theinkheartblog

letting the ink tell the tales conceived in my mind………

Month: April, 2014

Dear Child of God,
I would not have written you this note if I did not sense your confusion and worries. It’s been a very long month for you and things are happening so fast, you’re wondering how you go to so lucky. The undeserving love of the Lord is new to you everyday and he keeps blessing you even when sin makes you hide from Him. God is not one to judge you by the things you are doing, He looks beyond your faults and find in you a worthy vessel that deserves all the love in the world. I know you understand these things but it keeps baffling you why God decides to stick with you even it feels like no one is there. God is not man, Alice and His ways can never be understood.

It is hard to understand some things that go through your head. Even as you, it is hard to understand who you are how you do certain things. Sometimes I wonder how much dumber you can get and other times I see an intelligent woman with so many wonderful special gifts and potentials. The times you are dumb, I just get so annoyed with and think how easily you chose your trivial emotions over common sense. These actions get you so hurt, I just stick out my tongue and tell you “I told you so”. It doesn’t help that whenever you are really hurt, you do not cry. You just shove it at one end of your mind and pretend it never happened. I know you are smart but there are times even the smartest person act like the dumbest person. I’m not okay with your dumb choices most times but what is life without lessons and how do you learn if you don’t experience firsthand what pain is?

Child of God, it is okay to be hurt and cry when you want to cry. Pretending that some things never happened will only defeat the purpose of you being hurt as you will always try not to remember even the lessons you learnt from your mistakes. I know you are trying too hard to stay away from people so you won’t be messed with but who says that is the best solution? Who say when you keep people away from you, you won’t be hurt? Trust me, there are times strangers will hurt you so badly, you will wonder what you’ve done to deserve such. You think giving up on people will save you the heartache? It will not. Giving up will only show what a coward you are. I know you are confused how to go about things; you want to be there for people, yet you don’t want to be hurt, you want to take chances yet you don’t want to fail, you want to love yet you don’t want to be heartbroken. You are so scared of failing or falling too hard that you’ve allowed so many chances to pass you by. Even with God sometimes, I’ve watched you elude assignments given to you by Him just because you are scared of failing God.

It is never too hard to try. Who says in your trying, everything won’t work perfectly for you. I know you want fulfilment in every area of your life but you have to be ready to take risks. You are strong, courageous, intelligent and you can do everything and anything you want. God gave you all the potentials because He knows how hard it can be sometimes to press on even when the situation seems hopeless. Remember, the joy of the Lord is your strength and God can never be sad, so you are strong every passing moment. Stop hiding behind “being safe” and do everything you want. Love, live, laugh and be happy. It doesn’t even matter if he doesn’t meet up the “checklist” you have made up for your magic man, it doesn’t matter if the money is not flowing in well for that business, it doesn’t even matter if you feel like there is absolutely no sense in your ideas. Make it work with the understanding that someone somewhere will pay handsomely for that idea. Be the best you can be and let “the man” find you and then, understand that there is nothing like magic man. The magic is in every moment you spend with the imperfect man that spells the “real” in real-ationship.

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I don’t know how to say this but I know I have a big problem. It may not be that big a problem to you as the country is undergoing major national crises that is just too sad to think about. The boko haram bombing everywhere and sending people to their early graves is just very disheartening. Sometimes I wonder if these people are not human one bit as their fellow human lives have no value to them. Abi why would they be kidnapping innocent little girls and train them to be serial killers? These people are just wicked and they have more havoc to this country but definitely after corruption. Can anything even come close to corruption at all? Greed and selfishness drive these power drunken old men to steal from the citizens and make lives living hell. Even the ones that are not in power are stealing money from their bosses, wives, husbands and friends. Everybody is cheating the other of one thing or the other.

No one wants to be subject to anyone anymore, so we try to always be at the top of our games at all times even if it is illegally. Such a sad pathetic world. In the news these days, you only read about one man butchering another for really stupid reasons, ritual killings and crazy stuffs that just want to make you break bottles (heavy sigh). I don’t know where this world is going to but I know that this world is filled with selfish people and that is the number crisis that has befallen every country especially Nigeria. The country is under siege and my problem is really not that important but then, it is my problem and that makes it my priority. My problem is my problem and I think I need help. Before I tell you my problem, don’t judge me o. Afterall, we all get wetin dey chook us for body. Chicken get feather no mean say en no dey sweat.

People love to judge the weight of your problems by how rosy your skin is and how lovely you look *sigh*. They don’t even want to know if you are borrowing the cloth to do yanga, as long as you look good to them, you have absolutely no problem. Like one time I was really broke as in flat broke with no food at home and my burner bad. I was so depressed I decided to play dress up to evening church service. I wore my checkered high waist skirt, my black top and flats with little makeup on. For me, this was over doing it sef. I like jeans, tank tops and shirts or boyfriend jackets/cardigans. Someone saw me on the way and the person started hyping, whyning and throwing cheap praises. The next thing I knew, nigga was asking me to subscribe for him because I look fresh and loaded. I’m like what?!! I never even chop, make I buy you recharge card to subscribe?!! I just smiled my sweet fake smile and left without saying proper goodbyes. People!! Because I look fresh and loaded ehn? On empty stomach? He has quickly jumped to a conclusion based on my outward appearance and that is my problem.

People are so quick to judge you when they don’t even know you. They base their judgement on the fact that you look one way and this thing baffles me. Do they write it on the forehead that someone is a bad person or rich or kind or proud? I don’t understand how a total stranger will walk up to you and just tell you “you look like a proud babe”. Maybe there is a way people know these things cos I’m confused o. I know this problem is not a big one but the thing dey pain me. Some people just open their mouths to say nonsense and most times, I’m always close to being suicidal but I’m to gentle to think of killing insect not to talk of human being. People and their unnecessary mouth-chooking. Even if I “look” bad to you, how e take concern you? Remove the log in your eyes before the speck in mine, abeg. Mind your business and stop judging people up and down. You don’t know the choice they had to pick from. The most annoying part is they will judge you by your actions and then want you to judge them by their intentions. Bloody hypocrites. Just mind your business and invest all that “talking” time into something profitable….. Another problem I have is guys that beg girls for money anyhow. Haba, respect yourselves and learn to be a man.

DISCLAIMER: this is strictly as a result of my imaginations. At no point in time have I ever encountered any boko haram member or a terrorist. This is strictly fiction triggered by the high number of deaths and abductions recorded just this year alone. This piece was born by thinking of what could be going on in the minds of these people. My name is Dako Alice Temitope and I AM NOT A TERRORIST!!!
Oya read, share and comment.

I stand by watching with amazement as he works on the bombs. He is so good putting these things together that I always wish to be like him when I’m done with my apprenticeship. There is nothing more I want to be than to build bombs and help in destroying these people that do not understand what our religion is all about. It is so pitiful that almost everyone sees us as bad people, almost too sad. If only they can see how our fights about making right all the religious wrongs western education has made is so worthy and noble, we will not even have to do half of what we are doing now. People are so stubborn, they do not want to hear us at all and we have a lot to say.

A lot to say about the way pornography is taking people away from God, how people don’t even fancy the good old holy book, instead they download it from the internet, the same place the terrible videos came; such insolence. We want to tell them how western education is taking us far from God and not taking us closer to him but no they will not listen, they are more concerned about sending their children to school to learn the sinful ways of the white man. Do they not understand that these children are supposed to be taught only the things of Allah, our creator? How many of these people pray once a day much less the five time that we are supposed to pray to our creator?

You don’t see what we see yet you call us hypocrites. You call us an embarrassment to Islam when we are only doing God’s work. You see those many people will kill and abduct are to the glory of Allah. Instead of living their lives in accordance with the standards set by the devilish education introduced to us by the westerners, we kill them. That way, they do not have to insult the God who created them. I know most people find these things hard but it is true. We are innocent people fighting for the just of all good things including our creator. It is bad that everyone wants to fight us and clean us off this earth but that is not even working. We’ve grown stronger and stronger and we won’t stop until justice is attained. We are ready to sacrifice ourselves for what we believe in and I believe in this cause.
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He was more than ready. The bomb was well hidden in the long flowing jalamia he was wearing and all he just had to do was wait for a phone call and everything will be over. He looked around and the large number of people walking about trying to sell or buy something at the big market made him smile. He had been lucky such a big assignment. All night, he had gone through his mental notes of dos’ and don’ts’ and had woken up early to pray. To pray for the forgiveness of his soul, to pray for the forgiveness of the many souls wandering in the world without the true understand of what being a muslim is and he prayed that others left in the world would go back to their senses soon. His phone vibrated in his hands and he quickly pressed the green button. He listened for a little while before ending the call. He moved close to a man selling black market petrol and then said a little prayer before pressing the red button on a very tiny remote control. The bomb on his chest exploded with body parts flying in all directions. At the same time, two other bombs exploded at the entrances to the market. Aided by the fuel, the fire went viral and no one escaped it.
All the 100+ people died in the fire before rescue teams showed up. Bodies were piled over themselves at the back of a truck and blood was everywhere. Body parts strewn everywhere and intestines were roasted till the became black. Some of the bodies looked like charcoal heaped together. It was so traumatic that members of the rescue team kept rushing out the place to throw up. Some even fainted while others held their heads in their hands wondering when it will all be over. No one said anything, they worked in silence, trying to understand the reason behind the madness.

Meanwhile, in a far away underground place unknown to all except to people who worked closely with the leader of the group, there were loud chants of celebration; celebrating another successful attack. Minutes later, they were planning another one.

My blog is officially a year today and I have every reason to thank you all for visiting this blog. With the half-baked stories, grammatical blunders to blow your heads off, sad stories that make you cry, unfinished series and the traffic soaring higher and higher everyday, I cannot help but celebrate this blog and all of you. You’ve made this blog what it is. To celebrate 1 year, I promised 2 stories per day but it is not easy. Classes, project, assignments, church and terrible electricity supply; it is been a bit difficult but I promise to post at least 30 stories by the end of April. It may be 3 per day or 4 but I guarantee 30 stories for the whole of April… Cool, yeah?

To the order of the day, a love story. Drop your comments, let me know what you feel about my poor attempt at romance.
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The diner was unusually quiet. Apart from the waiters trying to tidy the place up, there was nobody else. She stepped outside and checked if she was in the right place; she was. It was not the best time for Debola to play pranks on her. She had a really hectic day at work and to make matters worse, she had forgotten to take a pair of slippers to work and had to run around the office in 4-inch heels. She scrubbed her eyes with the back of her hand and yawned loudly, not bothering to cover her mouth. Oye slumped on one of the chairs and removed her killer heels, wishing for a foot rub. Checking the time and dialling Debola’s number almost simultaneously, she stifled another yawn and asked one of the waiters to bring her a bottle of water. Debola did not pick her calls and that made her angry. How could he invite her for dinner in a place that was empty and then not pick his calls. She hissed loudly, making some of the waiters to look at her with questions in their eyes.

Oye was packing her bags, ready to leave when a guy dressed in expensive cabbie uniform came in. He looked like one of those limo drivers in hollywood movies complete with fitted suit and cap. The cabbie didn’t say anything, he just took her by the arm and ushered her to a very beautiful white limousine. He opened the door for her and told her to feel very comfortable. His “boss” had everything under control. She smiled at debola’s cheap sense of humour. With champagne and very delicious chocolate cake, she was relaxed. She was drifting off when the car stopped. The driver got down and opened the door for her. She was standing at a fashion store and a woman was waiting for her.
“Miss Debola Oyerinde, please follow me in. My “boss” has everything under control, so don’t be scared”.

She smiled and followed her in. They did not stop inside the shop but went inside the woman’s office. In a box lying on the table was the most beautiful she had ever seen. She brought it out from the box and she could say was wow. The woman then brought out two smaller boxes with shoes and a stunning golden necklace. Oye could not say anything. She was surprised. She left the shop looking very royal in her new monostrap evening dress that made her feel like a princess and into the limousine waiting for her outside. After a short drive, they stopped at a salon where her hair was fixed and her face was made up. The stylist gave her a note from her “boss” that had everything under control.
“I know you will look beautiful. Can’t wait to see you”

Oye could not stop smiling, not during the short drive that seemed too long for her nor when she got down at her final venue and the driver walked her into the restaurant. It was nothing like she had expected, it was grand. She was still checking out her environment when she heard his voice singing her best love song; the one she had told him she wanted to be playing at the background anytime he wants to pop the question. Oye gasped as she remembered. Everything that happened all along was some fantasy she had shared with her boo of four years some nights ago. She had not even expected him to remember.

My love, there’s only you in my life
The only thing that is right
My first love, you’re every breath that I take
You are every step that I make
And I want to share all my love with you
No one else will do
And your eyes tell me how much you care
Oh yes, you’ll always be my endless love
Two hearts, two hearts that beat as one
Our lives have just begun
And forever, I’ll hold you close in my arms
I can’t resist your charms
And love, I’d play the fool for you, I’m sure
For you know I don’t mind
‘Cause baby, you mean the worl to me
I know I’ve found in you, my endless love
And love, I’d play the fool for you, I’m sure
That you know that I don’t mind
‘Cause baby, you’ll be the only one
‘Cause no one can deny
This love I have inside
And I’ll give it all to you
My love, my love, my love
My endless love

DEBOLA
When she walked in looking like a fairytale princess, I knew I had made the right choice. She’s going to be my wife. She’s going to be the one I’ll wake up to every morning. She’s going to be my best friend for life. I got on one knee and brought out the ring. She was too speechless and she allowed the tears to answer for her. When the ring fit perfectly on her finger, I knew she was the perfect fit for me and she’ll be mine forever.

You read some books and you just can’t stop replaying the events in your head. You pick them up and read them over and over again, getting the same sitting-at-the-edge suspense and adrenaline pumping in your veins. Even if you want to, you can’t stop. It’s like you’ve been bewitched, reminding you why you fell in love with words. You can’t just explain it, it’s sweeter than the last spoon/handful of your favourite meal. Exactly how I felt when I read All Fall Down by Erica Spindler. If i had the e-book, would probably have shared it with you but it is paperback I have :(.
Enjoy today’s story and leave your comments, thank you.
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DONNA’s DIARY
Mom said I should keep quiet and not tell anybody what was happening to me. She said people will only laugh and point at me whenever I’m outside. She said people will not respect me anymore and no man will want to end up with someone like me, so I should keep quiet and learn how to live above it. I should try and forget everything. She said I should pretend as if everything was fine with me like she has been doing with her life. Honestly, I had tried it before I even went to mama for help but it drove me crazier. How do I pretend that my world was perfect with nothing to worry about when my world was topsy-turvy? How do I live above my predicament? The happy girl attitude I put up as a public show was killing me and I needed help. Mama was my best option. Who knows best how to comfort her child but the mother, I had thought but I was wrong. Mom had scolded me instead and told me to keep quiet.

“Don’t let the world know, it will ruin your reputation, this family’s reputation. Keep quiet and let God sort this out”, she had said. Why she was concerned about reputation, I could not say but a part of me died when I heard mama utter those words. Mother said God will sort it out, is she not supposed to be my god on earth? If she’s not willing to help me, I should help myself then. I’ve heard these adults say that there is rest only after death. I want to rest too. I want to be free. I want to be happy, I want the picture perfect world I had always imagined as a child. If I can’t have it here, I have no reason to be alive. This drugs should work, google said it will especially when taken with alcohol. I hope find peace when I’m gone.

She put down the pen and closed the diary. She went to her wardrobe and brought out the drugs and the bottle of rum she had been hiding there. She swallowed the 20-something pills and washed it down with the alcohol. The alcohol burned her throat but she did not mind. She laid on her bed, waiting for death’s visit.

In a room, not so far from Donna’s room….
“Sanya, look at me and tell me the truth. Are you sleeping with our daughter?”
“Our daughter or your daughter? She is not mine and you know it”
“You bastard, she is your child. Because she is not a boy, ehn?”
“That’s your business. She’s sha not my child”
“Is that why you are raping her, Sanya?”
“Did she tell you that?”
“Yes, she did and it made sense. All the sneaking out of the room at night, looking for things that are not missing, coming home during the day. I was suspecting you and the maid, not knowing it was our child all along”
“Well, maybe I’ve been sleeping her. So, what? Nothing is new under the sun besides, I don’t see her as mine”
“Olusanya, what nonsense are you saying? Your own child? What will the public say when they hear?”
“I know you won’t let them hear. You love your reputation too much for a scandal. I bet you already told her to keep it to herself.”
“You are a devil, Sanya. Why did I even marry a man as wicked as you? You’ve sold your soul to the devil…
“So have you. You sold your soul in exchange for money and material things. You don’t want your public image tarnished or rubbed with dirt”.
“Go to hell, bastard. I’m not like you. At least I have a conscience and don’t sleep with my own child”
“Well, if the mother had been doing her wifely duties, maybe that wouldn’t have happened”
“Are you blaming me? Didn’t you see other women there? It had to be your child, ehn?
“Woman, just shut up. I’ll do whatever I like and you can’t stop me, okay?”

They kept on arguing not knowing their child was dying. Later at night they found her body, the empty blister packs, half empty bottle of rum and her diary. Donna’s mother read the diary and all she kept muttering was
“I killed her”

I’m so unfaithful to my promise of two stories per day. I’ll like to blame SBEE (Benin republic’s PHCN), they’ve been very cruel with the light and generator is not an option for someone like me who’s been spoilt with almost consistent electricity. The guess is, they’ve employed a nigerian 😦
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I should write own my love song… For you, for me, for the beauty of what has become us. For the wonderful way you make me feel always

A song of how strong I am and yet how weak you make me feel when I’m in your arms. Of how time seems to freeze when I’m with you

Of how I’m not the same without you. How the world seems to be dark when you are not near. Of how I wish everyday, we will never be apart

Of the loneliness that grips my heart immediately you kiss me goodbye. Of the long nights I would shiver, craving for your arms to draw me close into your warmth

I should write my own long… For the special you have made me, for the kind man that I don’t deserve. A song for the perfect love that binds us together

A song of how complete only you can make me feel. Of how in your heart, I’ve found my home. A home with a foundation so strong and can stand the test of time

We don’t have to be perfect. It’s your imperfections that make me love your more. Your imperfections draw me closer to you like metal to a magnet

Beautiful song of love… My heart beats to the rhythm created by yours. This song will never get out tune. It’s our song till the hair fall off our heads

Our love song will be a beautiful folklore on the lips of many for many years to come. An enviable romance, setting the pace for others……

P.S: this poem was written for me by a very good friend. It is not romantic sadly but I love the poem so much. I hope you like it too.

Rainbows after Storm
Tunnels and lights
Yet we’ve lived forever in reigning darkness
In pain, smiling in misery

The heart thwarted with hate
The mind dulled with belief
Our soul in need of redemption
Yet you preach to me of faith

Man trails the path of death
Ignorant of the inevitable’s acquaintance
Gaining vanity hereafter
The devil roars with laughter

Thoughts of a theist sorrowed
Doubts crept in
For he is a man with heart hollowed
With each thump it succumbs till numb

Religion sycophants
Trading darkened knees
For favours divine
Man is the serpent that crawled out of Eden

Naked truth in awe of lie’s clothes
Customarily at disadvantage
She crippled her way around the world
Attempting atoning the rot lies evoked

In presence of company
Misery falls in love
The hearts of men maggoty on
With evil themed plots
Schemes of devilish sorts
Arrows for my friend found its way to my son

Written by Lekan Omoniyi
@_l3kan on twitter

P.S: my blog will be a year old this month. With almost 15,000 views, 608 comments and just 59 stories, I have every reason to celebrate this blog. Despite my inconsistency, you guys have been awesome. I love you all and InkHeart is as good as nothing without you all. To celebrate, I will be posting 2 stories per day throughout this month (So Help Me God). Your comments are important, tell me what you feel about the stories, poems or notes I’ll be posting 🙂
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The man looked at me with feigned sadness and I knew I was still a jobless man. Before he could open his mouth, I started putting my credentials back into the worn-out clear bag that had seen better days. The man said the usual “I’m sorry, there is no vacancy. Check back in some weeks” but I did not hear him. I got out of the office and slammed the door out of frustration. I wanted to do more than slam the door but I knew what those people could order their security men to do. I had been beaten to a pulp one time for calling the M.D of a company “blind and insensitive to potentials”. That day, my poor wife had boiled water with the little kerosene left in the stove, pressed my swollen face and bruised body with one of her threadbare wrappers dipped in the hot water. She did not complain or say anything, she just worked on my body while tears rolled down her eyes. She would wipe them off with her blouse but some still managed to drop on my body and they had hurt even more than the bruises.

I walked out of the building and into the scalding sun that was threatening to roast me alive. The change left in my pocket was 200 naira and that meant I had to walk most of the journey home so I could buy bread and pure water. As I walked, using my clear bag as a shade from the sun, I started thinking of the things I could do to make ends meet. I was still thinking when my phone vibrated in my breast pocket. I had even forgotten I had a phone. It was my neighbour and good friend calling me, so I picked up quickly.
“Monday, how far na? This one wey u call me so, everything dey fine with my wife?”
“Yes joor. I come your house so we fit do revision for the exam we get tomorrow and your wife say you comot”
“I go one yeye company jare. Which exam be that one?”
“The NIS exam na. You don forget ni say tomorrow na the exam?”
“Monday, no mind me. I go soon reach house”
“Oya, hurry. The food wey I bring make we chop don dey cold jare”
That was all I needed to hear, food issue was settled at least for that afternoon. I boarded the next bus I saw.

Saturday, Exam Day.
I woke up feeling unexcited about the exam and blamed it on my past rejections. My wife woke up early and prepared jollof rice that was not really jollof but “ata gigun”. I could not complain, it was what I could afford with the 1,000 naira loan from monday. I ate the food and my wife said a little success prayer with me. She asked me to rub her bulging tummy and let our unborn child bless me too. I indulged her and was rewarded with a bright smile. Monday came and picked me with his motorcycle. All the way to the stadium and when we got to the stadium, I could not shake off the cloud of foreboding hanging over my head. The large crowd waiting to be examined did not help. I told Monday but he told me I was just scared. My wife sent me a good luck message and it made me feel a little better thinking about the woman God had blessed me with. She had never nagged about not having enough to eat or the latest clothes to wear. My wife was always eager to help, search for a job and help me but I wanted her to stay at home and rest. I wanted her not to be stressed especially since she was pregnant with my first child. She was just so understanding it drove me crazy that I could not take care of her as she deserved.

Through out the time we had to wait, the thought of the beautiful things I would do for my wife when I get the job gave me comfort. Even when we had to hustle to enter inside the stadium and struggle for question sheets, her thoughts was all that gave me hope. I pushed people and was pushed but I got my trophy, the exam question. I stood by for a while and watched as people stepped on each other to get a question. It was amazing what people did to get the get a question paper. I was still watching the “drama” when I saw a heavily pregnant woman being pushed to the ground and stepped on. My mind immediately went to my wife heavily pregnant at home and condemned the husband of the woman for allowing her leave the house in that condition. A part of me wanted to rush forward and help the woman but she was lost in the sea of legs. I shook my head and said a silent prayer for her.

When I was done, I went out and flashed Monday. He came to meet me where the bike was, looking very flustered. His white top had turned brown and the arm was stained with blood. The side of his was bruised and his legs too. He looked as if he had been crying. I asked him what happened and he just shook his head. He gave me the key to his bike and drove home in silence. We got to my place and did not meet my wife. I asked Iya Samia selling petty stuffs in front of the house and she said she could not say. I was suddenly scared and could not say why. My wife was not the type to leave the house without telling anyone, maybe they had kidnapped her. Monday told me to be reasonable, she would definitely had gone to the market to buy something. He told me to wait and was sharing his experience at the stadium with me when I got a phone call that I was needed at the lagos state teaching hospital. Monday followed me like a loyal friend.

The morgue was cold but I was hot. The attendant told me to look at the bodies and point at my wife. He said four people were brought in dead from the stadium; two women and two men. Her clothes had been ripped and her bulging stomach was naked. The stomach was covered with blood like the rest of her body. The flesh on one side of her face had been scraped off and I could barely recognise my wife.
“Chineke”, was all I heard before I felt myself fall to the ground and I was thrown into an abyss of darkness I wished never to wake up from.

Dedicated to the people that lost their lives during NIS Recruitment exam stampede. It is sad that you died while searching for a greener pasture, a hope for a better tomorrow. May your souls rest in perfect peace. May the good Lord comfort the homes you left behind.