Skip to main content

WHAT WENT WRONG?

WHAT WENT WRONG?
As I write this, I feel a deep sadness in my heart, not for myself, but for the world around me. If you had a heart, you’d feel that sadness too. If you were to write you book of lamentations or write a book of all the terrible things life could present you, what would you write? What would you say went wrong?
When you wake up in the morning really sad and depressed, and your next meal you do not know where it’d come from; or safety is not even sure in your own home. Or maybe you’re privileged to know where breakfast is coming from, but you don’t know how you’re going to eat it because you can’t. Or your family is scattered and in pieces and you lack happiness and peace of mind and all you can ask is – “What Went Wrong?”
Maybe you’re a student and you don’t know how you’re going to pass a course or pass an exam honestly, and as it is, you’ve failed quite a number of courses; or you’re a youth and you feel really sad because much is expected of you and your life is not giving enough, or maybe you cannot figure out what you want to do with the rest of your life because right now, what you’ve done with it is nothing to write home about. It’s tearing you apart mentally, psychologically and all you can ask is – “What Went Wrong?”
Maybe you were really a reliable guy or lady and something happened and another thing followed and you ask “who the hell am I?” or “I don’t even know who I am anymore”, and you look in the mirror and you don’t like what you see or you look inside and you don’t like who you are and all you can ask is – “What Went Wrong?”
Maybe you are the breadwinner and you’re faced with more problems than you can handle and it’s killing you, and your dreams are fading away and simplicity of life is not an option. You look up and there’s no answer and you don’t want to cry because if you do, the tears will not stop flowing, and there’s a question deep in your heart – “What Went Wrong?”
Maybe you are a sinner, and you feel helpless, sin is choking you, and you can’t breathe. You feel yourself drawn to hell; you feel a weight you can’t take off. Maybe you’re an addict who wishes he/she weren’t addicted. And you want to be free, you want to shout, you want to be heard but you can’t, and you try and try but each time you crash; you look back and wonder how it all started; you look for who to blame, and there’s no one, and you’re left with a question in your heart – “What Went Wrong?”
Maybe your life is falling apart, and you’re finding it hard to pick up the pieces; or maybe everything and everyone around you doesn’t seem to understand you, even you don’t understand you, and it’s driving you crazy and you pause and see its effect on your life and you wonder – “What Went Wrong?”
Don’t look at me, am asking the same question – “What Went Wrong?”
Maybe you’re stuck in all of these situations; maybe you’re stuck in two or three. But it all takes us back to one place. That place is where we left God. That’s what went wrong! We left God! I realize that everything about life and living depend on Him, the moment we left, everything change and we were forced to carry this problems ourselves. That’s why you feel the weight crushing you, that’s why you feel the burden burdensome, that’s why you are not who you want to be and that’s why you can’t pull yourself out.
“What went wrong”, well, we now know. What are you going to do about it?

Comments

  1. Love it....one of my favourite posts :)

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

BREATHE

As I write this, I’m kind of thinking this is a funny topic – Breathe. But this concept has been gaining my attention for the past few weeks. It’s the thought of being helpless sometimes in life that made me want to write about this, we as humans may not know how to solve our problems and take care of our worries, and we do not even know why they are there in the first place. But there is one thing we can do as humans, one thing God created us and gave us the right to do, and that’s breathing. What is breathing? It means to take in air repeatedly and alternately in order to stay alive. That is the definition I know you know. But one definition that you might not know is to relax and stop worrying about something or things in general. That is the definition I want to talk about. There is a time for everything under the sun, a time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to uproot, a time to kill and a time to heal, a time to tear down and a time to build, a time to ...

THANK YOU!!!

       Wow! Twelve posts of “The Words I would Say” and I’m beginning to marvel. We can actually pull this off! I once tried to imagine how writers felt in two very real situations in their lives. The first was that situation where a writer writes, but readers don’t read what he writes. I’m telling you it rips your heart out. Just the fact that there’s no medium to get his work out sort of kills him slowly from the inside. Every writer desires that his/her work be read; to a large extent, that’s all he/she is really asking for. The second situation is that the writer sees his work being read. Imagine the feeling a writer has when he’s sitting in a bus or in the corner of the park and he sees the person sitting next to him totally engrossed in his book, without that person knowing he is sitting beside the author of that book. I’m telling you it’s a feeling everyone would love to have, it’s one those who have experienced wouldn’t want to trade for anything. ...

Words. Are they enough?

         Words. No one likes them better than I do. They fill the void of every writer, and try to express the ideas he has bottled up inside. They are sort of the proof of knowledge we have, isn’t it? I find being able to wield them a great privilege and a much welcomed burden. But as a tool for expressing emotions, I just find them inadequate, even in all their power. It’s the closest I feel to the person who says “Words cannot describe…” and is really torn up inside, hoping that his feelings and emotions, worries and cares, are understood as they are. But in the end, they are hardly ever understood, or felt the way they are. So we make do with words. We make do with them, hoping that somehow most, if not all, our emotions are conveyed by them. I love words. I love how they try. I love how they work and rework themselves till somehow, a picture is painted; a picture which once seen by another, stir up the same emotions which we felt with ...