🤫 Confess💬 General
I Was the Prayer Warrior in My Church. Then My Son Got Sick and God Went Silent.
R
Reckless Boar from Ibadan
about 1 month ago
I was 41 that year, a deaconess in our church in Kaduna, the one they called to pray when things were hard. If you needed somebody to stand in the gap, you came to me. I fasted every Wednesday, I led the women's prayer band, I could quote scripture until the sun went down. Then my son got sick. He was 9. Typhoid first, then something the doctors at the general hospital could not name. He lost weight until I could count his ribs through his shirt. Every night I prayed until my knees hurt. I poured anointing oil on his head. I sowed seed offerings I could not afford. I even travelled to a mountain in Nasarawa because somebody said the prayers there were stronger. The pastor told me my faith was weak. He said maybe there was a hidden sin in the family. My husband stopped coming to church. I kept going, because where else would I go? One night in November, my son asked me, Mama, is God angry with me? And I had no answer. That was the night something cracked inside me. Not my love for God. My certainty. I did not stop believing. I stopped pretending I understood. He recovered eventually. The doctors found the problem, treated it, and he was fine. But I never went back to that mountain, and I never led that prayer band again. I still go to church. I still pray. But now I pray like somebody talking to a person I love but do not always understand. That is more honest. And honestly, it has kept me sane.
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