“He is one of us and he has deep revelations for the church. I and the church elders have listened to him. We felt it would be beneficial to the entire members. I crave your indulgence as I invite bro Kelvin to come and talk to us.”

As soon as Pastor mentioned my name, my heart skipped a bit. I asked myself, ‘Am I really ready for this?’ Although I knew that at that point there was no going back. I stood amidst rapturous applause from church members and made my way towards the altar. The claps slowly frizzled out even as they eagerly waited for what I had to say.

“If you are a living soul shout a thunderous hallelujah.”

“Hallelujah!” The congregation echoed.

“The Lord is good.” I stopped the statement half way and waited for the congregation to complete it.

“All the time.” They responded.

“My beloved brothers and sisters in the Lord, I am a living witness of the goodness and mercy of God. I joined this church through the invitation of Mrs. Onyema, who I fondly refer to as Mummy. Meeting her was something I thought happened by chance. But now, I know that it was divinely orchestrated.”

At this point, the environment was hushed even as everyone fully focused their attention on me. Whenever I paused in my speech, one could have easily noticed, if a pin had dropped to the floor.

“Few years ago, I attempted crossing a road oblivious of an on-coming vehicle. The driver of the vehicle had to apply break and horn persistently before I came back to my senses. When she alighted, I quickly apologized, though I was still expecting some rounds of insult which is the normal act for most Lagos drivers. But the woman was calm. She looked at me for a while and I could see kindness in her eyes. I remember thinking to myself, ‘This woman is different.’

There was something about her that I could not really explain. She escorted me to a corner of the road and started talking to me.

“Young man, what is your name?”

“My name is Kelvin.”

“Kelvin my son,” she called.

My heart melted when she called me her son. I have never known the love of a biological mother. I was told that my mother died while I was a year old. I grew under the care of a wicked step-mother who made life miserable for me. That was the first time a woman referred to me as her son in a caring and loving manner.

The sound of her voice brought me back to the scene.

“Why did you attempt crossing the road without checking if vehicles were approaching? Thanks to God that I was not on a high speed. The story would have been a different one.”

“I’m so sorry ma, I was overtaken by thoughts,” I answered remorsefully.

“It’s alright. Where are you going to? I can drop you off at your destination.”

“Ma’am, I am heading to nowhere.”

She was quite for a while and then she made me an offer.

“My house is not far from here. Can I take you to my house for you to cool off? Maybe talk about the problem if you care to share.”

Ordinarily, nothing would make me accept such an offer from a stranger. But somehow, I agreed to go with her.