* a copy of the editor’s lounge I write in our Church Magazine, the monthly miracle- thought to share- enjoy and be blessed 
*
Dear friends,
I stepped out into an unusual february sunshine two weeks ago, feeling like a million dollars. The biting cold had finally snapped, I thought. It was a great feeling. There was so much joy in my spirit that I practically skipped along the road, humming to my favourite gospel tune, not minding the fact that I got probing glances from conservative passers-by.
Deciding to share my joy with the small community of friends I had on my Blackberry, I fished out my phone, keyed up to update my BB status with the words: “I am blessed!”
But as I glanced at my phone, I realised that something was wrong. Most of my friends on the BB community had updated their status with the letters: R.I.P; their joyous display images replaced with a black screen. Fear dampened my sprit. With trembling fingers, I pinged a friend, asking, “Who died?” and held my breath while her dreaded response was hastily typed. She replied telling me that a friend of a friend had passed away that morning. My heart sank. This morning? Hot tears blurred my vision. I‘d had no personal encounter with this person, but everyone around me seemed to have known him. He was a good person, loved by all. He was only 32 years old. Had just started to live life, wasn’t even married. Why? I asked the Lord as a more solemn me boarded the train to work. Why do the young die? Why is life so uncertain? Why can’t good things last? Why do homes break? Why do people fall sick? The whys were many, and they ravaged my soul.
I received no direct answer from the Lord as I carried out my work duties with a heavy heart.
Three days later, I got news that a global music icon, well loved by all, had passed.
Shocked beyond words, and even more confused, I went back to the Lord, burdened with the same questions-all starting with that three letter word- why?
I expected the Lord to chastise me for daring to question His authority. After all, He is God. The unquestionable.
Instead, a soft voice gently stirred my spirit. “Precious child,” the Lord whispered, “take up your bible.”
I obeyed. The Holy Spirit directed me to Isaiah 61.
I got to the third verse.
“He has sent me to bind up the broken-hearted… to comfort all who mourn…the oil of joy, instead of mourning…”
It hit me then. We have never been promised a life of unchallenged comfort while on earth. In fact, Jesus said, “In this world, you will have tribulations…but be of good cheer.” Note the word: will. Not may. Not possibly, but will. It is a certainty.
The eternal plan of God for our everlasting peace and joy is not here on earth, but with him, in Heaven. But before then, while we are yet on earth, Jesus will comfort us- He was sent for that purpose!
For the pain that crushes your spirit and for the precious losses you have experienced, for every broken heart, every deflated hope… Jesus is there. Let him hold your hand. Listen to him saying: “beloved, be of good cheer. I have overcome this for you!”
Rather than focus on the bleakness that plagues this temporary place called earth, focus on the Lord who loves you and has great plans far beyond what you can possibly imagine. It is time to wrap your heart around his promises of comfort in the midst of tribulation. It is a time to rise, regardless of what life throws at you- and to shine. Remember, that after all has been said and done, you… and I have a promise that far outlasts anything the devil may throw at us. We have the promise of eternal life.And we have Jesus. Always remember that.
Always.
Remain blessed!
Abimbola Dare
May the precious souls of those who died at the time I wrote this continue rest in the bosom of the almighty God. And may God comfort your families and friends. I am trusting that the Holy Sprit will hold your hand through such a painful time to a promise of eternal joy.
Dear readers and friends,
I am pleased to inform you that The Small Print is now available on paperback in Nigeria. The long period it took was as a result of ensuring that the selection process of production, printing and packaging the book met the expectations of you readers and friends. We sincerely hope we have attempted this and appreciate your patience, comments and feedback. Currently, The Small Print is currently available at Debonair bookstores in Yaba and also in Shoprite in Lekki, Lagos.
We are currently in talks with other bookstores within lagos. In Akwa Ibom, the Small Print is on its way to BOLDOZ RESOURCE CENTRE, 79 Udotung Ubo street, Uyo.
Additionally we understand that there is demand in other states within the country and we would welcome an engagement in your states to ensure that your needs are met.
Kindly leave your feedback on my website here by clicking on Praise for TSP or on my facebook fan page, either way, it would be great to hear your thoughts. Honestly? I love getting feedback from readers. It keeps me going, knowing that someone out there is being blessed by the book. Please tell your friends to support us by buying copies, and let’s enable christian fiction to have a louder voice in the literary world.
Many thanks and God bless,
Abimbola Dare,
Facebook: www.facebook.com/bimbylads
twitter:@bimbylads
and
Yemi Ladejobi
Author Rep- Nigeria-08065676450
At Debonair Bookstores, Yaba.
294 Herbert Macaulay Street, Sabo, Yaba (Opposite Hoares Memorial Methodist Church)
Get your copy now… more updates coming soon..
Biblically speaking, is there any rule against keeping your maiden name after marriage? Does it matter or is it a sign of rebellion? I love my married name. My maiden name, although also nice had too many syllables so I was too glad to get married and change my name. But, what if your married name has like, 13 syllables and people tend to get a headache just trying to pronounce it… can you keep your maiden name? Or what if you made “your name” before you got married ( i.e- you are well known by your maiden name… should you change your name now that you are married?)… This is assuming, ofcourse that your husband consents…Any thoughts?
Dear friends and readers,
Thanks for your long patience for the Small PRint to arrive in Nigeria. I had to jump many hurdles, but thank God, the books will finally be available this week in Lagos. I plan to also make some copies available in Ibadan as well.. to start with.
Interested book distributors and bookstores should please drop a line to abi@abimboladare.com.
Have a blessed week and thanks soo much for reading The Small Print!.
God bless
Abimbola Dare
Well… this weekend, I am speaking ( as well as other talented speakers)… at a church event for youths at Edmonton, in London… and also speaking at Milton Keynes the day after. If you are around the area…do drop in!!! And if you want me to come down to your church to speak on my books or writing tips… do drop me a line!
Flyer below…
Thanks and have a fab week.
Cheers
xxx
Bim
Hi friends!
How are you? Hope you enjoyed the last story I put up about Adaeze. Comments are always, as always, always welcome. hehe.
In this post… I am showcasing a very talented friend of mine who is going places with her cake making skills. I mean this sistah made a lollypop cake for my daughter! seriously o! full on cake on a stick! Ok, call me bush, but I had never seen anything like it in my life before! Ive got some pictures of some of her cakes, which I can assure you are tasty as well as affordable. She is based in north London and has very annointed hands! hehe. Her name is Ronke and check out her facebook page here for more images: http://www.facebook.com/Ronniescreations
Perfect for your son or nephew’s birthday…or for the footballer in you!
Hey guys… how’s it going? you recall I started a series on this blog a few months back, about Pastor Jonathan Bada? Well, I have somewhat decided to continue it… see where it leads. As always, all characters are fictional, and the story is far from its complete and final state. Infact, I dont even know where the story is going, I am just writing. Enjoy while it lasts!.
****
Adaeze Koya felt a sharp kick against the wall of her stomach. A moan climbed up her throat, and escaped from her mouth in a soft chuckle. Getting pregnant after six long years of waiting for a child was nothing short of a miracle, an act of kindness from God that had erased sadness from her life, such that even when her body wanted to react to pain, her soul rejoiced instead. Humming to a worship tune, she leaned unto the kitchen sink to assume a more comfortable position, wedging her bulge between the counter top and the corner of the gas cooker. Her gloved hands sank into the warm, soapy water, and enjoying the swish of the liquid around her arms, she washed dishes from last night’s dinner with a content smile. Last night’s dinner. The sweet memories soared her spirit. Just last night, Niyi had surprised her with the keys to a brand new home, a four bedroom house in the upmarket area of Cuffley in Hertfordshire. She’d had no idea her husband been making plans to purchase the home, had been pleasantly shocked to discover that not only had he been quietly saving for years for their dream home, he’d even gone as far as furnishing the entire property to her taste.
“A week before Promise is born,” Niyi had said with a loving glow in his eyes as he dangled the house keys in front of her, “We will move into our new home.” Adaeze smiled at the memory as Promises’ tiny feet thudded against the slant of her stomach. “You are blessed, Promise,” Ada whispered to her baby, “blessed to have a wonderful man as a father.” Promise responded with another fierce kick and Ada chuckled. “You don’t agree? You wait and see what he has in store for you, child!” She adjusted her position, shifting the weight from one swollen foot to the other as she continued washing; the clink of ceramic plates against stainless steel cutlery the only other sounds in the kitchen apart from the soft sizzle from the pot of beef stew she was warming for dinner. Once done with the dishes, she shrugged her hands out of the gloves, switched off the stove and plodded to the living room. Sinking into the rocking chair Niyi had ordered the day after she’d told him she was pregnant, she started to reach for the remote control when her eyes caught a blinking red light from a nook in the sofa. She sighed. Her carelessness with her phone was legendary. Had she left it there when she fell asleep? With a groan, she leaned across the sofa, dug her fingers in and pulled out the Blackberry. She slid the phone open, a smile working its way down her lips as the blackberry messenger icon showed a small red asterisk. Apart from her friend, Simi, there was only other contact on her blackberry messenger – her husband, Niyi. And as always, the message was from Niyi. She clicked the icon, read the message: “My love, you there?” She imagined him watching his phone with a concentrated frown on his handsome face as he waited for reply. And with no response from her, he would shake his head, knowing she’d discarded the phone. Again. The second message was sent five seconds after the first. “don’t want you in that kitchen. Rushing home to make you dinner. Just getting on the A406. Home in twenty. Wait for me.”
Twenty minutes? Adaeze frowned. The message was sent at six o’clock, and now at- she glanced at the digital clock blinking under her TV set- eight o’clock. Had she slept that long? And why wasnt Niyi home yet? Strange. His office in Canary wharf was only a thirty minute drive from their rented apartment in Dagenham. She racked her brain, trying to think. Had he mentioned stopping over in church to help clear up after the new building dedication last sunday? No. She’d remember. So where was he? She stared at her phone, and then quickly typed, “Sweetheart, just got this. Too late. Already making dinner. Where are you? Worried. ” With a slight tremble in her fingers, she tapped the send key and waited. The message jumped to the next side of the screen, but the tick icon indicating that the message had been delivered did not appear. Instead, a small twirling symbol danced on the screen- message in transit. She pushed herself up, swallowing the trepidation in her heart. All is well. Niyi is well, she told herself, but for some reason, the words failed to provide the much needed reassurance. She switched out of the Blackberry messenger application, tapped in her husband’s phone number from memory. “Pick up, Niyi, Pick up,” Adaeze murmured. The ringing tone on the other end of the line vibrated through her, and the baby must have felt it too, for she kicked again, a sharp movement that sent a torrent of pain around her abdomen. She bit back a groan, wincing as her husband’s husky voice played on voicemail. “Hi this is Niyi Koya, please leave a message and I will call you right back.”
Closing her eyes, Adaeze let the phone slide out of her hands. It hit the carpeted floor with a thud. Jesus, she prayed… Apart from you, he is all I have. Don’t let—
A dull sound knocked the prayer off of her lips. Her eyes flicked open and she stared. What was that? When it came again, she realised it was her door. Someone was knocking. Niyi. Relief coursed through her. But then she frowned. Niyi had a key. Why would he knock? Maybe he lost it. Please God, let it be Niyi. Let it be Niyi. Thank you Jesus…
Using both arms to push herself up, Adaeze trudged towards the door, hope flickering in her heart, warring with feelings of despair. Each step towards the Oakwood door was agonizing. Not knowing if her husband stood behind that door was punishment. Yet, she forced a smile. It had to be Niyi. She could smell him now, his soft masculine cologne, the same one he’d worn everyday since they got married wafted over her. He was standing behind that door wasn’t he? The scene played out before her: She fling the door open and glare at him. He’d burst into laughter, revealing the dimple in his chin.She would fall into his arms, sniff in his scent, thanking God. And then she’d break the embrace, straighten his tie- it was always flung over his shoulder- and give him a kiss and warn him never to scare her like that again…
She reached the door, placed her hand on the steel door handle. It felt cold, hard. She should look through the keyhole, see who it is, but she was afraid. Why?
“Who is it?” she barely whispered. She kept her head down, eyes on her bulge.
There was no answer. The door rattled. She had no choice. She had to look. She raised her head, pushed herself up on one foot and peeped. Her heart lurched.
Policemen. Two of them. They exchanged nervous glances, and then one of them reached out again and banged the door. Jesus please. A wave of nausea washed over her, but she bit it back, chiding herself. It could be neighbourhood policmen, simply asking questions about a recent robbery at a local shop. They would ask her if she saw any thing, and she’d shake her head and say no, she hadn’t. She’d been home all day, sleeping for the most part, or watching Judge Judy on daytime TV. She’d promise them to keep an eye out, just in-case one of the other neighbours saw or heard anything. And then she’d go back to her sitting room, and continue watching TV until Niyi came back home. She drew a breath and prayed. And then she opened the door, flashed them her best smile.
“How can I help you?” She rubbed her stomach, needed them to realise she was heavily pregnant. As if it wasn’t obvious.
“Is this the home of Mr Niyi Koya?” the first man asked. He had a pudgy face, like he’d overfed on doughnuts for most of his adult life. His deep-set eyes dropped to her stomach, and then refocused on her face. A flash of sympathy flickered in his eyes. Or maybe she’d imagined it.
“Yes,” she tried to sound cheerful, full of hope, but her voice came out as a squeak.“How can I help?”
“You must be his wife.”
“Of course.” She gave a firm nod. “I am his wife.” His life.
“Can we come in?”
She placed a firm hand on the door handle, protecting herself. “No. I mean, why? What is it?” her voice went up a notch. “Why do you want to come in?”
“Is anyone else at home with you? Family? Friend?”
“Why?” She was getting defensive now, rightly so. They couldn’t just turn up at her door and start asking her stupid questions without reason. “What is it?” She made her voice razor-sharp, willing to stab them with some what she was feeling. “Where is Niyi?” she held the policeman’s gaze until he shifted his eyes away.
The second police man spoke. He introduced himself, but she didn’t catch the name, didn’t care to. He dropped his voice, his features melting in sympathy. “Ma’am, there has been an accident on the A406.”
Her heart stopped. The A406. She clutched her chest, feeling blood drain from her body. The bb message from Niyi had said he was on the A406. “When was this?”
“Ma’am,” Pudgy- face began, “We—”
“Stop calling me ma’am!” she screamed. “When was this accident?”
“About two hours ago. His BMW collided with a truck—”
No. No. No.
“Get out!” she yelled. “Leave now!” She willed them to fizzle into thin air, so she could rewind the last two hours. She needed to get back to her blackberry, needed to see if Niyi had responded, so she could tell him to avoid the A406 because there had been an accident there. She backed away, started to slam the door.
“Ma’am.” The policeman prevented the door from slamming. “We know how difficult—”
An accident. Collision. Truck.
He didn’t make it. The words hit her like arrows. Tore through every sinew in her body and speared her heart. Her husband, her crown, her best friend, her life… was gone. Niyi Koya, the man that had brought light into her life with his laugher. When her own family had deserted her, Niyi had reached out and carried her. Her Niyi. Her friends had always teased her about her love for her husband, to the point that they often called her Adaniyi, instead of Adaeze. He didn’t make it. They hadn’t said it, but she could feel it, right at the depth of her soul. Her baby had felt it, had kicked in protest when the father she would never know had been cruelly snatched away from her, from them.
Her knees buckled and she let out another cry, shaking her head.“No!”
The police man grabbed her and she fought him with all her might, sobbing and hitting him with tiny fists, throwing feeble blows into his bullet-proofed chest.
“Ma’am, we need you to calm down!”
The barked warning was the last thing Adaeze heard before she sank into an abyss of thick darkness.
***
again, my peoples…- excuse writing errors, cliches, typos and all the writing rules I broke. What does this story go now oh? lol!!
I am a self confessed book lover.
I love how books smell, feel, taste ( lol)…Infact, this my love for books carried me to the point that I met my husband in a library, on a deserted row of law books… lol..and I currently work for a publishing firm ( where I walk around all day, nose in the air, sniffing with bliss, a contented smile on my face). My house looks like a library that a little kid was let loose in. Books with folded edges lie around the corner, some deserted for their lack of intrigue, others neatly arranged on a make-shift carton shelf, book mark sticking out of thier pages, waiting to be finished. Last christmas, or was it my birthday? I got the kindle as a present. I’ll be honest, I didnt think I’d like it. I mean, what on earth can subsititute that rough touch of paper massaging your fingers as you flip through the pages? Or the musky smell of a recycled tree, especially from old books? How could a cold, hard, electronic device replace those familar sensory pleasures a paperback gives?
Well, I found out I was wrong! I LURVE my kindle. Yes. I said it. I love it. It doesn’t smell, ( except when I have chucked it into a bag full of muller yoghurt and perfume), neither does it give you that “booky” feeling ( I mean, its horrible to hold during winter!!). BUT, it sure does one thing… it allows me to carry more than one, ten, twenty, fifty books at a time! Isnt that just amazing? Well, there is a downside to that- which I will talk about in my next post.
And so, thanks to the kindle, yours truly is reading a number of books at the moment. I’ll share three out of the seven or eight I am currently reading, as I have not finished all of these books, but they are all pulse-racing, seat-belt suspense type of books that get my creative juices going. And yes, they are all christian fiction- ( I hardly ever read books that arent Christian fiction anymore.)
~Terri Blackstock- Evidence of Mercy.
First time I read a Terri Blackstock, and I am hooked. She is an amazing writer, one I aspire to be like. This particular book moved me to tears. 
2. James Scott Bell- Presumed Guilty
Now, this one, na just sample I download. ( I am a serial sample downloader, by the way) But, I am already thinking of buying the rest! James Scott Bell is one of the people that taught me how to write! His books on writing are a must for any serious writer, and so are his fiction titles.
3. Frank Perretti- The oath.
This one, I am not sure yet. I know I will like it, but the book is massive! 550 pages! I am slowly chewing through it, patiently savoring each page. I suspect I will finish it in 2013, but so far, so good. The only issue I have with the book is the size. Haba!
Nuff said for one post. You? What are you reading?
Have a blessed week!
Remain hiding in the Rock… of ages.
P.S- the Small Print is now on Sale at Jesus House Pages Bookstore-in Brent Cross. IF you live nearby, do drop in to grab yourself a copy!
Before I even say one word, I want to apologise profusely ( I hate that word, btw), for neglecting my blog for this long. I don’t know what is wrong with me! I keep saying I will update… I will update… until the clock strikes midnight and another day dawns and then I realise its too late, and I promise myself that I will update tommorow…. and then the cycle re-invents itself…. until a month passes. I should hide my head under my desk.
I owe all of you an apology. Una no vex. How have you all been? I have missed y’all so much.
So whats been happening with me? Nothing much, I have been busy with our church magazine, running a series called redemption series (fiction) which has taken a lot of my time and effort. I am considering sharing that series on my blog… let’s see…
I have also been trying to work on the sequel to The Small Print… which I must confess is not going the way I planned. The characters just don’t want to bend to my rules. Especially that stubborn Wale. Apart from that, I have also been assigned a mighty task of mentoring a teenager on writing by Ugo Chime as part of www.sprouters.com website- check it out if you can. So you can imagine.. plus work, marketing the Small Print, being Mrs Chinese eyes and Mama Minibim….*phew*
Oh and I also re-joined the gym. This time around, I did not fly off the treadmill ( for those who remember my bimby goes to gym post from like 2008-on bimbyladsblog).
Infact now, when I am on the treadmill, I squint my eyes and catwalk, you know with that “is this all you gat?” kinda look. I am also doing a lot of crunches and planking. Crunches- I find a bit easier than planking. That planking ehn, the first time I tried it, I almost had a heart attack. And to worsen matters, I had a personal trainer in front of me ( as usual, I had boasted to him that I was a verrry active person, and only re-joined the gym to continue to “keep fit)….So the guy says to me- you know how to plank? I tilt my head and say, ” I do, but remind me.”. So he lies down like he is about to do press-ups, knees on the floor and raises his entire body off the floor- suspended- mid-air. He says, ” Can you do this for 30 seconds?”
I feel insulted. 30 seconds pere? “Aww, c’mon, I say. Of course I can do thirry seconds,” I say, flashing him a dazzling smile. So, while he watches, I adjust my gym gear, lie on the floor and raise myself up. I held myself mid air for two seconds, and a shot of pain travels all over my body, but I bone my face, thinking, “I gat dis.”
Five seconds pass, and I feel my heart boxing my chest. 7 seconds- My head is hot, I think I will faint. But no, I shall not admit defeat. Personal instructor reaches 12 seconds. Chai, you need to have seen me. I puff up my cheeks (sucking in the oxygen I should have been breathing out), widen my eyes and continue holding my self. He has a concerned look as he says, “You can stop now if you want.” I try to shake my head to say no, I can do this, but its too painful so I let out a small whoosh sound with my mouth instead.
By the time he reaches 15 seconds, I collapse, clutching my chest, gasping for air. I almost ask him to call an ambulance. The guy raises his eyebrows and gives me that, “I thought you said you are an active person,” look. I eye him back. Abeggi. Na him sabi. I said I am an active person. Not Usain Bolt.
I have also decided to stop eating red meat. Yes. Chinese eyes will be eating fresh fish as from now on. I hear that red meat reduces life by 14%. Fourteen percent?!! Is that true? Who can verify that? In the mean time, me I shall be eating chicken and fish, thank you very much.
I am also reading a number of interesting books. I will do my next post on that. I am almost promising. Check back in three days.
I have updated you enough. I have to dash to the gym now… *wink*
Have a blessed month…
Remember- Jesus loves you!
Abimbola Dare
@bimbylads
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