BEAUTY FROM THE ASHES Episode 6 The women’s conference stretched across the week like a divine unfolding, each evening a sacred appointment that Amara hadn’t even known her soul had been craving. It wasn’t just a program; it was an invitation. An invitation to heal, to awaken and to breathe again. The first night had left her in tears. The speaker, a soft-spoken woman with eyes that seemed to hold the weight of a thousand stories, had shared her journey from despair to deliverance. Amara sat quietly in the third row, tears slipping down her cheeks as the words struck something deep, something raw within her. She wasn’t alone. Not in her pain. Not in her confusion. Not even in her silence. Every session after that peeled back another layer of pain, of pride, of fear. Like an onion shedding its skin, Amara found herself slowly unraveling. The masks she had worn for years...the brave wife, the silent sufferer, the spiritual martyr, began to fall. With every worship session, with every testimony, the walls she had so carefully constructed began to crack. Each night, she came home lighter. And each morning, she woke with a little more clarity. It was as if her heart was remembering how to feel again, how to hope. By Thursday, something inside her had shifted. That night’s message felt like it was delivered straight from the throne room of heaven to her wounded heart. The speaker, a fiery preacher with a voice that could calm storms or rouse an army, stood with authority and grace. She read from Isaiah 61:3: “…to give them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness…” The words echoed through the hall, soaking into the atmosphere like rain on dry soil. Amara closed her eyes and let them wash over her. Beauty for ashes. Joy for mourning. Praise for heaviness. She didn’t know when the tears had started, but they came in quiet streams, not of sorrow, but of release. For the first time in a long time, Amara allowed herself to believe that maybe, just maybe, her story wasn’t over. That perhaps God hadn’t abandoned her in the wreckage of her marriage, but had been waiting in the wings for her to find the strength to choose. Later that evening, Amara sat in Chinwe’s cozy living room, cradling a warm mug of ginger tea. The lights were dim, the air fragrant with the scent of cinnamon and honey. Chinwe sat across from her, legs tucked under her on the couch, listening intently. “I feel like I’ve been sleepwalking for years,” Amara began, her voice barely above a whisper. “I was so sure I was doing God’s will by marrying Eddy. Everyone said I was. And when things turned ugly, I thought... maybe this was my cross. Maybe I was supposed to endure it.” Chinwe reached out and gently took her hand. “Amara,” she said, her tone gentle but firm, “God never asks us to stay in darkness and call it faith. He’s not glorified by your suffering. He’s glorified by your healing, your wholeness, your courage.” Amara looked down, tears pooling again. “But how do I just walk away? I made vows. I kept hoping he’d change. I didn’t want to give up.” “Walking away from abuse isn’t giving up,” Chinwe replied. “It’s waking up. It’s choosing life. God is not a taskmaster. He’s your Father. And He loves you far too much to watch you slowly die in a house where your soul can’t breathe.” A long silence passed between them. “So what do I do now?” Amara finally asked, her voice cracking. Chinwe squeezed her hand. “You choose,” she said softly. “You choose light. You choose life. You choose you.” That night, Amara didn’t sleep much. She lay in her room, staring at the ceiling, thinking of all the moments she had silenced herself for the sake of peace, all the prayers she had whispered in the darkness, asking God to change Eddy, to save their home. But something had shifted. She realized she had been praying for resurrection in a grave she was never meant to lie in. The next morning, the storm arrived. Eddy came home with a man and started raining abuses on Amara; " See this idiot! You think you can come from African part of Nigeria to outsmart me that came from American part of Nigeria? It's either you hand over the school to me, channel all income to my account or I make sure the school is closed down completely." Her children, all came out to watch helplessly as usual. As Amara was trying to explain to the man he came home with, Eddy rushed Amara and started pounding her, targeting her face and bragging that he must make sure Amara becomes useless to any other man in this life; "By the time I'm done with you, people would spit on you at sight" Eddy continued hitting Amara until she collapsed on the floor. The poor man that came to ask for money to feed his family couldn't help the situation. When Amara regained consciousness, she saw only her children crying and waking her up. She sent for Chinwe. Chinwe immediately and secretly arranged for a drop that took them to Divine Mercy Hospital. The doctor was furious and demanded for his presence. When he arrived, he pleaded with the doctor that it's devil's handwork. As soon as he sighted Amara's brother, he begged Amara not to tell her brother but mocked her immediately her brother left. It's already few days Amara returned from hospital. Pastor Dickson visited their house. Bro Eddy pls kindly tell your wife what you shared with me. Eddy hesitated. "Sister Amara, your husband impregnated a lady called Jacinta and asked her to keep the baby. Although the lady insisted he must furnish a flat for her otherwise she will terminate the pregnancy. He was mad against you because he was having a showdown financially and couldn't meet the lady's demands and you refused to hand your income over to him." Pastor Dickson explained. Amara was lost in thought...so this man wanted me dead because of women. She remembered how he was bashed by one of his customers when she visited at the hospital. "Eddy, were you not the one that that told me this woman gave up her 12month salaries for you to have an English machine? Why are you treating this woman as if she worths nothing?" Mrs Aleme queried "How dare her say no to my order, a woman that bends to urinate? She must hand over the school to me. My account must be used for all income!" he thundered. But she has left the factory for you. The woman reminded And then? Eddy persisted. To Be Continued 🙏 What do you think that happened next? Find out in the next episode 🤔 Pls encourage me with like, follow, comment and share. God bless you 👏 ©️Grace Amarachi #teacherwritersingerlover #BeautyFromTheAshes #ChristianFiction #FaithAndResilience

Good morning God's beloved. Thank God for another weekend. Today, I declare you blessed. The hand of God is upon you. God will give speed to that your project. You will succeed today. People will favour you today. Helpers will locate you today. I see somebody who is being promoted. I decree and declare that negative dreams, negative Prophecies, and negative revelations over your life and family are frustrated. They are cancelled, and shall not see the light of day. Enemies of progress, vision and dream killers, will not Cross your path today In Jesus name. Anyone traveling today, I declare your journey safe. No accident shall befall you in Jesus name. Anyone struggling with their health, I declare you healed and made whole in Jesus name. Congratulations!! Enjoy a SURPRISED-FILLED SATURDAY.

*From Mansion to Miracle: How Dr. Samuel Maduka Onyishi Is Turning His Castle Into a Teaching Hospital for the People* Health and Education transform a society, a people from obscurity and backwardness to the most saught after much more than any other thing. No one understood this and is putting it into practice more Dr Samuel Maduka Onyishi, the Chancellor of Maduka University and the founder of Peace Mass Transit Group. He passed through the streets universities of entrepreneurship to build Peace Mass Transit Group into a stable cash cow. He tried setting others up in businesses, but found out that educating the people should be the first priority. He also insisted on doing it through sustainable legacy institutions. After setting up an entrepreneurial University and university college, he has now turned his eyes on health. As we know, health is wealth. In the area known as Nsukka Economic and Cultural Zone, which cuts across two Senatorial Districts, there is no tertiary health facility, despite hosting University of Nigeria Nsukka. With his strategic entrepreneurial eyes and empathic heart he moves to transform his country home into a Teaching Hospital. Is this possible? Dr Maduka Onyishi is a man who does impossible things quietly. Let us go to his Amukwa village of Nsukka town, Enugu State where he has a grand estate — what many would call a castle. This majestic building, which was once Dr. Onyishi’s private residence is a reflection of years of hard work and success. Most would have kept it that way, enjoying its beauty and comfort in peace. But Dr. Onyishi has chosen to do something extraordinary: he is transforming his private home and its surrounding buildings into an international multi-specialty hospital designed to serve both the public and the medical students of Maduka University and other medical training institutions. To make this vision a reality, he acquired 14 additional properties around the vicinity, all in an effort to make sure that this full-scale health care facility was established in his village. Thinking - home, you may call this. This isn’t just renovation, but some new buildings are already rearing their heads. It’s transformation on a massive scale. And it’s not just about healthcare. Dr. Onyishi intentionally chose the location of the proposed university Teaching Hospital to be in Nsukka urban town, with a clear purpose — to elevate the urban status of Nsukka and drive development in his beloved community. Yes, his personal castle and other surrounding properties are being converted into a teaching hospital. Renovations are already ongoing and soon, this luxurious property will become a state-of-the-art medical facility, not for the rich, not for the elite, but for the people. When completed, this teaching hospital is set to become one of the best in the country — a beacon of world-class medical education and accessible healthcare. At a time when many use wealth to build walls, Dr. Onyishi is using his to build bridges. Instead of adding more zeros to his bank account, he is investing in something far more valuable: human lives. He has openly declared his intention to return most of his wealth to charity, and this hospital is just one part of that promise. He has given it all. A billionaire without a home in his village. This is more than entrepreneurial philanthropy. This is leadership. This is legacy. This is love in action. Dr. Samuel Maduka Onyishi is not just building structures. He is building a future where healthcare is accessible, where education is empowering, and where transport is safe and reliable. He is proving that true success is not measured by what you accumulate but by what you give away. In a country hungry for hope, this is the kind of story we need. It is a story of a man who remembers where he came from. A man who understands that wealth is not just for comfort but for impact.

*OPEN HEAVENS DAILY DEVOTIONAL* *DATE: FRIDAY JUNE 13TH 2025* *TOPIC: PRAYERS FOR YOUTHS* *MEMORISE:* “Flee also youthful lusts: but follow righteousness, faith, charity, peace, with them that call on the Lord out of a pure heart.” - (2 Timothy 2:22) *READ: ECCLESIASTES 11:9-10 (KJV)* 9 Rejoice, O young man, in thy youth; and let thy heart cheer thee in the days of thy youth, and walk in the ways of thine heart, and in the sight of thine eyes: but know thou, that for all these things God will bring thee into judgment. 10 Therefore remove sorrow from thy heart, and put away evil from thy flesh: for childhood and youth are vanity. *PRAYERS:* 1. Father, I thank You for all the Christian youths across the world. Thank You for this new generation that You have chosen to show forth Your glory. 2. Father, please let all the youths in my community and around the world who are yet to accept Jesus as their Lord and Saviour be convicted by the Holy Spirit to surrender their lives to You. 3. Father, please guide the youths as they make decisions in their education, careers, relationships, and other areas of life. Help them to make the right decisions in line with Your will for their lives, in Jesus' name. 4. Father, please keep the youths focused on You. Help them to grow deeper in love with You, in Jesus' name. 5. Father, please help the youths break all negative generational patterns. May they not repeat the mistakes of past generations, in Jesus' name. 6. Lord, I come against any agenda of the enemy concerning the youths around me. They will not die, but they will live to show forth the glory of God and become terrors to the kingdom of darkness, in Jesus' name. 7. Lord, please help the youths overcome the devil's plans to indoctrinate them with perverse morals and cultures. I decree that his evil doctrines will have no influence over them, in Jesus' name. 8. Father, please set the youths on fire for You. Let them rise in every part of the world, speaking boldly about You and influencing their communities for Your Kingdom, in Jesus' name. 9. Father, please let Your excellent Spirit rest on every youth. Bless them with Your wisdom and creativity, and make them agents of positive change in their societies, in Jesus' name. 10. Father, please strengthen the youths to overcome temptations, depression, stress, and anxiety. Empower them with good health and a sound mind to deal with all of life's challenges, in Jesus' name. 11. Father, help the youths develop the right sense of responsibility that will make them excellent leaders, in Jesus' name. 12. Your personal prayer points for the youths around you. *BIBLE IN ONE YEAR: PSALMS 43-49* *AUTHOR PASTOR E A ADEBOYE* *HYMNAL: 22 - SWEET HOUR OF PRAYER! SWEET HOUR OF PRAYER!* 1 Sweet hour of prayer! sweet hour of prayer! that calls me from a world of care, and bids me at my Father's throne make all my wants and wishes known. In seasons of distress and grief, my soul has often found relief, and oft escaped the tempter's snare by thy return, sweet hour of prayer! 2 Sweet hour of prayer! sweet hour of prayer! the joys I feel, the bliss I share of those whose anxious spirits burn with strong desires for thy return! With such I hasten to the place where God my Savior shows his face, and gladly take my station there, and wait for thee, sweet hour of prayer! 3 Sweet hour of prayer! sweet hour of prayer! thy wings shall my petition bear to him whose truth and faithfulness engage the waiting soul to bless. And since he bids me seek his face, believe his word, and trust his grace, I'll cast on him my every care, and wait for thee, sweet hour of prayer!

Lord God, I thank You for Your rich and powerful love. It gives me great joy and peace to know that nothing is greater or stronger than Your love. Thank You for making me Yours and for surrounding me with Your love. Whenever I face doubt or fear or worry, please draw me near and remind me of Your awesome love so that I may rest in Your peace. In Jesus’ name, amen.

The father of the righteous shall greatly rejoice and he that begetteth a wise child shall have joy of him 🙏

Forgive me, Lord, for the moments when the gravity of life has silenced my laughter and shadowed my joy. I pray that You reignite the spark of mirth within my soul, that I may echo Your love through my laughter and spread comfort and gladness to those around me. Bless me with the ability to see Your hand at work in the simple, the mundane, and the complex tapestry of life. May my laughter be a beacon of hope, a testament to Your enduring promise of renewal and grace. In the precious name of Jesus, I pray. Amen.

LESSONS FOR WOMEN IN MARRIAGE! +18 Most women complain of sexual dissatisfaction but the question you should be asking yourself is: Are you playing your part as a woman? Do you know the things that turn your man on? Do you know that a man needs to be caressed and complimented in order to feel like making love to you? May You Try This It May Help: 1. Be romantic, playful, and spontaneous. Touch your man play with his body flirt with him on the phone compliment him always tell him you love him send him dirty suggestive messages. 2. Please do not be afraid: Ashamed or irritated to take him into your mouth it's exciting once you get the hang of it. 3. Allow him unlimited access to your body: Allow him to go down on you. Do not hide your sensitive areas: surely why do hide your breasts ears and womanhood then claim he can't turn me on. 4. Show him you like sex too: It kills a man's ego when he struggles to get it by the time he starts doing it he will be tired from wrestling with you and talking to you to convince you to have it please please if you can convince your man that you also like it and enjoy it it's very important. Your man thrives to bring you the latest album of your favorite musician which will stop him from bringing you a new style of sex if he knows you like it. 5. Respond to his lovemaking: Do not lie there like you are dead run your hands on his back and spread out those legs for him and move up to meet him, moan and groan, hiss like a snake. 6. If he hits the right spot say it and show it: Urge him on and hold him tight there, speak in tongues. 7. Suggest positions: And fully participate in your favorite position do not be afraid to go on top. 8. Satisfy him first he will eventually satisfy you: Make him happy and allow him to enjoy you he will return the compliment. 9. Do everything, he likes and enjoy pleasing him: You think most men leave you because they got what they wanted: No, they would have discovered that you are not enjoying what they are offering you so enjoy what is offered first!

Theme of How you make me feel by popular boy band WESTLIFE The song "You Make Me Feel" delves into the transformative power of love and the emotional vulnerability it brings. The lyrics capture the feeling of being truly seen and validated by another person—a sentiment that makes one feel both alive and real. This intense connection is portrayed as an almost existential experience that not only honors the joy of love but also acknowledges its complexities and the inherent uncertainties that come with opening up to someone. At its core, the song emphasizes that love has the capacity to ground us, to make us feel genuine in every facet of our being. It suggests that the right person can infuse everyday life with meaning and emotional depth, making every moment more significant and every emotion more palpable. This can be interpreted as both a celebration of deep, authentic connection and a reflection on the vulnerability required to truly experience such intimacy.

A PASTOR'S BETRAYAL PART 8 The apartment was dark, the air thick with the smell of stale tears and untouched meals. Grace had been lying on the cold floor for hours, her body weak, her mind drowning in regret. The phone, now silent, lay just inches from her limp fingers—the last connection to the family she had pushed away. Outside, the rain poured heavily, tapping against the window like desperate fingers trying to wake her. But Grace didn’t stir. Michael sat at the dining table in their home, staring at his untouched dinner. Sarah, Daniel, and little Joy were unusually quiet, their eyes downcast. "Dad," Sarah whispered, her voice trembling. "What if something’s wrong with Mom?" Michael’s chest tightened. He had called Grace a dozen times. Sent messages. Begged. But there had been no response. Not even a "leave me alone." Just silence. Too much silence. Daniel, always the observant one, spoke up. "What if she’s sick? Or… or hurt?" Michael’s hands clenched into fists. He had tried to respect Grace’s space, to give her time. But this—this silence—was different. Something was wrong. He stood abruptly, grabbing his car keys. "We’re going to check on her." The drive to Grace’s apartment felt like the longest of Michael’s life. The children sat in tense silence, their small hands gripping the seats. When they arrived, Michael knocked—once, twice, three times. No answer. His heart pounded. "Grace!" he called, banging harder. "Grace, open the door!" Still nothing. Panic clawed at his throat. He turned to the building supervisor, who, after seeing the fear in Michael’s eyes, quickly unlocked the door. The sight that greeted them shattered Michael’s heart. Grace lay crumpled on the floor, her skin pale, her lips cracked. Tears had dried on her cheeks, her eyes swollen from crying. "Mom!" Sarah screamed, rushing forward. Michael was at Grace’s side in an instant, lifting her frail body into his arms. She was burning up, her breathing shallow. "Call an ambulance!" he barked, his voice raw with fear. Little Joy burst into tears, clinging to Daniel as they watched their father cradle their mother, his own tears falling onto her face. "Grace," Michael whispered, pressing his forehead to hers. "I’m here. We’re *all* here." The sterile white lights of the hospital buzzed overhead as doctors and nurses moved around Grace’s unconscious form. "Severe dehydration," one doctor said. "Extreme stress. Her body just… shut down." Michael sat by her bedside, his large hand wrapped around Grace’s small one. The children hovered close, their eyes wide with fear. Sarah, trying to be strong, wiped her tears and held Joy’s hand. "She’s gonna be okay," she whispered, more to herself than anyone else. Daniel, ever the quiet thinker, stared at his mother’s face. "Why didn’t she call us?" he asked softly. Michael swallowed hard. "Because she thought we didn’t want her anymore." The words hung heavy in the air. Grace’s eyelids fluttered open hours later, her vision blurry. The first thing she saw was Michael’s exhausted face, his stubble rough, his eyes red-rimmed from lack of sleep. Then—Sarah, Daniel, Joy. All staring at her with a mix of relief and lingering hurt. Grace’s breath hitched. They came for me. Tears welled in her eyes, spilling over as shame crashed into her. She tried to speak, but her voice cracked. "I—I’m sorry…" Michael squeezed her hand gently. "Shhh. Don’t talk." Joy, unable to hold back any longer, climbed onto the bed and buried her face in Grace’s neck. "Don’t leave us again, Mama," she sobbed. Grace’s arms—weak as they were—wrapped around her baby, holding her tight. Sarah and Daniel joined, their warmth seeping into Grace’s cold bones. Michael leaned down, pressing a kiss to Grace’s forehead. "We never stopped loving you," he murmured. "We never *will*." Grace closed her eyes, letting their love wash over her. For the first time in months, the storm inside her stilled. Recovery was slow but steady. Michael took time off work, refusing to leave Grace’s side. The children took turns reading to her, bringing her favorite foods, filling the hospital room with laughter and life. One evening, as Grace sat propped up in bed, Michael handed her a cup of tea—just the way she liked it. Two sugars, a splash of milk. She smiled weakly. "You remembered." Michael sat beside her, his voice soft. "I remember everything, Grace." A pause. Then— "Pastor Gideon never came, did he?" Grace’s smile faded. She shook her head. Michael’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t press. Instead, he pulled her closer. "You don’t need him. You have us" And for the first time, Grace believed it. As the days passed, Grace’s strength returned—not just physically, but emotionally. The panic attacks lessened. The nightmares faded. Because every time she woke in fear, Michael was there to hold her. Every time she doubted, Sarah was there to remind her, "We love you, Mom." Every time guilt threatened to swallow her, Daniel would slip his hand into hers, silent but steady. And Joy—her baby—would climb into her lap and whisper, "You’re my favorite person in the whole world." Grace had spent months believing she was alone. But her family had never left. Not really. The storm has passed now comes the sunrise TO BE CONTINUED...

A PASTOR'S BETRAYAL PART 7 The apartment was silent except for the relentless ticking of the clock on the wall. Grace sat on the edge of her bed, staring at her phone. The screen displayed the same notifications she had been ignoring for weeks: - 14 Missed Calls from Michael - 23 Unread Messages from Sarah - 5 Voicemails Her finger hovered over the screen, trembling. What if they hate me? What if it’s too late? A part of her was still clinging to Pastor Gideon’s words—"They abandoned you. The church is your family now." But the pastor hadn’t called. Hadn’t visited. Hadn’t even replied to her last desperate text. The truth was creeping in, slow and suffocating. She had been used. Grace dialed Pastor Gideon’s number for the fifth time that day. It went straight to voicemail. Again. Her chest tightened. She scrolled through their past messages—all her pleas for spiritual guidance, for comfort, for anything—left on read. The last message he had sent was over three weeks ago: "Sister Grace, your sacrifice has been noted in heaven. God will reward you in due time." Then—nothing. Grace’s breath came in shallow gasps as she stared at the church’s social media page. There was Pastor Gideon, smiling in a sleek new suit, standing beside a luxury car, captioned: "Blessed beyond measure! Thank you, Lord, for your provision!" Her money. Her house. Her life. All turned into his trophies. A sob tore from her throat. With shaking hands, Grace finally tapped on Sarah’s messages. The first one was from two months ago: "Mom, please call me. I miss you." Then, a week later: "Dad cries every night. Why won’t you talk to us?" The most recent one, sent just three days ago: "Joy keeps asking for you. She thinks you don’t love her anymore. Please, Mom… just say something." Grace’s vision blurred. She hadn’t known. She hadn’t let herself know. Her fingers moved on their own, opening Michael’s voicemails. His voice—rough with emotion—filled the room. "Grace… it’s me." A pause. A shaky breath. "The kids… they’re not okay. Sarah had a nightmare last night and called out for you. I didn’t know what to tell her." Another pause. "I don’t know what that pastor told you, but… I never stopped loving you. I never wanted this divorce. I just… I just didn’t know how to fix things." A muffled sound—was he crying? "Grace, please. If you ever loved us… just come home." The message ended. Grace sat frozen. Then— A second voicemail played automatically. Sarah’s voice, small and broken: "Mom… it’s my birthday today. You forgot. Dad tried to make it special, but… it’s not the same. I just want you here."* A third voicemail. Joy, her baby, whispering through tears: "Mama… come back. I’ll be good. I promise." Grace couldn’t breathe. The room spun. Her chest burned as if someone had reached inside and ripped her heart out. What have I done? What have I DONE? She stumbled to her feet, gasping, her hands clutching at her chest. The walls closed in. The phone slipped from her fingers. Darkness swallowed her vision. The last thing she heard was the sound of her own body hitting the floor. TO BE CONTINUED...

Weekend joylimentation enjoy