THE DAY I ALMOST DIED: my main concerns in the fleeting moment

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…Then, a shout of wailing

Now, an eternal serenity

For man forgets too soon

The memory of the late…

The date was 25th of July, 2015. That date was remarkable too. It was the eve of the first birthday of my long-awaited son – our marriage waited without child seven years. I had boarded a car conveying me to my Ijebu-Ode base from work. A light shower had covered up a pothole at the foot of the sloppy section of the Sagamu-Ijebu-Ode Expressway near Babcock. Our cab fell into it and the ignition went off. Before the driver could struggle it out we got hit from behind by a galloping articulated truck. Viola! Our car got on the run, out of control of the driver, heading for disaster. We all in stunned silence sorrowfully waited where this evil momentum would land us.

At that moment I was not thinking of my wife or my son’s approaching birthday. I was not thinking of my church members or my work colleagues. I was not thinking of my relatives or fond friends. As the car conveyed us in fearful suspense to an uncertain end, only two things preoccupied my thought: "Is that all?" and "Will I make it?"

My concerns in the valley of shadow of death have two faces: what is behind me and what lies ahead of me.

Is that all - What is behind me!

No matter what you do or don’t do in life, you will have at least one or more persons to celebrate you when you are gone. But, what is more important is that who are those celebrating you and why are they celebrating you –  even the most wicked person will have sympathiser(s) or rather “praiser(s)” at his eulogy.

Who will miss you? That is the question. The society or your evil-wreaking accomplices, the church or your fornicating gang, your family or your concubines. It is about the “whos” and the “whys”. It is a serious matter. In fact, I tell you, the church, a right set of people, may hail a pastor at his death while his home, his immediate and most important constituency, will be hurling insults and abuses at him.

Life should be more than just numerical years and biological yields, but correct and long-lasting impacts.

Someone died and the local church had to arrange for Peter to come and try to raise her up. Whereas, someone else died and the church breathed a sigh of relief. Indeed, life is about making positive influence and impact on the right set of people.

Will I make it - What lies ahead of me!

Since 1994, I have shunned many vices and evil. I waste no time to repent, confess and forsake once the Holy Spirit brings any wrongdoing to my consciousness. Can I count the many worship services, bible studies, prayer meetings, fellowships, vigils, workers’ meetings, ministers’ meetings, EXCO meetings, seminars and workshops I have attended, and the tons of messages I have heard? I doubt. There is something at the back of mind for doing all of these. Definitely it cannot be something having to do with the life here. I have a mission. I have a goal. I have a target. It is to make heaven. I want to make heaven. So, when death came knocking, the question I found myself asking myself was: will I make it?

My concern is not only about my being celebrated here by the right set of people. I want heaven to celebrate me as well. They rejoiced when I was born-again. They should rejoice the more at my death when they fully receive me unto themselves as a saint triumphant.

This celestial celebration of life is about which of the spiritual realms will celebrate you at your death. Will it be the host of heaven or the host of hell? Will it be a triumphant entry into the heavenly Jerusalem or hell’s grand reception of another eternally lost soul into their fold? The choice is yours. And you can make the right decision right away and be sure you are on the path to heaven. The only way to be sure is the biblical way:

For God so greatly loved and dearly prized the world that He [even] gave up His only begotten (unique) Son, so that whoever believes in (trusts in, clings to, relies on) Him shall not perish (come to destruction, be lost) but have eternal (everlasting) life.

Won’t you rather give your life to Jesus?

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THE LAST EMPIRE DAY: When The Swift Almost Lost Out

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Concerning athletics, I was an all-rounder. Track or field event, I traversed all like the great Colossus of Rhodes. Not only that, when the events were eight, my own would be sixteen because I would run for both the junior and senior categories. I had one nickname that time – “Ehoro!” (Hare).

It was during 1957’s Empire Day. We were about to start the 400-yard race.

“On your mark!”

We crouched behind our lines.

“Agbeke...”

My name filtered from the crowd behind. There must be something sinister about this.

At the annual inter-school Empire Day, the competition was always intense, both on and outside the field. Teachers from other village schools would often call to the officials to have my favoured height checked, cross-checked and double-checked. And the result was always the same:

“She could run in both categories”.

 And pupils of these other schools were not left out of the fierce battle as well; our teachers would have to guide me here and there because of some of them who often came to the field with charms.

“Get set!” the starter bellowed.

Hips were raised spoiling for action. But this fishy name-calling did not abate. Mysteriously, my body started reacting to it. I managed to look back. And there he was at a corner: the culprit was just in time ramming down the head of a padlock. No wonder my heavy body.

“Go!”

All the sprinters headed for the finish line. Not me. That would be a futile effort, I already knew. Instead, I dived for the boy. I held him tightly.

Immediately, the policemen surrounded us with the officials and the teachers. They ordered him to open the lock, collected the key from him and got him locked up in the station till we finished proceedings that day.

The officials cancelled the 400-yard event. We had a fresh race and I came first as usual.

I don't know how the news got to my grandmother at home. In no time she was on the field demanding I run no longer. It took the intervention of the teachers for her to let go. They had to assure her no harm would come my way, using Jesus' name as a surety. They begged her to go home but she insisted on staying on till the end.

Thank God it was our final year in school and invariably the last Empire Day I would partake in. All Saints' School, as usual, came first at the end of the day.

(Extracted from the memoirs of my mother, Mrs. Christianah Agbeke Soretire)

*Like that boy in one corner calling out Agbeke's name, the enemy is calling out our WEIGHTS and our SINS to ram us down, can we first settle these two matters before we settle for the race?*

FIRST...

(NLT) let us strip off every WEIGHT that slows us down, especially the SIN that so easily trips us up...  OR

(GNB) let us rid ourselves of EVERYTHING THAT GETS IN THE WAY, and of the SIN which holds on to us so tightly...  OR

(MSG) No EXTRA SPIRITUAL FAT, no PARASITIC SINS...

THEN...

...let us run with endurance the race that is set before us (NKJV)

FOR...

I returned, and saw under the sun, that the RACE IS NOT TO THE SWIFT... but time and chance happeneth to them all.

THEREFORE,

BE SOBER, BE VIGILANT; because your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may devour.

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THE STOLEN GODS: Roaming Greed Amongst God's Saints

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Honourable Laban barged into the church. He had dusted the combined team of ushers and protocols outside. But this lanky usher at the entrance knew his onions; he could not be cracked. He deftly calmed down the boiling honourable.

All the while, Pastor Jacob hugged the pulpit in front giving a powerful charge.

Now that he has been calmed, Laban accepted to be led up the aisle to the special visitor’s seat and absent-mindedly waited for the service to close.

“Jacob, I’ve been looking for some stuff since you and your wife last visited?” Laban said, seated before Jacob who was sprawling behind his table.

Jacob was stung up. His oblong face was shock-stricken, “Sir, stuff? What stuff?”

“My gods.”

“Sir, I don’t get you sir?” Jacob queried.

“I said it was the time you and your wife visited that my gods went missing!”

“Maske-te-bu-ka-sa-ru-me-so-to! What!”

The walls sent back the echo for effect. The door flung open and the secretary rushed in.

“Hope no problem sir,” asked the black-suited lady in words and gesture.

Jacob adjusted his countenance and posture at once.

“No problem, Joy. Thank you.”

No further instruction, Joy exited. The somberness returned.

“Sir, are you insinuating that I, a servant of God, stole your heathen gods?”

“Insinuation is not my concern; all I want is my gods. Your wife could have taken it, you know.” Laban cranked a detour.

“You mean you don’t trust your own daughter too?” Jacob’s fit of surprise festered.

“This is not about trust! She knows the worth of the gods! Don’t you get me, Jacob?”

Jacob sighed audibly.

“I think at this point sir, we need to get home.”

Jacob and Rachael endured Laban’s thorough scrutiny of their apartment. After what looked like a decade Laban appeared shamefacedly from a corner.

“I think I’m done.”

“And what did you find sir?”

Dejectedly, “Nothing really. But, I’m still…”

“I think you owe me an apology sir” Jacob cut in.

“I…,” Laban held back, “Ok, I’m sorry.”

Just before the couple retired to bed, Rachael owned up to the crime. Jacob was about to explode. Rachael saw it coming and quickly played her trump card:

Mammon was the name of her father’s fetish and the house it abides riches must reside. So, the crime was on their behalf.

Expectantly, Laban handed off the grenade pin immediately.   This Adam loved his woman, nay, his greed, too much; he gulped down the whole forbidden apple.

Few days after, Mammon was larger than life in Jacob’s church. He was too sanguineous, having his fingers in all pies.

The testimonies before the congregation and the acrimony among them were about him. The messages from the pulpit and the mess behind it were about him. The flee from righteousness and the fight against it were about him.

All hell broke loose because of stolen gods!

Oh Lord, save your supposedly holy generation from this mammoth corruption from MAMMON infiltration.

1 Timothy 6:10 KJV

For the love of money is the root of all evil: which while some coveted after, they have erred from the faith, and pierced themselves through with many sorrows.

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TWO WHISKY BOTTLES IN PASTOR'S HAND: A Lesson in Benefit of the Doubt

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We have just dispersed the congregation. As usual, we sat in a ringed cluster to throw the fellowship-after-fellowship banters. We played freely.

Just then a gift of two whisky bottles was presented to us. We emptied them in no time and threw the bottles down carelessly on the un-cemented floor of our fellowship centre...

Then it dawned on me as I looked towards the main entrance.

What if someone just happened on us! What would run through his mind. A group of gospel ministers chatting and joking vigorously with two empty whisky bottles lying by their side...

“Ewo bi wọn ṣe n rẹrin. Wọn ti gba yo. Ha! Awọn pastors náà n ṣego!” (See them laughing as if there is no tomorrow. They are high. Ha! Even pastors too booze!)

And he would have been right on the surface assessment of things.

Lest I forget, a good member of the fellowship brought those two whiskey bottles of groundnut as a gift to us.

Oh! Wait! You too thought..I can't believe that. You mean you too thought we... O my God! How can you ever think like that?

But you should have given us the benefit of the doubt now, as pastors!

No problem, I think it is high time I practically addressed this issue of damning conclusions:

Challenge

How can I handle evidences that look so real as to putting pressure on me to make damning conclusions about people’s actions?

Introduction

I was in my car driving to a ministration when God dropped this burden on me. It started with a practical illustration and a personal example. I began imagining what would be going through the mind of someone who entered my car and saw the jacket of the CD selection I was playing.

The music was gospel. But the jacket was an antithesis. A half-nude singer and some faces that are anything but gospel artistes completed the jacket graphics. In fact the vendor had to thoroughly convince me that what was inside was gospel music before I could pick it up; many potential Christian buyers who had come before me could not be convinced because of the jacket. I needed the music selection badly, coupled with the fact that the gospel lyrics could be seen on the inside of the jacket, so I bought the CD.

I may not be right in buying it. But someone who enters my car, sees the jacket and concludes that I listen to unchristian music will definitely not be right as well.

That is what we are saying: many times, false evidences appear real. So, we need to watch our steps before jumping to conclusion.

Yes, the person may not be acting right in coming near the appearance of evil (I Thess.5:22), but two wrongs can never make a right – our wrong judgment can never right the wrong.

Benefit of the Doubt

Here are few things to ponder on before we make the vital conclusion:

1. Tract Record of the Person – sometimes, it will do a lot of good to consider the antecedent of the person in question. What has been the testimony of this ‘potential offender’? Then, you will be able to decide whether this singular act, of which even the details are sketchy, is strong enough to perish the track record.

Consider Jesus! How would you feel, someone you know to be a prostitute rubbing Jesus’ feet with perfume? I know you won’t feel anything untoward because you know Jesus too well; not even a scruple of such feeling will cross your mind. But the Pharisee that hosted him when it happened did not have such knowledge, so he judged Jesus wrongly (Luke 7:34 – 39).

When not certain, the first impulse should be, ‘What is his track record?’

2. Abnormal Use of an Object – someone says, abuse is a contraption for ‘abnormal use’.

Wrong conclusions, many times, emanate from putting articles to a use different from what they are meant for. A good example is using a beer bottle to store kerosene or selling groundnut in whisky bottle. One question that anyone who wants to be certain must ask himself: ‘Is there any other use this object can be put to, or is known to be put to, in this environment other than its original purpose?’

That you see an empty whisky bottle in a brother’s house therefore should not make you jump on the next cab to go and tell pastor that he is taking alcohol. Giving him a benefit of the doubt requires you asking yourself question like, ‘Could it be the whisky bottle he bought groundnut in?’

Imagine you passed through the field and saw Shamgar holding an ox-goad. What would you tell the people at home? That Shamgar was ploughing with the oxen. Wrong! Rather, he was making war with the ox-goad. It was an abnormal use but that is the truth – Judges 3:31.

3. Sincere Oversight – I read a weird case study over the internet. Let me render my own version of it for the purpose of this discourse.

A pastor was undressing in his room when he heard the sudden scream of the house-help. Without thinking he rushed out to help. The house-help’s wrapper was in flame. The pastor immediately yanked off the wrapper from her as she fell to the ground with a sharp thud. After putting the fire out of the wrapper, he drew near to help up the house-help who by now has been further weakened by the fall. Just then, the kitchen door opened, and standing at the door was…the wife. Alas, the pastor and the house-help were both naked!

Many interesting comments will pour in if this were to be a post on Facebook. That I know. But let us save that for another day and let me quickly pinpoint a gross oversight on the part of the two persons involved.

The pastor should have had at least something in the name of a cloth on before rushing out. And the house-help erred by having only wrapper on, without any underwear, in another person’s matrimonial home.

Some little things we overlook can cause us a big headache – little foxes destroy the vine. But the oversight notwithstanding, the wife would still have been wrong concluding that her husband is having an affair with the house-help.

So, next time someone displays an annoying oversight, don’t be too harsh, we are all prone to overlooking some things; although there are things we must never overlook...

4. Cultivating A Loving Spirit – So far, we have proved that people can be so sincere in what they do. They may not know or notice that, though sincere, they are sincerely wrong. So, after all said and done, people can be wrong or do wrong things.

But what we are imbuing in us is learning to disabuse our mind from casting a suspicious glance on everything and everyone. We must not always be on the lookout for someone to crucify. It is an attitude deeply rooted in judgmental spirit.

And the scripture says,

Judge not…Matt. 7:1

We must endeavour to confirm all the details, if need be, before drawing any conclusion,

But test and prove all things [until you can recognize] what is good; [to that] hold fast -1Th 5:21 AMP

The proving is not for the purpose of crucifying the person as I earlier said but with the purpose of correcting him in love. Love will only make a cane out of the fault to correct and not a cross out of it to crucify.

Don’t hold on to the fault as a constant weapon for cheap blackmail or a perpetual tool to display superiority complex.

This is one of the practical meanings of the scriptural saying, “Love covers multitude of sins”.

Even God will chastise us mainly with the purpose of correcting us in love. Shalom!

Thank you for your attention.

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BABY COMETH! Doctor Condemned Us to IVF; We Condemned Ourselves to God

I was 29. She was 28. We were both virgins on our wedding night. Equipped with tornadoes of blessings at our wedding, we strolled towards the easy-looking journey of making baby.

Months piled and it seemed it was not as easy as it seemed. Asake mi shed blood every month without let. A mountain is gradually rearing out of an anthill. Her mood got corrupted and worsened by the day. We didn't bargain for this, Lord. Though she confessed she had feared this most. Like Job, the thing she feared has dawned on us. In a year's time, we became hospital definition of infertility. No, babies weren't coming at all. Miscarriages would have been a better deal - at least our joy would have gone up some scales. This is no carriage at all.

I knew her to be in the choir before our union but I put her in the children department instead, from the outset of our union in our new church. That helped a bit. More so, one of the church sisters submitted her two sons to easily associate with Asake mi. In fact, the people in our neighbourhood took them for her children. But, what is yours is yours, which makes the dunghill to gladly hug the rag. We were not counting in months again but in years.

But, we were led to each other through prayer. And having been put in a courtship that traversed my church scrutiny, her church scrutiny and her mother's church scrutiny, we related six unblemished years before going down the aisle. What is our fault? Where did we go wrong? Asake mi was becoming an emotional wreck and she often took it out on those who came to live with us from time to time.

Medically, we tried. My sister recommended a gynaecologist in the township where she lived. That is a hundred kilometre from us. We had no option. Many sessions followed and I was brought into the picture. My semen analysis needed to be done. And that seemed to be it.

It was suboptimal and subsequent results showed it was even depreciating the more. I was placed on a drug to boost it while we were placed on sex timetable that would create enough space between each session and that would cumulatively come up in her most productive period of the month. I never appreciated the permutation and combination I did in my secondary school maths until then. Some times we were not feeling like it, but we must force it because we were now trying to make baby, not love. Observance followed observance but it all went flat just like the machete will always land on its flat side even if you throw it up a thousand times. After a while, our patronage waned till it grinded to a halt.

But people around us would not let us be. My wife's boss got so much concerned and coughed out a hundred thousand naira for us to visit one of the best fertility specialists in Lagos. The money 'entered' my eyes but how can somebody love you and you can't even manage to feign that you love yourself. We played along and went to the infertility clinic in one of the highbrow areas of Lagos. All the money was the consultation fee.

N100,000 just like that, in 2011! It is well o.

They ran some tests on us and after that it was face-to-face with the medical director. He analytically broke the good news of our results to us. My sperm count was so low and male hormones in my wife so high that if we ever hoped to have children in our life, it must be through IVF.

IVF is in-vitro fertilisation. Let me explain using my elementary knowledge of college biology. When the male sperm fertilises the female egg inside the body of the woman, that is in-vivo fertilisation. And that is the normal course of nature for humans being a mammal. Since, we have been declared incapable of achieving that, they will have to take my wife's egg and my sperm outside our body and fertilise them in the laboratory. And when the tiny baby has started growing, they will send it back to Asake mi's womb to complete the process therein. See medical wonder.

Stories over, now let's get down to business. How much?

N500,000 only.

So, I have only heard 'kesekese' of N100,000 and I was ranting and raving. Now see 'kasakasa', 'kesekese's bullying father. Hold on! More is still to come. Indeed what is behind six is more than seven.

 N500,000 is only for one shot. You will need two shots to boost your chance of success.

N500,000 × 2 = N1,000,000. Jesus of Nazareth!

This is a million-naira baby! Not when my N35,000 monthly salary in my private employment has been fixed in formalin for the last five years. Wait! It seemed the lips of the doctor was still moving:

"The success rate is 50/50."

What! After a million naira. "Ile-ya, odun Imale," (It's time to go home) I told my wife, like Abraham would have told Isaac when Moriah show was over.

We got home and the atmosphere changed. All emotional agitation of Asake mi stopped. My spiritual undulation around God's firm promise of a baby boy to me stopped. We jettisoned all medical permutation and medication. We even ignored the mounting messages and calls from the fertility centre's marketer attached to us reminding us to come and do the IVF like plague.

We chose to hit the restore-to-default button of our spiritual settings and it worked like magic. Asake mi and I began living and loving like the companions God has made us to be. We were enjoying our lives - strong communion with God and with each other. Two more years passed. The two halves are now equal. Six years before marriage we courted and six years after marriage we waited.

Then it happened.

One fateful day in September, it dawned on us that Asake mi had been about eight days up. No single drop of blood in her pants. I was a medical laboratory scientist. I brought the test strip home the following day. I collected her blood and allowed it to settle in the sample bottle. I didn't have the luxury of time to wait for detection through early morning urine. I dipped the strip in the supernatant plasma. And we waited with bated breath. This was not our first time. Menstrual delays had varied between five to even ten days in the past only for our tests to end in one line and the menses to turbulently come many days after. Will this be another one line? All our attention was on it.

Oh my God, two lines for the first time in history!

Asake mi is pregnant. No sperm-boosting drug, no IVF. Asake is pregnant.

I have a Father that will never never fail me
I have a Father that will never never fail me
Jesus is my Father, he will never never fail me
Rock of ages never never fail

We couldn't contain our joy as we hugged, sang, laughed, danced and thanked God. It was a night to remember. And God is good. He kept the pregnancy till it came to full term and at exactly 10 months, a bouncing baby boy was born unto us.

And what other name could we give him. We named him IniOluwanimi - God's property!

THOUGH IT TARRY, WAIT FOR IT; FOR IT WILL SURELY COME. AT THE END, IT SHALL SPEAK!