I Met Him in Church… But I Didn't Know the Devil Also Wore Suits."
I thought the safest place to meet a good man was the house of God.
I thought wrong.
When I met Samuel, I was 25 and deeply broken.
I had just come out of a toxic relationship — the kind that leaves you doubting your own worth, your own beauty, your own intelligence.
I needed healing.
I needed God.
So when Samuel found me crying quietly after service one evening, and offered me his handkerchief, I thought:
> "Maybe this is how God gives second chances."
He was everything a "church man" should be.
Well-dressed.
Well-spoken.
Bible study leader.
Quoting scriptures like breathing air.
He never missed midweek service.
He always led prayer sessions with fire.
People respected him.
Pastor adored him.
And somehow... he adored me.
He courted me “the godly way.”
No kissing.
No touching.
No secret sleepovers.
Just prayers, fasting, long conversations about our future.
He would say:
> "Let’s make heaven together, baby."
I believed him.
I introduced him to my family.
He knelt down before my parents and said:
> "I will honor her. I will cherish her. I will protect her in Christ."
My father cried that day.
My mother started sewing Aso-Ebi for a wedding that hadn’t even been proposed yet.
Everyone said I was lucky.
That I had found a rare gem.
Three months to our introduction, things started changing.
Little things.
He started picking on my dressing.
> "That skirt is too tight. Godly women are modest."
He started controlling who I could talk to.
> "Your best friend is too worldly. She’s a distraction."
He started monitoring my social media.
> "Why are men liking your posts? Delete it."
I thought it was love.
I thought it was protection.
I didn’t know it was the first signs of a cage.
Then came the financial requests.
First, it was ₦20,000 to “sow a seed” into a new church project.
Then ₦50,000 because his car broke down on the way to evangelism.
Then ₦100,000 because his younger brother needed urgent school fees — "and as his future wife," he said, "our burdens are shared."
I drained my savings without blinking.
Because isn't that what Proverbs 31 women do?
Support their men in times of need?
Besides, he always said:
> "God will bless you double."
I was sowing into my future, I thought.
I was watering the garden of marriage, I thought.
One night, two weeks to our traditional wedding, I visited him unannounced.
I just wanted to surprise him.
Bring him some food.
Maybe wash his clothes.
Be a good fiancée.
The door was locked.
I knocked.
He came out half-naked.
Another woman was inside.
Wearing my favorite Ankara wrapper.
Cooking in his kitchen.
She looked me dead in the eyes and said:
> "Who are you?"
I couldn’t speak.
My tongue glued itself to my grief.
Samuel pulled me outside roughly and whispered:
> "Don't embarrass me. She's my real fiancée. You were just... spiritual support."
Just.
Spiritual.
Support.
Six months of prayers.
Six months of fasting.
Six months of giving.
For what?
For another woman to wear my wrapper?
For another woman to sleep in the bed I helped pay rent for?
He blocked me the next day.
Changed churches.
Moved on.
I found out later he had three other women from three other churches he was "courting" at the same time.
Different rings.
Different promises.
Same lies.
I thought the pain would kill me.
I thought my chest would split open from heartbreak.
I questioned God:
> "Was I not faithful enough?
Was I not prayerful enough?
Was I not good enough?"
But the more I wept, the clearer it became:
It wasn't about me.
It was about him.
Some men use the name of God as camouflage.
They speak in tongues, but their hearts speak in manipulation.
They sing worship songs, but their souls are tuned to destruction.
Today, I am healing.
Slowly.
Learning that God is good, even when people are wicked.
Learning that real love doesn't control, it cherishes.
Real love doesn't use, it protects.
Real love doesn’t need a stage and a microphone — it’s humble, it’s patient, it’s kind.
Life Lesson:
Don’t confuse spirituality with character.
Don’t let your love for God blind you to red flags waving like banners.
And never, ever surrender your mind just because someone carries a Bible louder than you.
Love should feel like peace — not war.
Not confusion.
Not fear.
Today, I still believe in love.
I still believe in God.
But now, I know better:
> Even the devil can wear suits.
Even the devil can preach sermons.
Test spirits.
Test hearts.
Test character.
Before you hand over your heart.
---
#HealingIsAMiracle #ChurchGirlDiaries #LoveAndLessons #RealLifeStories #GuardYourHeart
I thought the safest place to meet a good man was the house of God.
I thought wrong.
When I met Samuel, I was 25 and deeply broken.
I had just come out of a toxic relationship — the kind that leaves you doubting your own worth, your own beauty, your own intelligence.
I needed healing.
I needed God.
So when Samuel found me crying quietly after service one evening, and offered me his handkerchief, I thought:
> "Maybe this is how God gives second chances."
He was everything a "church man" should be.
Well-dressed.
Well-spoken.
Bible study leader.
Quoting scriptures like breathing air.
He never missed midweek service.
He always led prayer sessions with fire.
People respected him.
Pastor adored him.
And somehow... he adored me.
He courted me “the godly way.”
No kissing.
No touching.
No secret sleepovers.
Just prayers, fasting, long conversations about our future.
He would say:
> "Let’s make heaven together, baby."
I believed him.
I introduced him to my family.
He knelt down before my parents and said:
> "I will honor her. I will cherish her. I will protect her in Christ."
My father cried that day.
My mother started sewing Aso-Ebi for a wedding that hadn’t even been proposed yet.
Everyone said I was lucky.
That I had found a rare gem.
Three months to our introduction, things started changing.
Little things.
He started picking on my dressing.
> "That skirt is too tight. Godly women are modest."
He started controlling who I could talk to.
> "Your best friend is too worldly. She’s a distraction."
He started monitoring my social media.
> "Why are men liking your posts? Delete it."
I thought it was love.
I thought it was protection.
I didn’t know it was the first signs of a cage.
Then came the financial requests.
First, it was ₦20,000 to “sow a seed” into a new church project.
Then ₦50,000 because his car broke down on the way to evangelism.
Then ₦100,000 because his younger brother needed urgent school fees — "and as his future wife," he said, "our burdens are shared."
I drained my savings without blinking.
Because isn't that what Proverbs 31 women do?
Support their men in times of need?
Besides, he always said:
> "God will bless you double."
I was sowing into my future, I thought.
I was watering the garden of marriage, I thought.
One night, two weeks to our traditional wedding, I visited him unannounced.
I just wanted to surprise him.
Bring him some food.
Maybe wash his clothes.
Be a good fiancée.
The door was locked.
I knocked.
He came out half-naked.
Another woman was inside.
Wearing my favorite Ankara wrapper.
Cooking in his kitchen.
She looked me dead in the eyes and said:
> "Who are you?"
I couldn’t speak.
My tongue glued itself to my grief.
Samuel pulled me outside roughly and whispered:
> "Don't embarrass me. She's my real fiancée. You were just... spiritual support."
Just.
Spiritual.
Support.
Six months of prayers.
Six months of fasting.
Six months of giving.
For what?
For another woman to wear my wrapper?
For another woman to sleep in the bed I helped pay rent for?
He blocked me the next day.
Changed churches.
Moved on.
I found out later he had three other women from three other churches he was "courting" at the same time.
Different rings.
Different promises.
Same lies.
I thought the pain would kill me.
I thought my chest would split open from heartbreak.
I questioned God:
> "Was I not faithful enough?
Was I not prayerful enough?
Was I not good enough?"
But the more I wept, the clearer it became:
It wasn't about me.
It was about him.
Some men use the name of God as camouflage.
They speak in tongues, but their hearts speak in manipulation.
They sing worship songs, but their souls are tuned to destruction.
Today, I am healing.
Slowly.
Learning that God is good, even when people are wicked.
Learning that real love doesn't control, it cherishes.
Real love doesn't use, it protects.
Real love doesn’t need a stage and a microphone — it’s humble, it’s patient, it’s kind.
Life Lesson:
Don’t confuse spirituality with character.
Don’t let your love for God blind you to red flags waving like banners.
And never, ever surrender your mind just because someone carries a Bible louder than you.
Love should feel like peace — not war.
Not confusion.
Not fear.
Today, I still believe in love.
I still believe in God.
But now, I know better:
> Even the devil can wear suits.
Even the devil can preach sermons.
Test spirits.
Test hearts.
Test character.
Before you hand over your heart.
---
#HealingIsAMiracle #ChurchGirlDiaries #LoveAndLessons #RealLifeStories #GuardYourHeart
I Met Him in Church… But I Didn't Know the Devil Also Wore Suits."
I thought the safest place to meet a good man was the house of God.
I thought wrong.
When I met Samuel, I was 25 and deeply broken.
I had just come out of a toxic relationship — the kind that leaves you doubting your own worth, your own beauty, your own intelligence.
I needed healing.
I needed God.
So when Samuel found me crying quietly after service one evening, and offered me his handkerchief, I thought:
> "Maybe this is how God gives second chances."
He was everything a "church man" should be.
Well-dressed.
Well-spoken.
Bible study leader.
Quoting scriptures like breathing air.
He never missed midweek service.
He always led prayer sessions with fire.
People respected him.
Pastor adored him.
And somehow... he adored me.
He courted me “the godly way.”
No kissing.
No touching.
No secret sleepovers.
Just prayers, fasting, long conversations about our future.
He would say:
> "Let’s make heaven together, baby."
I believed him.
I introduced him to my family.
He knelt down before my parents and said:
> "I will honor her. I will cherish her. I will protect her in Christ."
My father cried that day.
My mother started sewing Aso-Ebi for a wedding that hadn’t even been proposed yet.
Everyone said I was lucky.
That I had found a rare gem.
Three months to our introduction, things started changing.
Little things.
He started picking on my dressing.
> "That skirt is too tight. Godly women are modest."
He started controlling who I could talk to.
> "Your best friend is too worldly. She’s a distraction."
He started monitoring my social media.
> "Why are men liking your posts? Delete it."
I thought it was love.
I thought it was protection.
I didn’t know it was the first signs of a cage.
Then came the financial requests.
First, it was ₦20,000 to “sow a seed” into a new church project.
Then ₦50,000 because his car broke down on the way to evangelism.
Then ₦100,000 because his younger brother needed urgent school fees — "and as his future wife," he said, "our burdens are shared."
I drained my savings without blinking.
Because isn't that what Proverbs 31 women do?
Support their men in times of need?
Besides, he always said:
> "God will bless you double."
I was sowing into my future, I thought.
I was watering the garden of marriage, I thought.
One night, two weeks to our traditional wedding, I visited him unannounced.
I just wanted to surprise him.
Bring him some food.
Maybe wash his clothes.
Be a good fiancée.
The door was locked.
I knocked.
He came out half-naked.
Another woman was inside.
Wearing my favorite Ankara wrapper.
Cooking in his kitchen.
She looked me dead in the eyes and said:
> "Who are you?"
I couldn’t speak.
My tongue glued itself to my grief.
Samuel pulled me outside roughly and whispered:
> "Don't embarrass me. She's my real fiancée. You were just... spiritual support."
Just.
Spiritual.
Support.
Six months of prayers.
Six months of fasting.
Six months of giving.
For what?
For another woman to wear my wrapper?
For another woman to sleep in the bed I helped pay rent for?
He blocked me the next day.
Changed churches.
Moved on.
I found out later he had three other women from three other churches he was "courting" at the same time.
Different rings.
Different promises.
Same lies.
I thought the pain would kill me.
I thought my chest would split open from heartbreak.
I questioned God:
> "Was I not faithful enough?
Was I not prayerful enough?
Was I not good enough?"
But the more I wept, the clearer it became:
It wasn't about me.
It was about him.
Some men use the name of God as camouflage.
They speak in tongues, but their hearts speak in manipulation.
They sing worship songs, but their souls are tuned to destruction.
Today, I am healing.
Slowly.
Learning that God is good, even when people are wicked.
Learning that real love doesn't control, it cherishes.
Real love doesn't use, it protects.
Real love doesn’t need a stage and a microphone — it’s humble, it’s patient, it’s kind.
Life Lesson:
Don’t confuse spirituality with character.
Don’t let your love for God blind you to red flags waving like banners.
And never, ever surrender your mind just because someone carries a Bible louder than you.
Love should feel like peace — not war.
Not confusion.
Not fear.
Today, I still believe in love.
I still believe in God.
But now, I know better:
> Even the devil can wear suits.
Even the devil can preach sermons.
Test spirits.
Test hearts.
Test character.
Before you hand over your heart.
---
#HealingIsAMiracle #ChurchGirlDiaries #LoveAndLessons #RealLifeStories #GuardYourHeart
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