And beat all odds

To acquire for my upkeep,

I did extravagantly waste

To keep up with the Joneses.

And after years of foolishness,

Oh, the years I never realised,

I woke up from my insignificant dream

To behold the world I'd made stagnant;

I woke up from my dream

To behold those to whom I had been a role model

Stare at my tattered apparel,

And grieve at the outcast friends had turned me into.

I could make them no better people

After father and mother had left

To sleep in mounds with crosses on them

On the grounds of Silence Town.

I grieved very hard,

But years could not recrudesce,

So that I'd take a different route to arrive at a safer condition,

And spare my younger siblings

The new name inscribed on their forehead—

"Orphans"!

—Kingsley Okyere Kwadwo