The night I had to choose between my senior pastor and the youth choir I raised

Two years ago, I almost left the ministry. Not because of money or lack of calling. Because of church politics.

I had spent eight months building the youth choir from scratch. Young people who couldn't sing on key, who had never stood before a congregation. We rehearsed every Thursday in that hot church hall, ceiling fan doing nothing, sweat mixing with tears as they learned to blend their voices. By month six, they were ministering at programs across Enugu. Parents were calling me to say their children had stopped roaming the streets.

Then the senior pastor called me to his office one Tuesday. He said the choir needed a 'more experienced hand' , his nephew who just finished music school in Lagos. I should step back. Let the boy handle it.

I sat there looking at the man who mentored me, who ordained me, who I call 'Daddy'. And I said nothing. I just nodded and walked out.

That evening, the choir heard. By 9pm, my phone was burning. Twenty-three messages. 'If you leave, we leave.' 'We will not sing for anybody else.' 'Pastor, you promised us.'

I spent that night on my knees. Not praying for direction. Just crying. Because I knew what I had to do, and I knew it would cost me.

Next morning, I went back to the senior pastor. I told him, 'Daddy, I respect you. But these children trusted me. If I hand them over like cargo, I cannot look at myself in the mirror.' I offered to co-lead with his nephew. He didn't like it. But he agreed.

The youth choir stayed. We lost some members along the way. But the ones who remained , they are the reason I am still in ministry today.

Our people say, 'Onye kwere, nke ya bu' , he who believes, his own is secured. I believed in those young people more than I believed in my comfort. And God honoured that.