Ruth's pov
I got home that evening, feeling tired but accomplished. The week had passed so quickly, and before I knew it, Saturday arrived and was gone in the blink of an eye. Between my JAMB tutorials and church activities, the days seemed to slip by.
Sunday came, and as usual, we all gathered at church for the service. Afterward, we came together for our after-service meeting, where we discussed the week ahead and allocated responsibilities.
One by one, we mentioned names for each task. The excitement in the room was palpable as everyone discussed their duties, but when we reached David and Jessica, I couldn't help but notice the tension. David looked at me, his gaze cold and angry. But, true to form, he kept his mouth shut. The room was filled with a strange silence for a moment, but the meeting continued with the same energy, everyone eager to move forward.
Once all the responsibilities were assigned, we ended the meeting with joy and happiness, knowing that the work ahead would bring us closer together as a church.
Later that day, we celebrated Grace's birthday. Her mom had prepared a big meal, and we all gathered to eat, drink, and enjoy the warmth of each other's company. The food was delicious, and there was laughter in abundance. It was a brief moment of joy, a reminder of how important it was to celebrate each other, no matter how small the occasion.
As I sat there, enjoying the moment, I couldn't help but reflect on how strange the week had been how I had seen both the good and the bad, the love and the challenges. But I was learning. Learning to stand firm in my faith, learning to rise above the negativity around me, and learning that no matter what came my way, I was never alone. God had me.
The week passed quickly, just like all the others, with my tutorials taking up most of my time. But Thursday morning came with a strange twist. As I made my way to the tutorial center, I saw David standing with a girl I recognized from class.
"Hello, church girl," he greeted me with that same mocking tone. "So, this is where you learn?"
I glanced around and noticed the group of boys with him, all of them looking like trouble. Colored hair, chains, and an attitude that screamed rebellion. What surprised me even more was how the girls were gathering around them, giggling and hanging on their every word. It didn't sit well with me, the way they acted so desperate for attention.
I kept my head high, trying to ignore the weight of their stares. But then David turned to me, a smirk playing at his lips. "Ruth, you coming? There's a party we—"
"No," I cut him off before he could finish his sentence, my voice firm and unyielding. I wasn't going to be swayed. I wasn't going to fall for his tricks or his bad-boy charm.
David looked at me, surprised, as if he wasn't used to anyone rejecting his invitation. But I wasn't about to let myself be dragged into that kind of lifestyle, no matter how tempting it seemed. I turned away from him, feeling a surge of pride. The path I was walking on wasn't easy, but I knew it was the right one.
With a quiet resolve, I walked past them and continued on my way to the tutorial, leaving them behind.
It was Saturday, and as usual, I went for my regular home-to-home visitation with Brother Johnson. Preaching the Word of God gave me so much joy like I was living in the very purpose God created me for. With each house we visited, every smile, every prayer, I felt more alive. The joy on people's faces when we spoke about Christ it was worth everything.
On our way back, Brother Johnson and I joked like old friends.
"Ruth, your voice when you were singing that hymn at the last house ehn, you almost chased the Holy Spirit away!"
I burst out laughing. "Ah-ah, Brother Johnson, it's jealousy that's worrying you!"
We kept laughing until we got to the junction.
"Oh Brother Johnson, bye bye ooo," I said playfully, waving.
He laughed. "Bye Ruth, see you tomorrow. Don't forget to bring my chin chin!"
When Sunday came, I dressed and went to church with my mum. "Mama, I'm off to the youth meeting," I told her after service.
"Alright, my daughter. Go well."
At the meeting, we began as always—with prayers, then we reviewed the work assignments for the week.
"Sister Ruth and Brother Johnson—work done?"
"Yes!" we both responded proudly.
Then it got to Sister Jessica.
"I was the only one who did the visitation," she said, sounding a bit disappointed.
"Haba, Brother David, what happened?" someone asked.
David leaned back in his chair, looking completely unbothered.
"Well, I do not care. I was busy."
The room fell into a heavy silence. His tone cut through the joy of the meeting like a blade. Brother Johnson opened his mouth, clearly ready to say something, but I gently touched his arm.
"Leave it," I whispered. "It's no use."
Not everyone will understand the beauty of service. Not everyone hears the same call. But I did. And I would keep answering it even if I had to do it
After the meeting ended, everyone began leaving in small groups, chatting and laughing as they went. I noticed David walking ahead alone, his shoulders tense. Something tugged at my heart, and before I could second-guess myself, I quickened my steps and caught up with him.
"David!" I called.
He stopped but didn't turn. When I reached him, he gave me a side glance. "What now, Church girl?"
I ignored the sarcasm. "I just wanted to talk."
He sighed. "About what?"
"Why didn't you go for the visitation with Sister Jessica?" I asked gently.
He rolled his eyes and started walking again. I followed.
"You could've just said you weren't feeling well, or even apologized. It's not fair to leave the work of God halfway."
He halted suddenly and turned to face me. "Is that what this is about? Are you here to judge me?"
"No, I'm not judging you," I replied softly. "I just care. I care about everyone in our group, including you."
"Well don't," he snapped.
I blinked, stunned by the harshness in his voice. But I pressed on. "David, are you angry at God? Is that why you don't want to do His work?"
That question made him clench his jaw. His eyes darkened.
"Why should I work for Him?" he asked, voice rising. "Did He work for me?"
I didn't understand. "What do you mean?"
"My father died, Ruth," he said, his voice breaking for the first time. "That night, I prayed. I begged. I cried. I asked God to save him. And He didn't. He watched him die. So why should I work for Him now?"
My heart ached. I reached for his arm but he stepped back. I wanted to say something that would bring comfort, hope even healing. And then a verse rose in my spirit:
"The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit."
— Psalm 34:18
I looked into his eyes. "I'm sorry for your loss, David. I really am. But God never left you. You may feel like He was silent, but He was there, crying with you, holding you. He sees your pain. He loves you."
He scoffed, but it lacked the same bite. I continued, softly:
"And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose."
— Romans 8:28
"I don't see any good," he muttered.
"You may not now," I replied. "But He can turn ashes into beauty. I don't have all the answers, David. But I do know this—God hasn't given up on you. Please don't give up on Him."
He didn't say anything. He just turned and walked away, slower this time. He didn't insult me, didn't mock me. And somehow, that felt like a tiny crack in the wall he'd built a small beginning.