Krrrrr!”
My phone vibrated on the floor, jolting me from my thoughts. I quickly silenced the alarm. Why had I set it for a week instead of just one day? I sighed, rolling my eyes at my own forgetfulness.
A sharp hiss escaped my lips. Heads turned, scanning for the culprit.
Oh no! Now everyone would think I was trying to send a signal to the Pastor.
I dropped my phone beside my chair as casually as possible. Sitting on the left-hand side of the church, close to the ushers, had its perks—I could charge my phone while making sure it stayed in place. Nothing stung more than thinking your phone had been charging all service, only to find it still at zero percent. I wasn’t about to let that happen.
I stole a glance out of the corner of my eye, checking if the blue charging light was still on. Just then, I felt eyes on me. My body stiffened.
Slowly, I turned to shoot the intruder a sharp glare—quick but effective.
Then I froze.
My breath hitched. My head snapped back again, this time gently, hoping my eyes had played a trick on me.
But no.
It was Bro Tade.
“Prayo,” I whispered, excitement slipping through before I could stop it.
The Head Usher, Sis Romoke, sent me a puzzled look, her eyes narrowing in warning.
“Sorry,” I mouthed.
She nodded but followed my gaze.
“Deola, sorry ooo. I thought I heard Prayo.”
Her eyes rolled the way they always did when she thought I was talking nonsense.
I pouted. She was right.
The person sitting a few rows ahead of me wasn’t the tongue-speaking, word-dividing Bro Tade I once knew. Something was off.
Was it his hair?
Thick and disheveled, like it was trying to lock itself into dreadlocks.
Or maybe it was the way his head drooped—his body slouched as if weighed down by exhaustion. Since when did Bro Tade doze during sermons? The man who used to jot down every word the Pastor said? The one who wouldn’t even yawn during a message?
No.
This wasn’t Bro Tade.
I studied him again.
Pierced ear.
Tattered Bible.
No jotter.
Flip-flops.
A chill ran through me.
Could it be…? Was Bro Tade no longer a brother?
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat.
Pa!
My Bible tumbled to the floor. Heads turned in my direction.
“Sorry!” I mouthed, cheeks burning as I scrambled to pick it up.
Then I saw it.
A sticky note peeking from the open pages. My handwriting stared back at me:
“Abba says it’s not Tade.”
My hands trembled as I carefully picked up the Bible, trying to keep the page open.
God was doing it again. Revealing the why behind a moment I hadn’t understood.
I lifted my head briefly—then stopped cold.
He was looking at me.
The eyes that once swam with love and fire now held coldness and questions.
“Bro, stop looking at fine sister,” Pastor Jerry teased from the pulpit.
Laughter rippled through the church.
Tade turned away quickly.
Pastor Jerry wasn’t done.
“That sister is a special person o. Abba will only trust her to His beloved. Amen, Church?”
“Amen!” The congregation chorused.
My stomach tightened.
God had spoken again.
I turned back to my Bible, eyes locking on another sticky note I had written years ago.
“God said Tade is not my David.”
Then, in green ink, the part I knew I had written under His leading:
“The journey ahead of you is great, and Tade cannot walk this walk with you. He is not the man chosen for that walk into destiny.”
A tear splashed onto the page.
And suddenly, I was no longer in that church.
I was back in Room 23B of Hosanna Hostel, at Prevailers University.
Back in my prayer corner. The one I had worn out with my knees.
I had embarked on a three-day fast that week, despite my ulcer, because I was confused.
God had been faithful since my first year of salvation—leading me, speaking to me, directing my steps. But in my final year, I had started seeking Him about my future marriage.
The merciful Lord revealed so much about my future husband, marriage, and home—but never his name.
So, imagine my joy when Bro Tade proposed, and he ticked all my boxes.
Prayer coordinator.
Postgraduate academic director.
Outreach leader.
He could even sing and play the keyboard, though he wasn’t in the choir.
Everything he said he wanted to achieve in marriage aligned with what God had shown me.
But on the final day of my fast, God stopped me in my tracks.
That evening, He led me to 1 Samuel 16 and I wrote those words on the sticky note.
Back in the present, I clutched my Bible close to my chest, eyes shut.
“Thank You, Daddy. Thank You for saving me from a future I wasn’t aware of.”
“Thank You for keeping me jealously as Your investment.”
I opened my eyes, the weight of reality settling over me.
Four years had passed.
Bro Tade had moved to the U.S. after his Master’s. He had gotten married—to Sis Romoke, the Assistant Choir Leader.
For a while, I had wondered if I made a mistake saying No.
But every time doubt crept in, the story of Samuel anointing David rang in my heart.
I eventually surrendered. God was preparing the best for me.
And now, here was Tade.
Back in a small church.
In a remote town.
Without a wife.
Looking… lost.
I still hadn’t met my David, but I realized now: It’s better to marry well than to marry early.
“Thank You, Father,” I whispered.
I reached for my pen and scribbled on an empty sticky note inside my Bible.
24/10/2011.
“Abba once again decided to show me why He gave me a No.”
Pastor Jerry’s voice interrupted my thoughts.
“Let’s take what we have heard to God in prayer.”
As I stood, I felt it again.
Eyes on me.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Tade watching me.
This time, his gaze wasn’t cold.
It was filled with regret.
Regret for what—I honestly could not tell.
I exhaled, dropping my things and standing up straight.
Then, I did the only thing I could.
I ignored the man I almost became his—when my Father never gave me to him.
The one whose future I now witnessed, knowing there would have been no future for us together.
I closed my eyes.
“Abba, please keep me.”
“Shepherd of my soul, wherever You may lead, I will go. Your choice is my choice. Deliver me from evil. Preserve me for Your Kingdom.”
“Let me not say Yes when I need to say No. Let me not be blinded by physical things and miss the resolute thing.”
“I trust You, Abba.”
Beloved, God loves you and has your best interests at heart. Never forget that.
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