Funmi Omolara

17/06/2025

The revival that began in secret started stirring things in public.

People confessed. Families reconciled. Worship overflowed beyond the schedule. But not everyone was pleased.

At the pulpit, Pastor Nduka stood tall. He was young, charismatic, and admired. He preached fire—but something in his eyes had grown... guarded.

After Zara’s prophecy and Bamidele’s basement prayer came to light, Pastor Nduka felt a strange fear. He hadn’t heard from God in weeks.

Still, he smiled through it. Quoted Scripture. Led with confidence.

But Elior noticed. And one evening, he asked gently, “When last did you pray without preparing a sermon?”

Nduka froze.

> “I’ve been busy,” he replied.
“Revival’s moving. No time for retreat.”

Elior’s silence was weightier than a rebuke.

That night, Pastor Nduka dreamt.

He stood in a cathedral of gold, crowned with fire. People shouted his name. Cameras flashed.
But suddenly, the roof cracked, and the crown turned to ash.

Jesus appeared—not angry, but sad.

> “You built a throne where there should have been a cross.”

Nduka woke, trembling. He tried to shake it off—but couldn’t.

That Sunday, while preaching, he broke down mid-message.

Tears poured.

“I’ve been performing, not shepherding. Building influence, not intimacy.”

The congregation was silent.

Then an old woman rose and whispered, “Welcome home, son.”

And revival deepened.

To Be Continued...

21/05/2025

08/05/2025

Title: Veil of Thorns
Part 1: The Wedding That Shouldn't Be

The skies were a perfect hue of blue, and the gentle breeze carried the scent of lavender from the garden. It was the kind of day every bride dreamed of. In the heart of Lagos, the grandeur of the Adesuwa estate glimmered with golden accents and fresh white roses. Guests gathered, dressed to the nines, sipping champagne and smiling in anticipation of a love story’s next chapter.

Amara stood before the mirror, a vision of grace and hope. Her satin gown hugged her slender frame, and the veil framed her delicate face like a halo. She clutched a small locket in her hand—the last gift from her late mother, engraved with the words: “Love is honest.”

Her heart thudded with a mix of nerves and joy. In a few minutes, she would walk down the aisle to marry Chuka—her childhood friend turned soulmate. Or so she believed.

Meanwhile, at the other end of the estate, Chuka adjusted his cufflinks with trembling fingers. His best man, Jide, offered a crooked smile.
“You sure about this, bro?” he asked, almost too casually.
Chuka forced a grin. “Of course. I love her.”
But his eyes told another story—one of hesitation, guilt, and a secret he had buried too deep for daylight.

The wedding march began. Amara stepped forward, her eyes scanning the crowd for the man who had promised her forever. And there he was—handsome, poised, but wearing a mask only she didn’t see.

As she reached the altar, a sudden flicker crossed Chuka’s face. A shadow. A memory. A regret.

Because standing silently among the crowd was someone no one had expected.

Someone who shouldn't have been there.

And she wasn’t smiling.

To be continued.

16/10/2024