Marriages Don’t Just Fail Couples don’t fall out of love suddenly. Marriages fail because couples gradually stop loving each other intentionally— or they stop doing the things they once did naturally. The more intentional you become, the deeper and more rooted your marriage grows. How intentional are you about learning your spouse’s love language? If you are married, how intentional are you about meeting your spouse’s intimate needs? Your spouse has been raising concerns— about your character, your attitudes, your habits— yet you make no effort to adjust. Using your temperament as an excuse is no longer viable, because the truth is—you can work on yourself. Staying consistent means you never stop doing the things that keep your marriage alive. Every marriage that lasts is built on two things: intentionality and persistence. Intentionality means you are deliberate— you plan, you pay attention, you ask questions, you choose your spouse daily, even when feelings fluctuate. Persistence means you do not quit when it gets hard, when seasons change, or when the excitement fades. You keep showing up. You keep doing the work. Let’s be honest— many marriages are not broken. They are neglected. And neglect is not something that happens to you. It is a decision you make every time you choose comfort over effort, silence over conversation, your phone over your spouse. You knew how to pursue it. You knew how to be attentive. You knew how to make them feel chosen. Nothing has taken that ability from you— you have simply stopped exercising it. So the question is not whether your marriage can be better. The question is whether you are willing to do what it takes to make it so. Stop waiting for your spouse to change first. Be the one who decides that this marriage is worth every ounce of intentionality and persistence you have. © Adebimpe Obafemi

A person who truly loves you will protect your peace, not sacrifice it at their parents’ altar. Emotional maturity is not optional in marriage — it is the foundation. If every disagreement ends with his mother making the call, her father giving the verdict, or family members deciding your future, then you are not in a relationship — you are in a committee. Watch how they handle conflict. Watch who they run to. Watch how much of your relationship they share without your permission. These are not small things. These are previews. And to the parents raising sons and daughters — teach them to leave and cleave. It is not abandonment. It is obedience to God’s design. And to the sons and daughters — maturity is knowing when to honor your parents without handing them control over your home. "Therefore shall a man leave his father and his mother, and shall cleave unto his wife." — Genesis 2:24 Save this. Share it with someone who needs it. 💛 #Back2Eden #MarriageMatters #ChristianSingles #GodlyRelationships #HealthyRelationships #Choosewisely #LeaveAndCleave

Let's talk about parents who can't stay out of their children's marriages. Why do some parents feel entitled to control a marriage they didn't build? This pattern has quietly destroyed homes and broken people who never saw it coming. Here's what's ironic — these same parents would never tolerate anyone meddling in their marriages. Your role as a parent shifts the moment they say "I do" — but it doesn't disappear, it just looks different on the other side of it. What you owe them is prayer and godly counsel before they choose, not control after they have chosen. Pour into them early, guide them with your words and prayers, then trust God with what you've planted — before your presence becomes a source of pain in their home. Look at Abraham. He was intentional about ensuring Isaac married right — and after that? Scripture goes silent on his involvement. He did his part and stepped back. Look at Samson's parents. They voiced their concerns, did their best to guide him, and when he made his choice, they didn't interfere. That's maturity. Do the work early — pray, counsel, guide — then hand them over to God and step back gracefully. I remember a monthly singles meeting where one of the sisters shared what she was going through. Every time there was a misunderstanding in her relationship, the young man would run to his mother. His mother would then call the young lady to "settle" the matter. That is not love. That is a man who never left home — emotionally. Ladies, if you find yourself in that kind of relationship, especially if your peace of mind matters to you, take it as a sign and leave. Another lady at that same meeting shared how she handled a similar situation. Her partner couldn't make a single decision in their relationship without first consulting his mother. She spotted the red flag early — and wisely chose safety over sentiment. So, how do you avoid raising that kind of parent? Build a strong marriage of your own. Children learn what partnership looks like by watching you. Respect your sons and daughters-in-law. They are someone's beloved child — treat them that way. And remember, if you interfere, you're giving the other in-laws permission to do the same. Put yourself in their position. If your son or daughter were treated the way you treat their spouse, how would that sit with you? Understand what marriage means for your family. When your child marries, you don't lose them — you gain a child. The moment you see a daughter or son-in-law as a rival, you've already lost. Finally, consider Ruth and Naomi. The Bible doesn't give us a detailed account of how Naomi treated Ruth — but Ruth's response tells us everything. A woman doesn't leave her homeland, her people, and her gods for a mother-in-law who made her feel like an outsider. Be the kind of in-law people choose to stay close to. © Adebimpe Obafemi

Hi! 👋 I'm so excited to share that my novel is finally here! "Two Months Before: Choosing Peace Over Plans" It's a Christian fiction novel inspired by my years counseling through Back2Eden ministry. The story follows a woman who must choose between her wedding plans and her peace—and the courage it takes to walk away. If Back2Eden has blessed you in anyway show some love by getting a copy for yourself or you know any woman who's: ✅ In a relationship that doesn't feel right ✅ Been told she's "too picky" ✅ Struggling with red flags Please share this with her! It could change her life. Download on Selar: https://selar.com/twomonthsbefore Thank you for your support! 💕 God bless!

TWO MONTHS BEFORE Part 9 : What I Actually Learned (Not the Instagram Version) This isn't a neat testimony with three points and a prayer. This is a messy truth from the trenches of a hard decision. Here's what I really learned: 1. Spiritual discernment isn't mystical—it's often just wisdom dressed in prayer. My father couldn't articulate what was wrong with Chris because it wasn't one big obvious thing. It was a thousand small things: The way Chris's smile didn't reach his eyes when he thought no one was looking. The way he deflected every time someone asked him a direct question about his life. The way he needed constant validation from women but called his fiancée insecure when she noticed. The way his charm felt performative, like a show he'd practiced. My father's "lack of peace" wasn't spiritual mysticism. It was decades of observing people and recognizing patterns that I, blinded by hope and desperation, .couldn't see. Sometimes the Holy Spirit speaks through the discernment of people who've lived longer and seen more than we have. 2. "God told me" can be spiritual manipulation—even when you're doing it to yourself. I convinced myself God had sent Chris because: - He appeared when I needed help (timing!) - He was a Christian (church attendance!) - He quoted scripture (spiritual!) - The proposal felt like a movie (romantic!) But I confused coincidence with providence. I confused Christian culture with Christian character. I confused emotional highs with spiritual confirmation. God also gave me: - Parents with wisdom - A mentor with discernment - Red flags I kept ignoring - A lack of peace that never went away But I only wanted to listen to the "signs" that confirmed what I already wanted. That's not faith. That's wishful thinking with a Bible verse attached. 3. Breaking up is not the same as giving up. People told me I gave up too easily. That relationship takes work. That I should have tried harder. But here's the thing: You can't "work on" someone who doesn't think there's a problem. I tried for five months to: - Communicate concerns (he called me controlling) - Suggest counseling (he called it unnecessary) - Point out red flags (he called me insecure) - Set boundaries (he called it lack of trust) At some point, trying harder just means tolerating more. Walking away from Chris wasn't giving up. It was wisdom. It was self-preservation. It was choosing reality over potential. And it took more strength than staying ever would have. 4. The red flags were always there—I just kept repainting them green. Month 1: "He doesn't want me earning more than him" → He's just traditional Month 2: "He wants me away from my family" → He just wants more time together Month 3: "He flirts with other women" → I'm just jealous Month 4: "He refuses accountability" → He's just private Looking back, I can't believe how creative I was at making excuses. But that's what happens when you want something badly enough. You become a defense attorney for someone who doesn't even deserve a trial. 5. Peace matters more than plans. For months, I had no peace. Not a day. Not an hour. Not even a moment. Every time I thought about the wedding, my stomach knotted. Every time Chris and I fought, I couldn't sleep. Every time my father looked at me with concern, I felt sick. But I kept pushing forward because: - The venue was booked - The dress was being made - People were expecting it - I'd already said yes I valued my plans more than my peace. And I almost paid for it with my entire life. Here's what I learned: When you lose peace about a decision and it doesn't come back even after prayer, that's not anxiety. That's an answer. The absence of peace IS God speaking. And I'm learning to listen to it, even when it costs me everything I thought I wanted. 6. God's "no" is not punishment—it's protection. I used to think God was withholding good things from me. Keeping me single while blessing everyone else. Now I understand: He wasn't saying no to marriage. He was saying no to THAT marriage. There's a difference. God's "no" to Chris was protection from: - Years of walking on eggshells - A lifetime of gaslighting - Children raised watching their mother shrink - A home without peace - A marriage without partnership - A life without joy When God closes a door, stops a relationship, blocks a path—it's not because He's mean. It's because He sees what's on the other side, and He loves you too much to let you go there. 7. Your family's concerns aren't always about control—sometimes they're about care. I spent months thinking my father was being overprotective. That he didn't trust me. That he wanted to control my life. I was wrong. He was trying to protect me from something he could see but couldn't prove. And when I finally walked away, he didn't say "I told you so." He just said, "Thank God." Our parents aren't perfect. They won't always be right. But when multiple people who love you—who have no agenda except your wellbeing—are all saying the same thing? Listen. They might see something you can't see when you're in the middle of it. These lessons cost me: - ₦1 million in lost deposits - Six months of my life - My reputation in some circles - Relationships with people who took his side - The dream of being married by 30 But they saved me from: - A lifetime of misery - Children in a toxic home - Losing myself completely - Living without peace - Never knowing my worth So when people ask if I regret calling off the wedding, my answer is simple: Not for one single second. The lessons hurt. But they didn't break me. They made me who I am today. © Adebimpe Obafemi #TwoMonthsBefore #LessonsLearned #ChristianSingles #Back2Eden #SpiritualGrowth

Please don't copy, edit, or republish without permission. Want to share? Just credit the author: Adebimpe Jumoke Obafemi. Thank you! 💕 TWO MONTHS BEFORE Part 8 ; The Aftermath (The Part Nobody Talks About) Breaking off an engagement two months before the wedding was emotionally devastating and logistically nightmarish. The venue: We'd paid ₦500,000 as a deposit. Non-refundable. The manager was sympathetic but firm. "It's in the contract, madam.” The dress: Half-sewn, half-paid. The tailor tried to be understanding, but she'd already bought all the fabric and lace. I lost ₦150,000. The caterer: They'd already ordered supplies. Another ₦200,000 gone. The photographer: Booked months in advance. Couldn't refund the deposit. In total, I lost close to ₦1 million. Money I'd saved for years. Money that represented countless shifts, late nights, and sacrifice. Gone. Then came the calls. I had to personally call each of my aunties and uncles who'd planned to travel from Lagos, Abuja, and Port Harcourt. "Aunty, the wedding is off." "What? Why? What happened?" How do you explain in a phone call? How do you convince them you're not being rash when they've already bought their aso-ebi and booked their hotels? Some were understanding: "Omolabake, if you're not sure, it's better to stop now." Others were... less understanding: "But the dress is already made! Can't you just work it out?" One uncle actually said, "Omolabake, marriage is not a bed of roses. You have to compromise." I wanted to scream: This isn't about compromise. This is about survival. But I just said, "I understand, Uncle. I'm sorry for the inconvenience." Church was the worst. The first Sunday after the breakup, I almost didn't go. But I couldn't hide forever. I walked in and felt every eye on me. People whispering and pointing. Some tried not to stare but failed. During announcements, our names were supposed to be called for final marriage class registration. They weren't. The silence where our names should have been was deafening. After service, some people avoided me completely. They literally crossed to the other side of the corridor when they saw me coming. Others came up with fake sympathy: "Oh, Omolabake, we heard. Are you okay?" Translation: Give us the gossip. A few were genuinely kind. One older woman, Sister Funke, pulled me aside and said, "Better a broken engagement than a broken life. Well done." She was one of the few. Chris moved to another church within two weeks. I heard through mutual friends that he was telling people I'd broken off the engagement because I was "too controlling" and "had trust issues." He painted himself as the victim. The good man who'd been wrongly rejected. And some people believed him. The months that followed were dark. I'd wake up some mornings and forget, just for a second, that I wasn't engaged anymore. Then reality would crash back in. I stopped going to weddings. I couldn't bear it. Every bouquet toss, every first dance, every "you're next!" comment, felt like salt in an open wound. I avoided baby dedications too. Because someone always asked, "So when is yours coming?" Work became my escape. I threw myself into my projects at ACE, stayed late, volunteered for extra assignments. Anything to avoid thinking about what I'd lost. My weight fluctuated from the stress—I lost 10kg, then gained it back. But what grew more than my weight was my faith. I threw myself into prayer, into serving at church, into seeking God's face. He became my comfort. His word became my anchor. And slowly, I began to heal. Except I hadn't lost anything real. I'd lost an illusion. But grief doesn't distinguish between real loss and imagined loss. It all hurts the same. Six months after the breakup, I heard Chris got engaged to Sister Bimpe. My friend showed me the Instagram post. The proposal photos looked eerily similar to mine. Same garden. Same sunset timing. Same pose. He'd recycled our proposal. Part of me felt vindicated. See? I was right. It wasn't just friendship. Part of me felt like an idiot. How did I not see this sooner? Part of me just felt... sad. Sad for Bimpe because she had no idea what she was walking into. Four months later, they were married. Quick engagement, quick wedding. Like he was in a hurry. I didn't go, obviously. But I heard about it. I heard it was beautiful. I heard that Bimpe looked happy. I prayed for her that day. Genuinely prayed. Because I knew what was coming. And about a year into their marriage, I started hearing whispers. Bimpe had stepped down from ministry. She wasn't posting on social media as much. Seemed withdrawn at church and had gained a lot of weight. I saw her once at a wedding we both had to attend. She couldn't look me in the eye. And I understood. She knew now. She knew what she'd signed up for. And my heart broke for her. Because that could have been me. Two years post-breakup, I'm still single. I'm 30 now. The age I thought I'd be married by. Some days, I'm at peace with it. I've rebuilt my life. My career is thriving. My relationship with my family is stronger than ever. I have good friends. I'm involved in church. I'm... content. Other days, I panic. The biological clock is loud. Very loud. I attend another wedding and feel that familiar ache. I watch my friends with their babies and wonder if I'll ever have that. I field questions from well-meaning aunties: "Omolabake, you're not getting younger o." Thanks, Aunty. I'm aware. But here's what I know now that I didn't know then: Being single is not a failure. Being 30 and unmarried is not a tragedy. Choosing peace over plans is not weakness. I'd rather be 30, single, and whole than 30, married, and broken. I'd rather wait for the right person than rush into a lifetime with the wrong one. I'd rather trust God's timing than force my own. And honestly? I'm grateful. Grateful I listened to my father. Grateful Pastor Mrs. Adeyemi pushed me to pray. Grateful God opened my eyes. Grateful I had the courage to walk away. The aftermath was painful. But nowhere near as painful as a lifetime of that marriage would have been. So yes, I'm still single. But I'm free. And that's worth more than any ring. © Adebimpe Obafemi #TwoMonthsBefore #LessonsLearned #ChristianSingles #Back2Eden #SpiritualGrowth

Join us for High Impact Conference coming 25 - 29 March, 2026

"Abraham was in a good place—his father’s house—but God asked him to leave his comfort zone and move to a better place. You can’t stay in your comfort zone and receive the best of God."

Please don't copy, edit, or republish without permission. Want to share? Just credit the author: Adebimpe Jumoke Obafemi. Thank you! 💕 TWO MONTHS BEFORE - Part 6 The Unraveling God answered my prayer. Not all at once, like pulling back a curtain. More like... slowly turning up the lights in a dark room. At first, you don't see much. Then shapes start forming. Then details. Then the whole picture becomes painfully clear. Week 1 of my fast: Chris came over for dinner on Friday evening. My mother had made jollof rice and chicken—his favorite. We ate with my parents at the dining table, making small talk about work, church, and the weather. After dinner, Chris and I sat in the living room while my parents gave us space. We were discussing finances for the wedding—deposits, vendors, budgets. "So I've been thinking," Chris said casually, scrolling through his phone. "Once we're married and you finish this Master's program, maybe you should think about stepping back from work a bit." I looked up from my notebook where I'd been tallying expenses. "What do you mean, step back?" "I mean, maybe go part-time. Or just... not pursue any big promotions. You know, so you have time for the home, for me, for kids eventually." "Chris, I love my job." "I know, babe. But we can't have you becoming the breadwinner. That would emasculate me. I need to be able to provide for my family." "You would be providing. We'd both be providing. That's what partnership means." He looked up from his phone, and for a split second, I saw something in his eyes. Something cold. "Omolabake, I'm the man. The head. When we're married, my word is final. You can have your opinions, but at the end of the day, I lead. That's biblical." My stomach turned. "Chris, biblical headship doesn't mean dictatorship—" "I'm not arguing about this," he said, his voice suddenly sharp. Then he seemed to catch himself, softening. "Look, babe, we'll figure it out. No need to stress about it now." But I was stressed. Because this wasn't about career anymore. This was about control. And I didn't explain it away this time. I felt it. The wrongness of it. Crystal clear. Week 2: It was a Tuesday evening. I'd left work late and was driving home when I passed by the church. The lights were still on in the media room. Chris had mentioned he'd be working late on Sunday's presentation. On impulse, I decided to surprise him with food. I'd stopped at Sweet Sensation and picked up his favorite—meat pie and a vanilla milkshake. When I got to the church, his car was in the parking lot. So was Sister Bimpe's small Honda. My pulse quickened. Don't be paranoid, I told myself. They're probably just working. I walked to the media room and knocked. "Come in!" Chris's voice. I opened the door. Chris and Bimpe were sitting close together at the editing desk, both looking at the laptop screen. Not touching, nothing inappropriate. But the atmosphere... something felt off. "Omolabake!" Chris said, surprise flickering across his face. "What are you doing here?" "I brought you food. I saw the lights on and thought you might be hungry." "Oh. That's... thanks, babe." He didn't get up to hug me. Didn't come take the food. Sister Bimpe stood. "I should go. We're almost done anyway." "No, you don't have to leave on my account," I said, my voice tight. "It's fine. I have an early class tomorrow." She grabbed her bag and left, barely looking at me. After she was gone, I set the food on the desk. "You two seemed very focused." "We're editing the announcement slides. It requires concentration." "She's here a lot late, isn't she?" Chris sighed. "Are we doing this again? The jealousy thing?" "I'm not jealous. I'm observant." "Same thing." He closed his laptop. "You know what? I've lost my appetite. I think I should just go home." "Chris—" "No, Omolabake. I'm tired of defending myself. I'm tired of you questioning everything I do. If you don't trust me, maybe we shouldn't be getting married." The words hit like a slap. He grabbed his things and walked past me without another word. I stood there in the empty media room, holding a meat pie I'd bought for a man who'd just threatened our entire relationship because I noticed him with another woman. That night, I cried myself to sleep. But this time, the tears weren't confusion. They were clarity. Week 3: I decided to visit Chris's parents. We hadn't spent much time with them—Chris always had excuses for why we couldn't go see them. But I insisted, and he finally agreed. Their house was in Oluyole, on the other side of Ibadan—about a 45-minute drive from Bodija. Nice compound, well-kept. His mother welcomed me warmly—almost too warmly, like she was trying extra hard. After lunch, while Chris was outside with his father, his mother pulled me aside in the kitchen. "Omolabake, you seem like a good girl." "Thank you, ma." She hesitated, then: "Chris can be... particular. He has his ways. Marriage is about compromise, you know. Learning to adapt." I felt a chill. "What do you mean, particular?" "Oh, you know. He likes things a certain way. Doesn't like being questioned. But that's just him. His father is the same." She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "You'll learn to work around it." Work around it. Not "work with him." Not "he'll learn to compromise too." Work around it. Like he was a permanent fixture I just needed to adjust myself to accommodate. Later, as Chris and I were leaving, his younger sister—Nkem, 24, sweet girl—walked me to the car while Chris talked to his father. "Can I tell you something?" she whispered. "Of course." "Chris doesn't take advice well. From anyone. Even Daddy can't talk to him without him getting defensive." She looked nervously toward the house. "Just... be prepared for that. He's my brother and I love him, but..." She trailed off. "But what?" "Just be careful. That's all." The drive home was quiet. I kept thinking about what his mother and sister had said. They were warning me. In their own careful way, they were trying to tell me something I needed to hear. Week 4: I needed to print something for work. My printer at home was out of ink, so I texted Chris asking if I could use his. "Come over," he replied. "I'm home." When I got to his apartment, he was in the shower. "Go ahead and use the laptop," he called out. "Password is 1234." I opened his laptop and went to the printer settings. That's when the Instagram notification popped up. DM from someone named "Tola 💕" "Last night was fun 😘" My hands froze on the keyboard. I shouldn't look. That's an invasion of privacy . But my fingers were already clicking. The messages loaded. There were multiple threads. Multiple women. Flirty messages. Compliments. Inside jokes. Photos they'd sent him. Photos he'd sent back—nothing explicit, but the energy was all wrong. Sister Bimpe was there too. "You're such a tease" with a heart emoji. Another woman: "Can't wait to see you again." Him to another: "You looked beautiful today. As always." Nothing technically crossed any clear lines. No explicit content. No evidence of physical cheating. But this was emotional infidelity. This was a man who was engaged, planning a wedding, and maintaining flirtatious relationships with multiple women. I was staring at the screen when he came out of the bathroom, towel around his waist. "Find the printer settings?" he asked casually. Then he saw my face. Then he saw the laptop screen. "Are you—did you go through my messages?" His voice went from confused to furious in seconds. "It popped up. I didn't mean to, but Chris, what is all this?" "What is what? Private conversations you have no right to read?" "Flirty conversations with multiple women while you're engaged to me!" "They're FRIENDS, Omolabake! Friends! I'm allowed to have friends!” "This isn't friendship!" My voice was shaking. "This is... this is wrong and you know it!" "You know what's inappropriate? Snooping through someone's private messages! I can't believe you violated my trust like this!" The audacity. He'd violated our entire relationship, and I was the one violating trust? "So you're not even going to acknowledge that this is wrong?" I asked, feeling something break inside me. "The only thing wrong here is you!" He was yelling now. "You're controlling. You're insecure. You're jealous of every woman I interact with. Maybe your father was right. Maybe you're NOT mature enough for marriage!" That line. Again. Using my father's concerns as a weapon. I stood up, grabbed my bag, and walked to the door. "Where are you going?" he demanded. "Away from you." "Omolabake, if you walk out that door, don't come back." I stopped. Turned around. Looked at this man I'd almost married. And I saw him. Really saw him. Not the helpful man in the rain. Not the charming visitor who brought gifts. Not the romantic proposer with sunset and flowers. But a manipulative, controlling, emotionally unfaithful man who would gaslight me for the rest of my life. "Goodbye, Chris." I walked out. He didn't follow. God had answered my prayer. He'd shown me the truth. And it shattered me. But it also set me free. © Adebimpe Obafemi #TwoMonthsBefore #ToxicRelationship #RedFlags #KnowYourWorth #ChristianSingles

Never try to assume the role of the Holyspirit inna relationship. Some relationships are not meant to be. Don't go around trying to fix some who doesn't think they are broken.

Please don't copy, edit, or republish without permission. Want to share? Just credit the author: Adebimpe Jumoke Obafemi. Thank you! 💕 TWO MONTHS BEFORE : Part 5 THE PRAYER I WAS AFRAID TO PRAY By Month 5, I couldn't sleep properly anymore. I'd lie in bed until 2, 3, or sometimes 4 AM, staring at the ceiling, my mind racing with thoughts I couldn't shut off. Why doesn't Daddy like him? Why did Chris react that way when I mentioned the master's program? Why does he want me away from my family so badly? Why won't he do premarital counseling? Am I being paranoid? Am I self-sabotaging a good thing? What if I'm wrong? What if I'm right? The anxiety was eating me alive. I had gained 7 kilograms in two months from stress eating—chin-chin, puff-puff, and anything I could mindlessly munch on while pretending everything was fine. My performance at work started slipping. I'd catch myself zoning out during meetings, having to ask colleagues to repeat things. My supervisor pulled me aside once to ask if I was okay. "I'm fine," I lied. "Just wedding stress." "Well, take care of yourself," she said kindly. "Marriage is supposed to make you happy, not make you sick." But I was sick. Sick with doubt. Sick with fear. Sick with this gnawing feeling that I was making a terrible mistake but couldn't admit it. My parents noticed too, of course. They tiptoed around me like I was made of glass. My mother would make my favorite foods—trying to feed the stress away. My father would just look at me with these sad, knowing eyes that made me want to scream. Say something! I wanted to yell at him. If you know something I don't, just tell me! But he didn't. He just prayed. I'd see him in his study sometimes, eyes closed, lips moving silently. Praying for me, probably. Praying for wisdom. Praying that God would open my eyes. Finally, on a Wednesday afternoon, I couldn't take it anymore. I left work early, told my supervisor I had a migraine (which wasn't entirely a lie—the stress headaches were constant now), and drove straight to church. Pastor Mrs. Adeyemi's office was in a small building behind the main sanctuary. I'd been there many times for Back2Eden meetings, but never like this. Never desperate. I knocked on her door. "Come in!" When I opened the door, she looked up from her laptop, and her face immediately changed. "Omolabake." She stood. "What's wrong?" That's all it took. Those two words. I burst into tears. Not delicate, pretty crying. Ugly, gut-wrenching sobs that shook my whole body. The kind of crying that comes from months of holding everything in. She came around her desk immediately, pulling me into a hug, letting me soak her shoulder with tears. "Let it out," she said softly. "Just let it out." I cried for what felt like hours but was probably only ten minutes. When I finally pulled away, she handed me a box of tissues and sat me down on her couch. "Tell me everything," she said. And I did. I told her about my father's concerns. About Ogo's questions. About the comments Chris made concerning my career. His resistance to counseling. Sister Bimpe. All the little things that were bothering me. I told her about the sleepless nights, the stress eating, the zoning out at work. I told her about the voice in my head that kept whispering, Something is wrong, and the other voice that kept shouting, You're just being paranoid. She listened to everything without interrupting. Just listened, her face calm, her eyes kind. When I finally ran out of words, she was quiet for a long moment. Then she asked, "Omolabake, have you prayed about this? Really prayed?" "Yes," I said immediately. "I pray all the time. I pray for peace. I pray for clarity. I pray for God to bless our marriage." "That's not what I mean," she interrupted gently. "I mean, have you prayed for the truth? Have you asked God to show you who Chris really is, not who you want him to be?" I froze. "No," I admitted quietly. "Because I'm afraid of what God might show me." She nodded. "That's honest. But Omolabake, you can't marry someone you're afraid to know the truth about." "But we've already..." I gestured helplessly. "The venue is booked. The gown is being made. The introduction has happened. People are expecting—" "People aren't marrying him," she said firmly. "You are. And expectations and deposits are not reasons to commit your life to the wrong person." I started crying again. "What if I'm wrong? What if there's nothing actually wrong with him and I'm just self-sabotaging because I'm scared of commitment?" "Then God will show you that too," she said. "But Omolabake, listen to me. I've been watching you for the past few months. You used to light up when you came to Back2Eden. You had peace. You had joy. Now? You look exhausted. Anxious. Like you're carrying a weight you can't put down." "But wedding planning is stressful," I protested weakly. "This isn't wedding stress," she said. "This is soul stress. Your spirit is trying to tell you something, and you're working very hard not to listen." I wiped my eyes. "So what do I do?" She leaned forward, taking both my hands. "I want you to pray a dangerous prayer. Ask God to reveal Chris's true character to you. Not the version Chris shows you in public. Not the potential you see in him. But who he really is. And ask God to give you the courage to act on whatever He reveals." My heart was pounding. "I don't know if I want to know." "I know," she said gently. "Because knowing the truth might mean doing something hard. But Omolabake, living with a lie is harder. Trust me." She prayed with me right there in her office. A simple, terrifying prayer: "Father, show Labake the truth about Chris. Not what she wants to see, but what You want her to see. Give her eyes to see clearly. Give her the courage to act on what You reveal. Remove any blinders she has put up. We trust You with the outcome. In Jesus' name." When she finished, I whispered, "Amen." But inside, I was screaming. That night, I couldn't bring myself to pray that prayer again. I went home, told my parents I wasn't feeling well, and hid in my room. The wedding was in three months. Three months. We'd already paid the first installment on the venue—₦500,000—that we couldn't get back. My wedding dress was being sewn by one of the best tailors in Ibadan. The guest list was finalized—248 people. My aunties had already started buying their aso-ebi. Chris's extended family from Lagos and Abuja had booked their flights. And I was supposed to pray a prayer that might unravel all of it? I looked at my engagement ring, catching the light from my bedside lamp. It was beautiful. But wearing it felt like wearing handcuffs. For three days, I avoided the prayer. I made excuses. I told myself I was too busy. Too tired. That I would pray "when I have time to really focus." But on the fourth day, I woke up at 3 AM with that familiar knot in my stomach, tighter than ever. And I knew. I couldn't keep running. I got out of bed, knelt on the floor of my room, and whispered the prayer again: "God, show me the truth about Chris. Even if it hurts. Even if it ruins everything. I need to know." I didn't feel anything dramatic. No lightning. No audible voice. No sudden revelation. Just a quiet whisper in my spirit: Watch. And pay attention. So I decided to fast. Not for God to change my circumstances—but for God to change my sight. I told Chris I was doing a 7-day fast for "spiritual growth." He shrugged and said, "Okay, babe. Just don't get too spiritual on me." I should have heard the warning in those words. But I was already beginning to see. And what I was about to discover would change everything. © Adebimpe Obafemi #TwoMonthsBefore #ChristianSingles #SeekingGod #Back2Eden #DangerousPrayers #GodsWill

Do not copy this novel without adding the author's name. Do not edit! Do not publish without the permission of the author. Plagiarisers, be warned! TWO MONTHS BEFORE : Part 4 The Cracks I Explained Away Looking back, the signs were there from the beginning. I just explained them away. Because when you want something to work badly enough, you become very creative at reinterpreting reality. Month 1 of engagement: We were at a nice restaurant in Dugbe, celebrating my acceptance into the Master's program at UI. I was excited—this was a huge step for my career, and ACE had agreed to support my studies while I continued working. "That's great, babe," Chris said, but his smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "So you'll be even busier then. ""Well, yes, but it's worth it. And the company is paying for it! "He nodded, cutting into his rice. "Just... you know, once we're married, you might want to think about whether you really need all these additional qualifications. "I put down my fork. "What do you mean? ""I mean," he said carefully, "a Master's is great and all. But you already have a good job. At some point, you'll need to focus on home, on building our family. I wouldn't want my wife to be so career-focused that she neglects— "Neglects what?" I interrupted. "Nothing, nothing," he backtracked, reaching for my hand. "I'm just saying, it's just... easier that way, you know? For the man to lead. If you end up earning more than me, or having more credentials, it might create... tension. "My stomach twisted. But I smiled and squeezed his hand. "Chris, we're a team. Your success is my success. Mine is yours. Right? ""Of course," he said. "I'm just being traditional, I guess." Traditional, I told myself later. *He's just traditional. Nigerian men can be sensitive about these things. He'll come around. --- Month 2: Babe, don't you think it's time you got your own place?" Chris asked one evening. We were sitting in my parents' living room, and he'd been fidgety the whole visit. "Why? I'm comfortable here. ""You're almost 30, Omolabake. And you're still living with your parents?" He said it like it was something to be embarrassed about. "So what? I help with bills, I respect their space, they respect mine. Why would I waste money on rent? ""It's not about money," he said. "It's about us. We need privacy to build our relationship. How can we have real conversations with your dad in the next room? How can we… "He trailed off, but I knew what he meant. "Chris, we're not married yet," I said firmly. "And even if we were, we'd have our own home. But right now, this is where I live. "He dropped it that night, but he brought it up again the next week. And the week after that. Always with the same argument: privacy, independence, building *our* relationship. What I didn't see then was that he wanted me isolated. Away from my father's watchful eye. Away from my mother's questions. But I told myself he just wanted more time with me. *That's sweet*, I thought. *He can't wait to build our life together. — Month 3: By this point, Chris had fully integrated into my church—the church he'd only started attending after we began dating. Within weeks, he'd joined the media unit and was now leading the team. Everyone loved him. He seemed so committed to serving. I attended a midweek service at church where Chris was leading the media team. After service, I waited for him by the media room. Through the door, I could hear laughter—his laugh and someone else's. Female voices. When I walked in, he was sitting close to Sister Bimpe, showing her something on the laptop. Two other young women from the team were there too, perched on the desk, all smiles and giggles. "Oh, Omolabake!" Chris said, standing quickly. "I didn't know you were still here. ""I was waiting for you," I said, trying to keep my voice light. "Sorry, babe. We're just finishing up some edits for Sunday's service." He gestured at the laptop. Sister Bimpe smiled at me—one of those smiles that doesn't reach the eyes. "Your fiancé is such a great leader. We're so blessed to have him heading the team. ""Yes," I said. "He's very... dedicated. "As we walked to the car later, I brought it up. "You seem very close with Sister Bimpe. ""What?" He looked genuinely confused. "Bimpe? She's just on the team. ""You were sitting very close. "He stopped walking and turned to face me. "Omolabake, are you serious right now? We were looking at a laptop screen. How else are we supposed to see it? ""I just— ""Just what? You're jealous? Of church ministry?" He laughed, but it wasn't a kind laugh. "Labake, don't be insecure. I'm in ministry. I have to work with people. You of all people should understand servant leadership. "I felt my face get hot. "I'm not being insecure, I just— ""You are. And it's not attractive." He started walking again. "I thought you were more mature than this. "I followed him silently, feeling stupid. Small. Like I'd made a big deal out of nothing. But late that night, I couldn't shake the feeling. The way Sister Bimpe had looked at him. The way he'd laughed with them. The way his whole body language changed when I walked in. *You're being paranoid*, I told myself. *He's right. You're being insecure and jealous. Stop it. --- Month 4: I think we should do pre-marital counseling," I suggested one Saturday. We were at his apartment—yes, I'd eventually started visiting his place, though I never stayed late. Chris looked up from his phone. "What? ""Pre-marital counseling. With Pastor Mrs. Adeyemi. She does it for all the couples from Back2Eden. ""Why?" His tone was sharp. "We're both mature Christians, Omolabake. We pray together. We study the Bible. What do we need counseling for? ""It's not that we *need* it. It's just... helpful. To discuss things like finances, conflict resolution, expectations— ""We can discuss that ourselves," he interrupted. "We don't need someone else telling us how to run our marriage. ""It's not telling us how to run our marriage. It's helping us prepare for— ""I don't think so. ""Chris— ""Besides," he said, his voice suddenly cold, "I don't think your pastor's wife likes me anyway. "I blinked. "What? Why would you say that? ""She asks a lot of questions every time we talk. It's like she's interrogating me. Looking for something wrong. ""She's just trying to get to know you— ""It feels judgmental," he said flatly. "And honestly, I don't want her in our business. Marriage is between us and God. We don't need a third party. "The conversation ended there. He changed the subject, and I let him. But later, alone in my room, I felt that twist in my stomach again. Why didn't he want pre-marital counseling? Why was he so defensive about Pastor Mrs. Adeyemi's questions? What was he afraid she might see? He's just private, I told myself. *Some people don't like sharing personal things with others. It doesn't mean anything. But it did mean something. It meant he didn't want anyone asking questions he couldn't control the answers to.It meant he didn't want accountability. It meant he saw my pastor's wife's discernment for what it was: a threat. But I was too in love—or too desperate—to see it. So I dropped the counseling idea and told myself we'd figure it out on our own. — Each month, the cracks got wider. Each month, my excuses got more creative. Each month, the knot in my stomach got tighter. But I was engaged. The wedding was planned. People were excited for us. How could I admit I was having doubts? How could I tell anyone that the ring on my finger felt heavier every day? So I didn't tell anyone. I just kept explaining away the cracks, painting over them with hope and desperation and the fear of being alone forever. Until the cracks became too wide to ignore. Part 5: "The Prayer I Was Afraid to Pray" drops Monday at 8 PM. © Adebimpe Obafemi

TWO MONTHS BEFORE Part 2 : How It All Began Let me back up. It was a Tuesday evening in March. I remember because I'd just left a particularly exhausting shift at ACE Pharmaceutical. We'd had a quality control issue with one of our new formulations, and I'd spent hours in meetings trying to resolve it. All I wanted was to get home, take a hot shower, and maybe catch the 7 PM Back2Eden program at church. That program had become my lifeline—a safe space where Pastor Mrs. Adeyemi taught us about navigating singleness with purpose, recognizing healthy relationships, and not letting cultural pressure rush us into wrong decisions. Ironic, isn't it? That I'd been attending a program about discernment, and still almost married the wrong person. But that Tuesday, I never made it to church. I was driving through Bodija when my car started making a terrible grinding noise. Then it just... stopped. Right there in the middle of the road, with cars honking behind me and rain starting to pour. I tried to restart it. Nothing. I called my father's mechanic. Phone switched off. And then, as if the universe wanted to add insult to injury, my period cramps hit—the kind that makes you want to curl up in a ball and not move for hours. I sat there in my dead car, rain drumming on the roof, feeling like the biggest failure. I was 28, educated, professionally successful, and I couldn't even keep my car running. I couldn't make it to the one program that was helping me stay sane about being single in a culture that treated unmarried women my age like we had some kind of expiration date. I put my head on the steering wheel and fought back tears. That's when I heard the tap on my window. I looked up to see a man standing in the rain, holding an umbrella. He was dressed in a brown suit—the kind you wear when you're coming from somewhere important or going somewhere important. His butter-colored shirt was getting wet despite the umbrella, and his brown tie was perfectly knotted. "Are you okay?" he shouted over the rain. "Do you need help? "I cracked the window. "My car died. I don't know what's wrong with it. ""Let me take a look." He didn't wait for my permission. He just handed me his umbrella through the window, rolled up his sleeves, and popped my hood. I watched him through the rain-streaked windshield, this stranger who was getting soaked trying to help me. Most men would have just driven past. Some might have stopped to look, realized they couldn't help, and left. But this one stayed. After a few minutes, he came back to my window. "I think it's your alternator, but I'm not sure. Let me call my guy—he's a mechanic. He can come check it out properly. ""You don't have to—""It's fine. I can't just leave you here. "While we waited for his mechanic, he stood by my car, in the rain, making sure no one hit me from behind. When a danfo driver started yelling at me to move my "useless car," this stranger—I still didn't even know his name—stepped in front of my car and told the driver to go around. His mechanic arrived about twenty minutes later. The diagnosis: alternator failure, plus the battery was dead. It would take at least an hour to fix, maybe longer. "Look," the stranger said, "it's getting dark and it's still raining. This isn't a safe place for you to wait alone. Let me wait with you. ""I can't ask you to do that. You were clearly going somewhere." I gestured to his suit. He smiled. "I was heading home from work. It can wait. Besides, my mother raised me better than to leave a sister stranded in the rain. "That's when I finally asked his name."Chris," he said, extending his hand through the window. ""Omolabake," I replied. "Thank you for stopping. ""Omolabake," he repeated, getting the pronunciation right on the first try. "Beautiful name. God's wealth has come home, right? "I was surprised. Most people, especially non-Yorubas, struggled with my name. "You speak Yoruba? ""My mother is Yoruba, father is Igbo. I grew up with both." He grinned. "Which means I got double the culture and double the expectations. "I laughed despite myself, despite the cramps, despite the rain, despite everything. We talked while his mechanic worked. He asked about my job, and I told him about ACE Pharmaceutical. He told me he worked in tech, managing digital communications for a firm in Ibadan. He asked if I lived nearby, and I mentioned I lived with my parents in Bodija, which wasn't far. "Wait, you're a pharmacist with a good job and you still live with your parents?" He said it with genuine curiosity, not judgment. "Why not?" I replied, a bit defensive. "My parents respect my privacy, I help with bills, and honestly, why would I waste money on rent when I have a comfortable home? ""That's actually wise," he said, nodding. "Too many people move out just to prove they're 'independent,' then struggle to save money. You're smart. "That comment stayed with me. Most guys my age would have made fun of me for still living at home. Chris didn't. By the time the car was fixed—almost two hours later—the rain had stopped and it was completely dark. Chris had stayed the entire time. His suit was wrinkled, his shoes were muddy, and he'd missed whatever plans he'd had. "Let me follow you home," he said. "Just to make sure the car doesn't act up again.""You've done more than enough— ""Omolabake, it's dark. Please. Just let me make sure you get home safely. "So he followed me home, his car headlights behind me the whole way, like a guardian. When I pulled into our compound and parked, he pulled up behind me and got out. My mother had been watching from the window—she always did when I came home late. She came out to the veranda, concern written all over her face. "Mummy, my car broke down," I called out. "This is Chris. He helped me. "Chris walked up to the veranda and greeted my mother properly—in Yoruba, with the full prostration. My mother's eyebrows went up in approval. "Thank you for helping my daughter," she said. "It was nothing, ma. I'm just glad she's home safe. "I invited him in for at least some water, but he declined. "It's late already. I should get home. I just wanted to make sure she arrived safely. "Before he left, we exchanged numbers. "Just in case you have any more car trouble," he said with a smile. "Or if you need recommendations for a better mechanic than the one your father uses. "I laughed and waved as he drove off. When I went inside, my mother was waiting. "That was kind of him. ""Yes," I agreed. "Really kind. ""Make sure you thank him properly tomorrow," she said. I did. I called him the next day to thank him again, and we talked for an hour. Then another hour the next day. And the day after that. Within two weeks, we were talking every day.Within a month, he'd visited my parents again—this time with that expensive wine for my father and the beautiful watch for my mother. My siblings loved him. He made everyone laugh. Within two months of dating, Chris started attending my church. "I want to worship where you worship," he said. It seemed romantic at the time. Looking back, I realize he was embedding himself into every part of my life—my family, my church, my world. Chris felt like a gift. A man who'd literally appeared in the rain when I needed help most. How could that not be God? Looking back now, I realize: not everyone who helps you in the rain is meant to stay in your life. Sometimes, people appear at your lowest moment because you're vulnerable. And vulnerable people are easy to impress. I was tired of being single. Tired of the questions. Tired of feeling like I was running out of time. So when Chris appeared, kind and attentive and interested, I saw what I wanted to see. An answer to prayer. Not a test of discernment. © Adebimpe Obafemi Part 3 drops on Wednesday by 8pm

The whole town was RED on Saturday. I'm talking about red dresses, red shirts, red everything. You didn't need to check your calendar to know what day it was. Valentine's Day had arrived. And oh, the shops were PACKED. Restaurants? Fully booked. Hotels? No vacancies. Everyone—and I mean everyone—was out there buying gifts. Married couples, dating couples, "it's complicated" couples... all scrambling to show love. I even heard some wives were seriously vexing for their husbands because... no gift. Can you imagine the cold war at home? But here's what breaks my heart: Some young girls gave away pieces of themselves for temporary affection. For one night of feeling "special." And in about nine months, some will realize that Valentine's "love" came with a price tag they weren't ready to pay. My question is simple: Who made this rule that love can only be celebrated one day a year? I saw singles genuinely depressed, scrolling through posts of their friends receiving flowers and chocolates, wondering why nobody thought of them. I know couples who literally wait 365 days before they give each other anything meaningful. Don't get me wrong—celebrating love is beautiful. But boxing it into February 14th? That's where we're getting it wrong. God isn't anti-love. Actually, He's the biggest lover of all. He speaks every love language fluently, and guess what? He does it DAILY. Not once a year. Daily. So why are we limiting ourselves? Dear wife, maybe it's time to let go of that anger from Saturday. Your husband forgot Valentine's—okay. But if you both make celebrating each other a daily habit, one missed day won't feel like the end of the world. Dear singles, listen to me: Your worth is NOT tied to February 14th. You are valuable every single day of the year. You deserve love and celebration 365 days straight, not just when Hallmark says so. Anyway, what do I even know? I'm just thinking out loud. I come in peace o! By the way! 2 Months Before Part 2 drops tonight at 8pm. Don't miss it! The full novel is coming soon for all my Back2Eden family. © Adebimpe Obafemi Share with someone who deserves some love.

Two Months Before Part 1 : The Conversation I'll Never Forget "Omolabake. "The way my father said my name that evening—soft, measured, heavy with something I couldn't quite identify—made me look up from my phone. We were in the living room. My mother had just cleared the dinner plates. The evening news played quietly in the background. "Omolabake.Omolabake. Omolabake. "Three times. That's never good. "Yes, Daddy?" I answered, trying to keep my voice light even though my heart was already racing. He leaned forward in his favorite chair, hands clasped between his knees. His reading glasses were perched on his head, and he had that expression—the one that made me feel like a little girl again, except I wasn't. I was 28 years old, a licensed pharmacist with a Master's degree in progress, engaged to be married in three months. "Have you really prayed about Chris?" His voice was quieter than usual. Not angry—just concerned in that way that makes your stomach drop. "I mean, beyond asking God to bless what you've already decided? "The question hit me like cold water. I felt my shoulders tense. "Daddy, I'm not a child anymore. I'm 28. I'm a professional. I can hear from God myself." The words came out sharper than I intended. He didn't flinch. He just watched me with those eyes that had seen me through scraped knees, heartbreaks, and sleepless nights studying for pharmacy exams. The eyes that had celebrated my first job offer and helped me buy my first car. "I know you can, Omolabake. I've never doubted your ability to hear from God." He paused, and when he spoke again, his voice was even softer. "I just... I don't have peace about this. Your mother and I—we've been praying. And I keep asking God to show me what I'm missing, to help me understand why I feel this way. But all I know is... there's no peace. ""But Daddy, you can't even tell me what's wrong with him!" My voice was rising now, frustration bubbling over. "Chris is a good man. He's a Christian. He has a job. His family is lovely. What more do you want? ""I don't know," he admitted, and for the first time, I saw something in my father's face I'd rarely seen: helplessness. "That's what troubles me most. I can't point to one thing and say 'this is it.' But Omolabake, I've learned over the years that when the Holy Spirit removes peace, there's a reason. Even if we can't see it yet. "I stood up, my phone clutched in my hand like a lifeline. "So what are you saying? That I should call off my wedding because of a *feeling*? ""I'm saying," he said carefully, standing too, "that you should pray. Really pray. Ask God to show you the truth about Chris—not the version you want to see, but who he really is. "What I didn't say aloud but screamed in my head: Why can't you just be happy for me? Why can't you trust that I know what I'm doing? My mother appeared in the doorway, having heard everything. She didn't say a word. She just looked at me with sad, knowing eyes that made me want to cry and scream at the same time. I mumbled something about having work to finish and escaped to my room. That conversation happened three months into my engagement. I wish—oh, how I wish—I had listened. ©Adebimpe Jumoke Obafemi

Two months before my wedding, I called it off. The dress was ready. The venue was booked. Invitations had been sent. Family members had booked flights. Everyone thought I was crazy. My father couldn't explain what was wrong. My friends said I was overthinking. Even I thought I was making the biggest mistake of my life. But God showed me something I couldn't unsee. This is that story. Part 1 drops tonight at 8 PM. It's about the conversation that saved my life. The prayer I was afraid to pray. The red flags I explained away. And the courage it took to choose peace over plans. If you've ever felt pressure to ignore your gut feeling... If you've ever been called "too picky" or "too spiritual"... If you've ever wondered if you're throwing away your only chance… This story is for you. Set your reminder. Tonight at 8 PM. You won't want to miss this. © AdeBimpe Jumoke Obafemi

You do not become a man because you are married. You become a man by the way you handle your home—how you make decisions, how you respond to pressure, and how you treat those under your care. Scripture defines Christ-like leadership through the lens of Servant Leadership. To lead like Christ is to be the first to serve, the first to sacrifice, and the first to forgive. After the fall in Genesis 3:16–17, something shifted. God’s original design was mutual support, companionship, and harmony. But sin introduced struggle: • The wife would desire control. • The husband would respond with domination. This is where rulership replaced leadership. Rulership controls. Leadership serves. A ruler uses authority to force compliance. A leader uses influence to inspire growth. Many men think they are leading, but they are only ruling. They feel respected when their wives submit to control, not when they willingly follow vision. But hear this clearly: Your wife and children do not follow because you demand it. They follow because they trust you. Bros, calm down. Nobody is dragging headship with you. Headship is not proven by force. It is proven by Christ-likeness. If a man is not transformed, he will lead from the old fallen pattern. God gave Adam instruction because He expected Adam to guide, teach, and protect Eve—not dominate her. As a man, you are called to be: • Priest – providing spiritual covering (Joshua 24:15, Job 1:5) • Protector – guarding your family’s wellbeing (Nehemiah 4:14) • Provider – taking responsibility (1 Timothy 5:8) Christ showed us the model. 1. Jesus led by example (John 13:14–15) He did not only speak truth. He lived it. Do not expect your children to pray when they have never seen you pray. 2. Jesus led in love (Ephesians 5:25) Christ loved sacrificially. Leadership in marriage is measured by your willingness to sacrifice ego, comfort, and convenience. 3. Jesus led through availability He was present physically, emotionally, and mentally. You can be in the same room and still be absent. Christ-like leadership is attentive leadership. 4. Jesus led through service (Mark 10:43) Leadership is not a throne. It is a towel. When you accepted to be the head, you accepted to be the servant. 5. Jesus created growth in others He raised leaders, not dependents. Your leadership should not suppress your wife. It should help her flourish. A godly leader provides: • Direction • Vision • Focus • Spiritual covering Your family should be able to stand on your shoulders and see the future clearly. Scripture says in 1 Peter 3:7 to treat your wife with understanding and honor. She is not your subject. She is your partner. When leadership reflects Christ, respect flows naturally. It is not forced. It is earned. © Adebimpe Obafemi

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Words are like eggs. Once they fall and break, they can never be put back together again. That is why we must weigh our words carefully before we speak. Many homes have been broken, destinies wounded, and hearts scarred—not by actions alone, but by careless and harsh words. Words carry power. Words spoken with grace are gold. They can heal, strengthen, and empower. But words spoken in anger can wound, demoralize, and destroy. Words can build a home, and words can also tear it down. This is especially important during disagreements with your spouse. Choose your words wisely. A gentle word turns away anger, but harsh words stir up strife (Proverbs 15:1). Most times, the problem at home is not the issue itself, but how it is communicated. Words can escalate conflict, and words can also heal. Couples, even Christian couples, sometimes speak in ways that dishonor the very person they vowed to love. How can you call your wife a fool, forgetting she is your partner and helper? How can you call your husband stupid, forgetting he is the one you chose to build life with? In moments of anger, pause. Think. Choose wisdom over emotion. Do not say words you may regret for the rest of your life. What you say when your spouse is vulnerable can either draw them closer to you or push them further away. Your words carry spiritual and emotional authority. God has given you power through your mouth—to bless or to harm, to build or to destroy. Let your words carry grace. Let your words carry wisdom. Let your words carry love. Choose words that build your marriage, not words that break it. © Adebimpe Obafemi

Marriage is not a one-man show. It is not a sole proprietorship. It is a partnership. A sole proprietor makes decisions alone, celebrates victories alone, and carries failures alone. But marriage was never designed to function that way. In marriage, there is no isolated victory and no isolated defeat. You either win together, or you lose together. Many marriages struggle not because of lack of love, but because of lack of partnership mentality. When one person tries to carry what was designed for two, frustration becomes inevitable. God Himself models partnership. When you study the relationship between the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, you see divine order, unity, and cooperation. The Father leads, the Son submits, and the Holy Spirit executes—yet there is no competition, no insecurity, and no struggle for dominance. Each understands His role. Each honors the other. Each works toward the same purpose. Even at creation, God said, “Let Us make man in Our image.” (Genesis 1:26) This reveals that partnership is not a human invention—it is a divine pattern. Marriage must reflect this same reality. The husband alone cannot make the marriage work. The wife alone cannot make the marriage work. Both partners must accept responsibility. Both must be committed. Both must be willing to build. A car may have a perfect engine, but if the tires refuse to cooperate, the vehicle cannot move. Every part matters. Every role matters. Marriage is not the union of two perfect people. It is the union of two responsible people who understand that success is mutual, growth is mutual, and victory is mutual. The question is not “Who is right?” The question is “Are we building together?” Because in marriage, partnership is not optional. It is essential. © Adebimpe Obafemi

“He is a nice guy.” “She is a good girl.” That is not enough. Before you purchase your favourite car, you first confirm from the manufacturer whether that model was designed for you—your terrain, your journey, and your purpose. In the same way, there are many nice guys and good girls who are simply not meant for you. I have many male friends who are kind, decent, and genuinely good, but they were not tailored to fit into God’s plan for my life. There are people who were interested in me in the past, and when I see them now, I sincerely thank God that I did not agree to marry them. They were not bad people. Some are even children of God. But they could not act the script God wrote concerning my life. Some people come into your life for a season. Some are only meant to be acquaintances. You need to understand this to have peace. Personally, I have never regretted anyone walking out of my life in a relationship. I always remind myself that the best of God is still ahead. No grudges. No pain. Because I did not give anyone what I could not live without. I once asked a sister how she knew she was with the right person. She replied, “I asked people, and they all said he is a good man.” I then asked her, “But is that what God is saying too?” She could not answer. Because the fact that someone is good does not mean they are God’s will for you. Many people are in pain today because they married a nice guy or a good girl without confirming divine alignment. My prayer for you: May you find the perfect will of God for your life. May you not turn your future partner into a temporary friend, and may you not make someone meant to be temporary your future spouse. © Adebimpe Obafemi

Martha said to Jesus, “Lord, if only you had been here, my brother would not have died.” She thought it was too late. By human judgment, she was right. By science, she was right. But Jesus is not limited by time or nature—He delayed for a purpose. What looked dead was only an opportunity for God’s glory. 💡 Feeling overwhelmed? Does it seem God is taking too long? Calm down—He’s never late. That hopeless situation will turn around. Those waiting to mock will soon join in your celebration. 👉 If you believe, you will see the glory of God.

The first blessing God pronounced on the man He created was that of fruitfulness. When God created man in His image and likeness, He deposited in him the power and ability to reproduce. Our God is result-oriented. He commanded man to be fruitful because He had already invested His nature and potential in him. As a good and loving Father, God also made provision for everything man would need to be fruitful: Spiritual fruitfulness – Genesis 2:7 Material fruitfulness – Genesis 2:8-9 Financial fruitfulness – Genesis 2:11-12 Intellectual fruitfulness – Genesis 2:19 Covenant blessings – Leviticus 7:13-14 Sadly, the man God created was not obedient. After being driven out of Eden and following the destruction of the world by the flood, God began to seek a personal, one-on-one relationship with mankind. He searched for men and women willing to walk with Him and obey His commands (Leviticus 26:9). That’s why we see Him entering into covenant with individuals like Noah (Genesis 9:1), Abraham (Genesis 17:6), Isaac, and Jacob. Our ability to bear quality fruit is tied to whom we are connected to (John 15:4). The fruit we bear in our lives and homes depends on the root of our relationship with God (Luke 6:43-45). When we bear fruit, God is glorified (John 15:8). Fruitfulness goes beyond childbearing. Imagine having children but lacking the means to care for them—that leads to frustration. Fruitfulness is a reward for labour, but we can either labour in our strength or align with the One who knows the way (Colossians 1:9-10). HOW TO ATTRACT GOD’S FAVOUR FOR MARITAL FRUITFULNESS 1. Serve God wholeheartedly and obey divine instruction – Exodus 23:25-28, Colossians 3:23-24, Matthew 22:37, Joshua 24:15, Leviticus 26:3-4, 25:18-19 2. Honour your father and mother – Ephesians 6:2-3, 1 Timothy 5:4, Proverbs 20:20, 23:22, Leviticus 19:32 3. Honour God’s servants – Ezekiel 44:30, 1 Thessalonians 5:12, 2 Kings 4:8-37, 2 Kings 2:23-24 4. Show brotherly love – Hebrews 13:1-2 5. Honour your marriage – Hebrews 13:4, 1 Peter 3:1-5, 7, Malachi 2:14 As Theodore Hesburgh wisely said, “The most important thing a father can do for his children is to love their mother.” The fruit we bear in our lives and homes depends on the root of our relationship with God. May your life produce the kind of result that will give glory to God in Jesus Name. #MarriageMatters #FaithAndLove #KingdomMarriage #DailyDevotional #GodlyUnion #Back2Eden #asitwasinthebeginning #thefathersproject Adebimpe Obafemi

When God wants to do a new thing, He first examines the container—its fit, capacity, and integrity—before He pours in the content. The container must match the nature of the content. This is why God is not only concerned about what He is doing in your life but also who you are becoming. > “No one puts new wine into old wineskins…” — Matthew 9:17 God called Abraham out of his father’s house (Genesis 12:1). God needed a new lineage, a new beginning—something that couldn't be birthed in an old system filled with error. Likewise, God didn’t call you into marriage to repeat your parents’ mistakes. He called you out—into something beautiful, new, and divinely orchestrated. God gave Abraham a twofold instruction: “Go from your country, your people, and your father’s household” “Go to the land I will show you” Leaving is not abandonment; it is preparation for responsibility. Many couples today are physically married but emotionally tied to their parents. Until you let go, you can’t truly take hold. Genesis 24:5–8 shows how Isaac, who never returned to that old system, escaped the pattern of generational dysfunction. But Jacob, who stayed, suffered it—repeating the same unhealthy cycles of polygamy and household confusion. To build your home, you must detach from ungodly patterns, culture, and dependencies. God wants to pour new wine into your marriage, but you must first deal with the old wineskin of: Bitterness, Parental control, Cultural lies (e.g., "a man must beat his wife to show authority"),Unhealed trauma, Unforgiveness, Emotional immaturity. If you grow up in a community that normalizes abuse, and you don’t renew your mind, you will carry that dysfunction into your marriage—even if you physically leave the environment. Some singles need to pause and heal before entering a new relationship. Otherwise, they will punish their future spouse for the crimes of their ex. Suitors may come, but what they often see is someone unprepared to sustain marriage. Carrying past pain into present relationships is one of the reasons many marriages break down before they even fully begin. Many people come to God not to receive but to instruct Him. They have unrealistic expectations—pre-designed images of who their spouse must be. So when the right person comes, they can't recognize them. Even when they marry, the marriage crumbles under the weight of unmet, unrealistic expectations. > “That small anger”—that inherited pride or stubbornness—can ruin the most anointed marriage. A brother may be gifted, respected, and spiritual, but if he hasn’t overcome his flesh (e.g., sleeping around), marriage won’t fix it. It might expose it. God is not mocked—He won’t pour valuable wine into a leaking or contaminated vessel. When Jesus turned water into wine (John 2), it wasn’t only the couple who drank—it was everyone present. This shows that when God blesses your marriage, others are impacted too. Your home can be a testimony. But you must trace the source—Jesus—and invite Him fully into your marriage. God is ready to pour. Are you ready to receive? MarriageMatters #FaithAndLove #KingdomMarriage #DailyDevotional #GodlyUnion #Back2Eden #asitwasinthebeginning #thefathersproject