The day I made my mother give her last fifty thousand to the church

It was 2019, just after I got ordained as youth pastor. I was full of fire, fresh from Bible school, ready to prove something.

Our church was launching a building project and the general overseer kept saying, "Sacrifice is the language of faith." I believed it. I preached it.

My mother had a small provision shop in Enugu. Business was struggling but she managed. One evening I visited her and told her about the project. I said, "Mama, sow a seed. God will multiply it."

She looked at me quiet. Then she went inside and came back with a black nylon bag. "This is my last fifty thousand for restocking," she said. "Take it for the Lord."

I carried that money to church with pride. Three months later, we found out the project funds were mismanaged. No building. No accountability. Just empty promises.

My mother's shop closed. She couldn't restock. She never complained, not once. But I saw her praying more, and it broke me.

That was the year I learned the hard way: never use God to collect from the vulnerable. The gospel should protect people, not exploit them. I spent two years rebuilding her trust, and it took longer to rebuild my own faith.

Now when I counsel young pastors, I tell them: if you're asking a widow or a struggling mother for her last money, you're not a leader, you're a robber with a microphone.