The sun rose gentle and golden that Sunday morning. Birds sang from the trees as I buttoned my shirt — the one Rebecca had ironed with such care the night before.
Rebecca walked beside me as we made our way down the quiet street toward Mama Connie's church. The rhythm of our footsteps was slow but steady, each step a small victory on its own.
"Don't rush," she said softly, her hand brushing mine. "We're getting there."
I nodded, taking in her words. My heart was racing — not from exhaustion, but from a mixture of excitement and fear. It had been so long since I'd been among so many people. After my trauma, I'd gotten used to silence, to safety within small spaces.
But today was different. Today, I was walking toward something larger than fear.
As we neared the church, the sound of singing floated through the air — voices rising and blending in worship. Rebecca smiled. "Hear that?" she said. "God's servants are already at work."
I smiled faintly, but inside, I felt a knot tighten in my stomach. The parking lot was already full. People were greeting one another at the gate, dressed in their Sunday best.
Rebecca noticed my hesitation and gently placed her hand on my back. "You're not alone," she whispered.
We stepped through the gate together. Every face, every handshake, felt like another reminder that I was alive — that I still had a place in this world.
Then I saw Mama Connie near the front entrance, waving as soon as she spotted me. "My boy!" she called out joyfully. "Look at you — God is good!"
Her words echoed in my heart. For a moment, all the noise faded, replaced by peace.
We walked slowly toward her, the morning sun shining over us. And as I crossed the threshold into that church, I felt something lift — not just fear, but the weight of everything I'd carried for so long.
This wasn't just a return to church. It was a return to life.
---Beautiful 🙏 — this next chapter marks a spiritual breakthrough, where healing reaches the soul. Here's Chapter Thirty-Four, capturing that sacred moment inside the church:
---
Chapter Fifteen [continued]
The church doors opened wide, and a wave of warmth and song washed over me.
The choir's voices filled the hall — soft at first, then rising in a joyful harmony that made the air itself feel alive.
Rebecca and I found seats near the middle row. I sat down slowly, taking in everything — the bright white walls, the wooden cross at the front, and the sea of faces turned toward the pulpit. Some smiled as if they recognized me; others just nodded kindly.
My hands trembled slightly. I clasped them together, whispering a quiet prayer.
Thank You for bringing me this far.
Mama Connie was up near the front, dancing with energy that seemed endless, her hands raised high in worship. Her joy was contagious. Even before the pastor spoke, I could feel something moving in me — like a gentle stirring of the spirit I'd buried under fear and pain.
When the pastor finally took the microphone, the room grew still. He looked across the congregation, his voice deep and calm.
> "Sometimes," he said, "God will pull you away from the noise — from the crowds, from the world — just to fix you in private. When you return, people won't understand what kept you alive, but you will."
His words struck deep. I felt a tightness in my chest, not from sickness — but from truth. I looked down at my hands and thought of the nights I couldn't move, the mornings I woke up fighting my own body, the times I thought I wouldn't make it.
Rebecca reached for my hand, squeezing it gently. I looked at her and saw tears in her eyes.
The pastor continued,
> "You may have scars, but scars are proof you survived. You're still here because there's more for you to do."
That was it — I couldn't hold it in anymore. My eyes filled with tears. I wasn't crying from sadness, but from the weight being lifted. For the first time in years, I wasn't thinking about pain, loss, or fear. I was thinking about grace.
When the choir began to sing again, I stood up slowly — weak in the knees, but strong in spirit. Rebecca rose beside me, and we sang together.
And right there, surrounded by voices, I realized something:
I didn't come to church just to thank God for healing me.
I came to remember why He saved me.
---
The service felt like it could go on forever — not because it was long, but because it was alive. Every song, every word carried a meaning that reached straight to the heart.
As the final hymn ended, Mama Connie whispered something to the pastor and pointed in my direction. He nodded with a smile, and before I knew it, she was calling out my name.
"Family," she said proudly, "today, God has brought one of our sons back home. I've watched this young man grow from a child, and I know what he's overcome. Please, welcome Mbijana!"
The congregation clapped warmly as I stood. My heart pounded as I walked to the front — every step felt heavy, yet guided. The pastor handed me the microphone, his hand resting on my shoulder in quiet encouragement.
For a moment, I stood there in silence, looking at all the faces — young, old, hopeful, and searching. I cleared my throat and began to speak.
> "Good morning, everyone. It's been a long time since I've stood in front of people like this. Some of you might not know my story… but I've been through the fire and came back different. There was a time I couldn't walk, couldn't even speak properly. A time I thought I had no reason to keep going."
I paused, glancing at Rebecca and Manessah, sitting together in the middle row. Rebecca's eyes glistened with pride.
> "But God gave me one reason after another. My daughters. My family. People who never gave up on me when I couldn't even stand on my own. And today, I'm here to tell the youth — you always have a choice in life. Every decision you make has a consequence. Choose right. Choose life. Choose peace."
The church fell silent — a stillness filled with emotion.
> "I didn't come this far by my strength," I continued. "I came this far because God still has a plan for me. So if you're going through something that feels impossible, remember — it's not the end. It's a lesson, a second chance to rise."
I lowered the microphone slowly. The congregation rose to their feet, clapping and praising. Some shouted "Amen!" while others simply wiped away tears.
Mama Connie hugged me tightly when I stepped down.
"That's the Mbijana I know," she said, smiling through tears. "You didn't just come back to life — you came back to lead."
I smiled faintly, whispering, "All glory to God."
--
The service ended, but my heart was still wide awake — still echoing with the songs, the clapping, and the warmth of the people. I walked out of the church surrounded by smiles and handshakes. Some said, "God bless you," others simply nodded with respect.
Outside, the sun was high, bathing everything in light. I felt it on my skin like a quiet confirmation — you made it through.
Rebecca walked beside me, carrying Manessah in her arms. She looked at me with a pride I can't quite put into words.
"You were amazing," she said softly. "I almost cried when you spoke about choices. You spoke from the heart."
I chuckled gently. "It just came out naturally. I didn't even plan to say anything."
She smiled. "That's how you know it was meant to be."
As we walked slowly down the familiar street, I looked around — the houses, the trees, the kids running and laughing in the distance. For the first time in a long while, I wasn't just passing through life. I was feeling it again.
"Rebecca," I said after a moment, "when I was standing there in front of everyone, I felt… free. Like the weight I've been carrying finally fell off."
She nodded, adjusting Manessah on her hip. "You've carried so much for so long. Maybe this was God's way of reminding you — you were never alone."
Her words sat softly in my chest.
We reached home, and I opened the gate while Manessah giggled, reaching for my face. I kissed her tiny hand and smiled.
"Daddy's home," I said quietly, more to myself than anyone else.
Rebecca placed her hand on my shoulder. "You did well today," she whispered. "I'm proud of you."
I looked back at her, feeling the calm of the afternoon settle around us. "No," I said with a smile. "We did well."
We walked inside, the smell of home wrapping around us like a warm blanket. And as I sat down, my body tired but my spirit light, I whispered a small prayer of gratitude — for healing, for love, and for another chance to live.