My name is Tioluwa Ajoke Berkley, and today makes it 365 days since I first embraced the gospel. If you had asked me last week, I would have prided myself in the following milestones: 200 days without hard drugs; 176 days without alcohol; and 140 days abstinent from all forms of sexual activity. Can you already tell I came from a colossal mess? Well, that's as far as you can go–old things have passed away–else you'll have God to contend with (and that's not a threat).
A week ago, I messed up my streak. All the milestones you read a while ago? I forfeited all. But one thing—365 days with God, regardless. Hold that thought and let me offer some context.
I traveled down from Abuja to Port-harcourt to attend a wedding. My friend from Uni days, Mimi, was getting married, and although Mimi and I weren't as close as we used to be, for old time's sake, I had earlier agreed to be a part of her bridesmaids. In retrospect, I wish I had humbly declined the offer instead of convincing myself that I was going there to be the bridesmaid with a difference. Nothing wrong with that, except I only made a mental note of things I desired to do in Port-Harcourt. Be bold about my faith. Find an opportunity to pray and share the gospel with Mimi and the other girls. Win at least ten souls and follow them up. Perhaps if I knew what awaited me in Port-Harcourt, I would have made more than a mental note. I would have sought the Lord, and asked that He help me–if at all He wanted me to be there.
However, I should have taken Chucks’ (the colleague who led me to Christ), more seriously when he said, “I don't feel too good about this trip of yours—”
“Chucks, you're not my boyfriend, neither are you my father…” I scoffed at him. Don't get me wrong, I care about Chucks, but sometimes, he annoys me with some of his imposing remarks.
“I'm sorry if I crossed a line. I'm only looking out for you. Nevertheless, Tioluwa, do not let down your guard. Watch and pray.”
Upon my arrival at Port-Harcourt, the wave of distraction slowly began to sweep me away, leaving me adrift in a sea of fragmented focus. There was hardly an opportunity to make the most of my preplanned agenda. Once, I thought to myself, “Oh, before the bridal shower begins, I'd urge the girls to allow us to pray first.” Much to my dismay, it was the pop of champagne and squeals of “let’s partyyyyy” that gave me a rude awakening! Right on from the lingerie-themed (read as ashawo-themed) bridal shower, I knew I was in for some contradictory experience. Where did Mimi meet some of these girls? The silly, suggestive games? The crass conversations? Oh, and those bottles of wine! Isn't that–wait, never mind. Old things have passed away.
Everywhere I looked reminded me of my past. I felt like I was stretching my soul with this experience, especially because I had an idea of what I was in for, such as the theme of the bridal shower (even tried to get myself something relatively decent).Although I was mostly a spectator at Mimi’s bridal shower, the effect had started lingering on my soul, but I was yet to grasp how much.
The closest I got that night with my agenda was giving Mimi her wedding gift. I had purchased a guided marriage journal that can help a couple reflect on their relationship, set goals together, and pray for each other. Well, I should also add that my gift stood out because I was probably the only one looking out for her soul. Can't say the same for the rest who bombarded her with things to spice up her marriage. Whatever that means.
Receiving my gift, Mimi lit up, beaming with smiles that did justice to her dimples. Or dimples that did justice to her smile. Either way, you get the point.
“Aw! This is so thoughtful and would definitely come handy. Thank you, Tioluwa.” Then she nudged me playfully, “I should have perceived that you're now Spiricoco, you’ve been acting like a referee.”
I chuckled lightly. Then Mimi embraced me. As I took a cue to that, I asked, “Do you mind if I prayed with you?”
Mimi nodded with excitement and bowed her head. Then. I. Finally. Did. It.
The D-day finally came, and surprisingly, I had eased more into the ceremony rather than act like some referee, just as Mimi said. Perhaps coming to Port Harcourt wasn't a bad idea after all, especially because I'd achieved one of my aims.
Altogether, the ceremony was beautiful. Well, I could have chosen to retire to my hotel room after the wedding reception, but at the mention of an after-party, I decided to give in to my F.O.M.O. Consequently, I didn't know I was in for a 2.0 version of the bridal shower. Only this time, I chose not to complain or judge anyone in my mind. Even Jesus had fun at the wedding in Cana.
“Hey, beautiful.”
I turned to behold the beauty of a man who just called me beautiful. I recognized him to be Devan’s best man. He was the typical tall, dark, handsome, lip-licking, chest-showing, swoon-worthy (Nigerian) US-returnee, whose name everyone had on their lips. My feminine instincts were still active after all. He had eyes for me. I'd caught him gazing at me earlier. On second thought, I missed this feeling! It had been a minute since I gave romantic love a thought.
“Hello, Devan’s best-man.” I replied, trying to act as though his charm had no effect on me.
“Toba Adewolu.”
He stretched out his right hand, and trust me to scan his perfectly manicured nails before receiving his handshake. “Tioluwa Berkley.”
“It’s an honour to breathe the same air you do,” he teased, still holding onto my hand.
“Oh, and he's cheesy, too.” I rolled my eyes, and we both laughed.
“Indulge me, alright? If you had only two options. To drink with me or dance with me…?”
I swallowed hard, because I'd been itching to drink all evening, but somehow kept the knowledge of my streaks before me.
“Tempting,” I admit, then continued coyly. “Thanks for the offer, but I-I don't drink anymore.”
He interjected. “Ha! You're religious?”
“Wrong question.” I replied.
He flashed me a smile. “So, dance it is?”
I agreed to dance with Toba while we had small talk. He was expressively flirtatious and didn't try to hide it one bit. I knew his type, but chose to play along with him because he was good company. Plus, it was just a dance. Everything that happened in PH stayed in PH.
The after-party wrapped up around 1a.m. No sooner had I gotten to my room than ill-fitting desires began to harass me. I started brooding on the events from the ceremony and then fantasizing about the what-ifs. To snap out of it, I convinced myself that stepping out of my room would help me disengage those thoughts. On the contrary, the first person I see is Toba by the poolside, flanked by a couple of other guys who were smoking and drinking.
“Heyyy,” he waved, having sighted me.
Was this a good idea? I'd thought, and shrugged off my reservation as I walked towards him and took my seat right beside him. His charm was irresistible, I couldn't say the same for the conviction I sensed in my spirit, because I’d been resisting it all night. My throat felt parched, and before I knew it, I damned the consequences and drank a shot of the gin that Toba was having. The cooling sensation was exactly what I needed to relax after such a long day.
“Look who's finally giving in. I call this ‘the Toba effect,’” he chuckled in-between slurred speech. I could tell he was high. Whatever I'd been doing at that point, I was fully aware of but couldn't bring myself to think or stop.
Taking a few more shots heightened my urge to smoke. Eventually, I gave in to weed. Toba stared at me in wonder, and soon enough, my hormones yielded enough to accommodate every other thing Toba was offering. Like sheep being led to slaughter, I followed close behind him and wound up in his room. Our bodies now haphazardly entangled, I suddenly snapped out of the madness and couldn’t proceed with whatever we had conjured.
“I can't. I'm sorry,” was all I said before I ran off to my room in regret that was deeper than the tears I was shedding.
On getting to my room, the first thing I did was puke. Afterwards, I heaved a heavy sigh, trying to come to terms with how much I'd strayed in 48 hours. I sat on the ground and wailed. What happened to me? Was this the soul I wanted to win? Relapsing on weed, alcohol, and almost having casual sex like I used to? Just yesterday, I prayed for Mimi. This morning, I read my Bible and prayed, asking God to point me to souls that I ought to win. What did I do when the soul came? I got distracted and flirted with him, almost up to the point we almost had sex!
Next week, I ought to celebrate 365 days of walking with God, and now this? I felt shattered.
That night, I lost my sleep and wallowed in condemnation. It got worse when I got back home to Abuja. I kept begging God to turn the hands of the clock so I could correct my mistakes. The sight of my Bible scared me. I wasn't also answering Chuck's calls because the last thing I wanted to hear was I-told-you-so, not like he ever told me that before.
Two days after I arrived in Abuja, I had a night vision. I was in a pit, downtrodden and crying profusely, joining the voices that accused me. Yet, there was a greater voice calling out to me to look upward. I was hesitant at first, but eventually looked. There, I found a blood-dripping, gold-laden ladder.
“Climb, my child. You have access by the blood of the lamb that was shed for your sins.” I somehow found strength to climb the ladder and my dark clothing was transformed to a white, glistening one. Having climbed, on the other side I found myself in the embrace of Jesus Christ.
“Your sins are forgiven, daughter. Go and sin no more.”
Suddenly, I jerked up, and in tears of joy and times of refreshing, I worshipped in the light of the finished works of Christ, my righteousness. The vision had been as clear as day. The heightened sense of fellowship with the Holy Spirit returned to me, and for the first time, I spoke in other tongues–praising God. He revealed to me that the seed of my recent failure sprouted from pride and self-righteousness, and reminded me that by beholding Him, I can conform to my true identity.
****
Today, the 365th day of my walk with God, I’m thankful it falls on a weekend. What's better than spending time reveling in God's unconditional love for me? Someone once told me that consistency breaks the power of resistance. Therefore, going forward, I will stay on the truth of my identity in Christ, rather than keep streaks. When Christ died, sin lost its grip over my soul.
Sometime in the afternoon, I received a delivery–a bouquet of of elegant, velvety, fragrant flowers. The note that accompanied it–in bold letters–read:
Keep blossoming in the will of the Father. It's a journey, not just days to count. You are forever His (Tiolúwatítíláilái).
Love,
Chucks.
The end?
PROMPTS FOR FURTHER MEDITATION:
How often do I meditate on the finished works of Christ?
Do I empower the consciousness of sin more than I do the consciousness of righteousness?
How responsive am I to God's word?
Hello, my beloved readers! Suprise-suprise, right? I hope you were blessed reading this as much as I was blessed writing it. Always a delight reading your heartwarming comments. Let me have your feedbacks on the things that stood out to you in this story.
Until next time. 💛
Come on nawwwwwwww...somebody give God a shout of praise!!!
God bless you, Debola💯🥂
Everything, from start to finish, is undeniably on point! To think that I could relate to some of the details written here, like how I also went big on streaks, one time like that🥹.
This is beautiful, sis. Take your flowers🌹💐
I relate in my own way, thank you for this really.