How would you describe your faith journey?

From the beginning, I have been a dreamer. Apart from creating scenes in my head where my own things happen, when I sleep at night, I am exposed to certain things that seem so real that they bring tears to my closed eyes.

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The first time I had that kind of dream, it was about my mom. I wriggled on the bed unable to do anything while she was suddenly caught up in flames. There was rhythmic tapping on my legs and finally, someone shouted “Treasure!” Then I woke up.

Tears streamed endlessly down my cheeks uncontrollably as I held my chest, coughing up phlegm at the same time. My mother walked into the room and I leaped up from the bed to throw my arms around her neck.

“Shhhh…. Everything will be okay. Now, tell me what you saw” she said when I was calmer. I narrated in detail all the incidents, then she sent my older sister who was almost late for school to the bathroom and asked me to kneel at the foot of the bed with her.

It was then my mother taught me how to pray, along with my first bible verses of which Proverbs 3:24 is my favorite. She asked me to recite them any time I woke up from a bad dream.

It wasn't up to 10 days later when my classroom teacher said she was taking my siblings and me to the hospital. We furrowed our brows in question but she remained tight-lipped. When we got to the hospital, my dad ran over and put his arms around us so tightly.

I was still wondering what was going on when my mom emerged from somewhere within the hospital. There were purple stains all over her feet and her forearms.

She walked over with great effort and placed her hand on my head then said to me, “God used you to save me, my Treasure”

I didn't quite understand it but from then on, my mother began to emphasize devotion and intense bible study time, especially during weekends. We would spend time listening to her explaining the person of God with sleepy eyes. Sometimes, I just wanted to tell her that it was just a coincidence and she should stop trying to turn us into pastors for it, not until one of those days several years later.

I went with some of the members of my teenagers' class to assist in cooking for the dedication of our assistant pastor's wife. I was totally fine before I left the house but by the time I was headed back home, I was nearly coughing my lungs out. No one could explain what was going on, I didn't go near the firewood, nor did I do anything overly stressful.

As I walked home, some concerned friends of mine went into a pharmacy to get me some drugs which subsided the reaction at that moment.

I was already home and sleeping when suddenly, my breath intake became shorter than normal and I began to cough again. This time, it was a thing of concern.

My mother woke up as usual and applied every technique she knew but I wasn't getting better. By morning, she rushed over to call a nurse.

The lady came in, took one look at me, and shook her head with tears in her eyes. Even I knew what that meant.

As I lay there, struggling between life and death, I made a silent prayer to God.

God, I know I've not been a good girl but I've prayed every single day like my mother asked me to, and I've read my bible at least 3 times a week. Just heal me, I don't want to die now.

That same morning, the assistant pastor's wife who my mom called to tell the news, sent some money for my treatment and ordered for me to be rushed immediately to the hospital.

That was the last thing I could remember.

I woke up several hours later with my face in a nebulizing mask and my hand heavy with drip. When I recovered from that incident, no one on the streets of Abuja walked past me freely.

I made it my point of duty to tell everyone what God did for me. That was when everyone around me began to think I was either going to become a pastor or marry one.

However, my zeal came crashing down when I walked into school.

“You should still find time for God, whether school is stressful or not” my fellowship president who had not seen me since my second year, said to me.

There was barely time for me to follow up on fellowship time, work, school duties and activities, and my personal life. My relationship with God was reduced to an every Sunday affair.

“I'll find time to come back to the fellowship,” I told her. Of course, I knew it would be difficult. My faith journey thrived during my younger years when I was free from so much physical, financial, and mental stress.

Truthfully, that wasn't an excuse, but it was the reality I was faced with.

Since God has commanded me not to forsake the assembly of the brethren, I make sure I am in church every Sunday, with the hope that one day, my faith journey will be as fervent as it used to be.