Do you know that DREAMS AND REALITY are different. REALITY is what you see your self doing when you don't have choice but to do it just to achieve earn income. Is just like working in a company just to earn money but that is not what you really want to do but you just have to do it because you need the money. DREAMS are very hard to find and is a privilege for those that have found their dreams and are achieving their dreams because is not easy. Those that have the funds to start pursing their dreams should not haste and do just that. Dream is a joyful thing, it makes you alive and it shows how much you have passion for that particular thing. It makes you to have your own space and place. 🙂 It's just like you discovering you love cooking. You enjoy doing it and it makes you happy. When ever you do it you don't feel stress out even if it's stressful.. I just hope you get what I am trying to say.🤭 If you have discover your dream go for it. It might start rough but you will succeed as time goes on. Is better to enjoy doing what you love doing and making money from it than being sad doing the thing or work you don't want to do. It is not good for you health wise and also physically😲 to force your body doing something that don't bring life to it. Let's all try to find our dreams, follow it up and achieve our goals😉. From you girl Faithy I hope someone out there will do what gues you joy and what you love doing.

I wait for the Lord, my soul doth wait, and in his word do I hope.

I had everything a Lagos big girl was supposed to have — a thriving job at a multinational, two cars parked in front of my rented duplex, a wardrobe full of designer bags, and an accent I’d polished with trips to Dubai and London. But no matter how far I traveled or how high I climbed, my mother’s voice never let me forget the one thing I didn’t have. A man to call my husband. Every time I picked up her calls, it came like clockwork: “So when will I come and carry my grandchild, Chinwe? Or is it car I will rock in my old age?” My younger sisters — Ngozi with her twins, and Ifeoma with her doting husband — would exchange those pitying glances behind my back during family gatherings. Aunties whispered. Old classmates giggled whenever I posted vacation pictures without a ring. It stung. God knows it did. So when my mother called me a “male-dressed spinster” at my cousin’s wedding, something inside me snapped like dry broomsticks. Two days later, under the cloak of shame and moonlight, I drove four hours down to my village in Umunnede — alone. I ignored the barking dogs, the curious eyes of night traders at the junction. I went straight to the river behind my late father’s compound — the one my grandmother once called the “mother of the village” — where no girl was allowed to speak certain words after dusk. But I didn’t care for old warnings. I fell to my knees at the mossy bank, my tears mixing with the cold river water that lapped gently at my palms. “Please... whoever listens here... water spirits... ancestors... gods... anybody!” I sobbed, my voice cracking into the darkness. “I’m tired of being laughed at! Give me a husband — a man I can call mine! I don’t want to di!e single... please!” After my words, there was no thunder, no rustle. The water simply gurgled on, swallowing my secrets. By dawn, I dragged my weary body back to the city, clutching a fragile hope that maybe, just maybe, something or someone had heard me. I threw myself into work the next day, ignoring my mother’s calls. By midnight, exhausted, I dozed off on the couch, still in my office blouse and skirt. A strange chill brushed my cheek. My eyes fluttered open. At first, I thought my mind was playing tricks — that the silhouette by my window was a trick of shadows. Then the figure moved. Into the light. A tall man, bare-chested, skin glistening as if he’d been bathed in moonlight. Eyes dark, unblinking. Handsome in an unearthly way. My breath caught in my throat. I could not scream. “Who... who are you?” I croaked, pressing my back against the sofa, eyes darting to the door I knew I could never reach in time. The man smiled, slow and haunting, and spoke in a voice that felt like cool river water washing over burning skin: “Your husband... from the waters of Umunnede.” TO BE CONTINUED... STAY TUNED. GIVE ME A HUSBAND Episode 1 To be automatically notified when the next episode drops, f0ll0w Jane James #creativewriting #storytelling #storytime #fictionwriter

Renowned public affairs commentator Mahdi Shehu has expressed deep concern over the direction of Nigerian politics. He stated that there is no real hope in the current political structure due to how politicians have turned politics into a business venture. Check comment section for more.....

Good morning, house. Happy feast of the Transfiguration of the Lord, Jesus Christ. By the merits of our celebration of the Transfiguration of the Lord Jesus Christ, on Mount Tabor, may God bless and bring you and your family, to some more concrete experiences of His light and glory in this world, transform you into the likeness of Jesus Christ, and grant you the much needed strength to bear with every demand and challenge of life that comes your way. May God fill your heart and mind, with encouragement and hope, as you journey on in this world of pain and worry, unto the joys and peace of eternal life. Most importantly, in moments of doubt, and during your seemingly dark moments of despair and hopelessness, may the thought of your future transfiguration in heaven, help you regain some strength and hope in God, reach out to Him in faith, and pay attention to His consoling words: "This is My Beloved Son, listen to Him;" so that, as you live on, properly enlightened, guided, and directed by the Words of our Lord Himself, all may turn out well and good, for you and your dear ones, both in this world and in the next. As you live on in the light and glory of God in this world, so may you be inspired and motivated, to share same with all who come in contact with you. Through Christ our Lord.

Good morning, house. Happy feast of the Transfiguration of the Lord, Jesus Christ. By the merits of our celebration of the Transfiguration of the Lord Jesus Christ, on Mount Tabor, may God bless and bring you and your family, to some more concrete experiences of His light and glory in this world, transform you into the likeness of Jesus Christ, and grant you the much needed strength to bear with every demand and challenge of life that comes your way. May God fill your heart and mind, with encouragement and hope, as you journey on in this world of pain and worry, unto the joys and peace of eternal life. Most importantly, in moments of doubt, and during your seemingly dark moments of despair and hopelessness, may the thought of your future transfiguration in heaven, help you regain some strength and hope in God, reach out to Him in faith, and pay attention to His consoling words: "This is My Beloved Son, listen to Him;" so that, as you live on, properly enlightened, guided, and directed by the Words of our Lord Himself, all may turn out well and good, for you and your dear ones, both in this world and in the next. As you live on in the light and glory of God in this world, so may you be inspired and motivated, to share same with all who come in contact with you. Through Christ our Lord.

I’m a Prostitute—And Today My 18-Year-Old Son Booked Me Without Knowing. Episode 2 ✍️💝 I didn’t sleep that night. I lay on the cold hotel floor long after David left, my wig tossed aside, mascara stained across my cheeks, staring blankly at the ceiling as though it could offer answers. Every breath felt like punishment. How did I get here? How did I become the kind of mother whose own son unknowingly tried to buy her for pleasure? I replayed the moment again and again—his voice, his nervous laughter, the way he said I reminded him of someone he loved. What if he had touched me before I stopped him? What if I hadn’t turned away fast enough? What if I had spoken too late? The thought alone made me throw up twice before morning. I didn’t go home that day. I couldn’t. I didn’t know how to look at David and pretend everything was normal. I switched off my phone and sat under a bridge until the sun went down again. I cried like a woman mourning a living child. When I finally got home the next night, he was sitting at the door, looking pale and confused. “Mummy,” he said softly, standing up. “Where did you go?” I stared at him. At the same innocent eyes that once stared at me from his cot. “I had an emergency,” I said, voice dry. “Work.” He didn’t look convinced. But he didn’t ask further. He just said, “I made okra soup. There’s still some left.” I nodded and walked past him into the house, into the small, dim kitchen that had once been filled with laughter, radio music, and the sounds of his baby feet. I couldn’t eat. I just stood there, pretending to be okay. But the shame followed me like a shadow. I started watching him closer. Was he acting differently? Did he suspect anything? Had he gone back and searched my profile? Had he looked closer at the picture and realized what he’d done? Three days later, I got my answer. He came back from school and stood quietly by my bedroom door. “Mummy,” he said. “Yes?” “Can I ask you something?” “Of course.” He hesitated. “Do you… have someone who looks exactly like you? Like… I don’t know… maybe a sister or something?” My heart dropped. I pretended to smile. “No. Why?” He looked away, shuffled his feet, then said, “No reason. Just thought I saw someone.” I nodded. “Well, maybe you were tired.” He forced a smile and went to his room. But I knew he knew something. I locked myself in the bathroom and cried silently into my towel. That same evening, I got a message on my fake profile. It was him. “Who are you? Your voice… your face… I need to know. Please.” I froze. My hands shook. He knew. I deleted the account immediately. That night, he didn’t sleep in his room. I heard him pacing the sitting room. I didn’t come out. I couldn’t. The next morning, I woke up and found him gone. No note. No text. Just gone. Panic hit me like thunder. I called his school—he hadn’t arrived. I called his best friend—he hadn’t seen him. I rushed to the one place I hoped he wouldn’t go: the hotel. He wasn’t there. I searched bars, parks, even the bridge where I used to sit and cry. Nothing. Then I saw him. At the bus stop. Sitting alone. Head bowed. Tears on his cheeks. I didn’t call him. I walked slowly and sat beside him. He didn’t look at me. “Did you know it was me?” he whispered. “That night?” I swallowed hard. My chest felt like it was ripping in two. “Yes.” He nodded, still looking away. “So it’s true.” “Yes.” Silence. He wiped his face. “Why didn’t you tell me the truth about your life?” I blinked fast, holding back tears. “Because I wanted you to believe I was someone better than I really am. I wanted you to be proud of me. I wanted to protect you from the ugliness that raised you.” He turned slowly to face me, and his eyes broke me. “I thought I lost my mum that night,” he said, voice cracking. “I thought I saw a ghost in that hotel. But now I realize… maybe you lost yourself long before I was even born.” I couldn’t breathe. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. He stood up. And then he did something I never expected. He hugged me. Tightly. He cried into my shoulder like a child again. And whispered, “Let’s go home.” To be continued…….. ✍️✍️✍️✍️💝 Some of you just read and like without commenting and when I drop next episode and tagging people ur name will not pop up because you're not commenting, until I trace the previous Episode and replied you next episode has been posted, it's always stressful for doing that. Please ✍️✅✅✅ Thank you All 🙌❤️

Understanding the Liturgical Colors and Signs If you’ve ever attended Mass at different times of the year, you’ve probably noticed that the priest’s vestments and church decorations change colors. These aren’t random fashion choices—they are rich symbols that help us enter more deeply into the mysteries of our faith. Here’s what they mean: 1. White (or Gold) – Joy, Purity, and Victory Used during Christmas, Easter, feasts of the Lord (except His Passion), feasts of Mary, angels, and saints who were not martyrs, white symbolizes the glory of the Resurrection, holiness, and celebration. Gold may replace white for special solemnities. 2. Red – The Holy Spirit and Martyrdom Red is worn on Palm Sunday, Good Friday, Pentecost, and feasts of martyrs. It represents the blood of Christ and the martyrs, as well as the fire of the Holy Spirit. 3. Green – Hope and Growth Seen during Ordinary Time, green symbolizes spiritual growth, hope, and life in Christ. It reminds us that even in ordinary days, we are called to grow in holiness. 4. Purple (Violet) – Penance and Preparation Used during Advent and Lent, purple is a color of repentance, humility, and preparation for great feasts. It’s also worn for the Sacrament of Reconciliation and Masses for the dead. 5. Rose – Joy in the Midst of Penance Rose is used only twice a year: Gaudete Sunday (third Sunday of Advent) and Laetare Sunday (fourth Sunday of Lent). It signals a lightening of the penitential tone, reminding us that joy is near. 6. Black – Mourning and Hope in the Resurrection Though less common today, black may be worn for All Souls’ Day and funerals, symbolizing mourning while trusting in Christ’s victory over death. Signs Accompanying the Colors The liturgical year also uses symbols like incense (prayer rising to God), candles (Christ as the Light of the World), and banners or flowers (festivity or solemnity) to draw our hearts into the mystery being celebrated. 📖 The Church’s use of colors and signs is not just visual beauty—it’s catechesis in action. Every shade, every symbol speaks the language of the Gospel. 📌 Follow our page to deepen your understanding of Catholic traditions and signs of faith. #catholic

Don't lose hope. You never know what tomorrow will bring. Good night & sweet dreams wonderful people 🙌 👏 💨 💭 💦 💖

Good evening Dada family hope your day was awesome

Goodevening my gada partners. Hope you all had a wonderful day.

Tinubu’s Wife Donates N1bn To Niger Flood Victims *** The First Lady of Nigeria, Senator Oluremi Tinubu, through her Renewed Hope Initiative (RHI), has donated N1 billion to provide succour for the victims of the recent flood disaster that occurred in Mokwa Local Government Area of Niger State, Nigerian Tribune reports. According to a statement on X by the Senior Special Assistant to the First Lady on Media, Busola Kukoyi, the donation was made during a condolence visit to the state on Tuesday. Mrs Tinubu also presented relief materials and a cheque to Governor Mohammed Umaru Bago at the Government House in Minna.